The Autumnal Faces Of Srinagar And Dal Lake In Kashmir Mesmerises

In which are the tracks of Spring? Ay, in which are they?

Feel not of them, thou hast thy new music far too, – John Keats

I visited the Kashmir valley in a divided thoughts… there was the magnetic temptation of its ethereal allure that fed my girlhood desires, and then, there were those gory tales of the battered valley disintegrated by terror and mayhem. There have been 3 consecutive bomb blasts at Srinagar, the Capital of Kashmir, on the working day I started off my journey from Kolkata (the Funds metropolis of the condition of West Bengal) on a package deal tour. So my thoughts was in a point out of pleasure to face the Natural beauty AND THE BEAST! My spouse was upset with all those front site newspaper studies of carnage early early morning and attempted to dissuade me from my impetuous resolve. I pleaded with him to let me go as there was no protected haven on Earth these days and I thought I would return dwelling…

It was autumn- the period “of mists and mellow fruitfulness”… that was particularly what the silent voice of the Srinagar early morning whispered to me the initially working day. In truth, as I drew again the floral curtains of my lodge area, I stood spellbound as I encountered the autumnal facial area of the blushing metropolis which was nonetheless to awaken from its chill slumber! My coronary heart skipped as the golden-bronze Chinar trees, alongside the highway, lit up, and the magical leaves rustled by the very first caress of sun-mild! The more mature leaves of russet and gold fell off the branches silently at quick succession only to build the vermilion-golden route of extended stretches. My eyes travelled much and were being certainly riveted by the sight of the distant snow-capped regal Himalayas, glowing orange, as the initial flush of sunrays slid down its slopes… I forgot about the bomb blast and terror assaults and ran down the wood stairs of my resort to breathe in the “honey-dewed” early morning air of the city so stylish!

As I walked down the road, I avoided the Café Espresso Day as it reminded me of my crowded town and the common Kolkata odor which I wanted to get absent from… I was dying to live Kashmir of my dream! So the first curious confront that greeted me with a warm smile was that of the ripe previous encounter of Ahmad Kader Miya in a close by tea stall. For the initially time I tasted kahwa its environmentally friendly tea brewed with saffron, cloves, inexperienced cardamoms, cinnamon sticks and chopped almonds. Its mellow taste blended nicely with the truly feel of the mellowed year, embracing my spirit with a feeling of heat. The taste of kahwa is lined with a fading bitterness which someway received affiliated with the enjoyable bitter taste of walnut. The grandson of Kader Miya, the teen-aged Abdul, who served the tea for the next time with a shy smile reminded me of very similar innocent youthful faces on the deal with pages of Outlook Magazine, gunned down by the navy on terror charges. Why do these small children give up all the things to… ?

I diverted my feelings as I viewed Srinagar finding together silently with its day-to-day actions: Does this silence signify peace restored or a lull right before an additional bomb attack? I couldn’t assist ponder above… I opened my purse absent-mindedly when I was awakened from my thoughts by the cracked voice of the aged person with hennaed beard and variety brown eyes who told me that the tea was free as it was meant for “Mehman Newazi” which simply acquainted me with the nearby culture of supplying tea to the guest who visits the metropolis for the initial time…

During the later on aspect of the morning, as we sauntered by, we saw the silver birch trees and the poplars aglow with heat daylight. We also noticed the unique Nilgai (Blue- bull), the greatest Asian antelope grazing in the grey Scrub forest in the vicinity. We also encountered a herd of adorable cashmere goats of light brown and milk white selection with shaggy coats and apricot nose, led by a shepherd. They ended up sporting curiously spiral horns! The locals educated that these goats produce the greatest wool, and the exquisite Pashmina shawls ended up created from the fiber extracted from their system. Inspite of the fast paced market place, the town has its have leisurely tempo and we forgot about time… We walked down to a compact bus stand and took a bus-journey to the legendary Lake, the Dal. Despite the fact that bustling with exercise by then, the lake alone is tranquil. I felt certainly romantic with the dry Chinar leaves crackling less than the toes as we headed towards the Shikaras (wooden boats) for a journey. We walked silently, surrounded by these cluster of alluring Chinars, glittering golden in the mellowed sunlight…

Like the Venetian gondolas, Shikaras are the cultural symbol of Kashmir. Some of the oarsmen in vibrant Phi ran (a very long embroidered woolen robe), puffed away at their hukkas, a regional tobacco in merry spirit. These adult men are tough-functioning and courteous in their manners. They flashed smiles and my eyes admired the faint blush that unfold above their rugged, climate-overwhelmed faces and their blue eyes that shone with odd light! They welcomed us and we hired two shikaras.

There was a mischievous interaction of mists and daylight which established a magic as we reclined ourselves on the velvet, dazzling colored cushions in the shikara, surrounded by vibrant, floral canopies. As the oarsmen lustily dipped their spade-formed oars into the chill waters of the lake, the prolonged-beaked shikaras floated minimal in the water like a crocodile. The furrows made by the motion of the oars shone golden inexperienced at instances. Orange gentle oozed more than the distant mountain tops that surrounded the lake and the white snowy cliffs mirrored the hue. It was a peaceful, romantic experience when time appeared not to slip out of hand…

The boys clicked away to seize the enchanting sights of the pine- lined Himalayas bordering the lake from all corners from the length. The pine trees stood in tall greenness on the majestic mountains and the clusters shaped distinct geometric designs though the Chinars, close by, blushed as my eyes thirstily soaked in the unimaginable shade and strains close to. We also had a flashing glimpse of the silver black of a kingfisher’s again as it emerged out of the placid lake to fish its breakfast. The water looked so transparent! The cluster of floating white lilies appeared so serene! The sunshine-kissed lotuses smiled pink… The tiny ducks, white Egrets and pond Herons floated by blissfully…

The chill in the air whispered the information of the arrival of wintertime. The boats male regaled us with area tunes on our ask for and as the wild, impressive melodies floated in the air, I breathed in Kashmir… Some ladies of the valley rode by, heading in direction of their home, that floated on the lake, to the other facet… They carried vegetables, fuels and factors of everyday needs… their phi ran seemed so discolored which, however, failed to fade away their dimpled, rosy smiles. Even with life’s harsh dictates on them, the Kashmiri adult males and girls seemed to acquire daily life in their stride. I hardly ever observed them complain about life’s injustice, irrespective of whether nature’s harshness or, more normally, man’s crudeness. If their aquiline nose, blue eyes and blushing cheeks appeared to be in putting harmony with the organic abundance that fostered them, their cheerful spirit, in the face of grim violence that bled the valley terminally, spoke volumes about their hard genetic developed that matched the majestic Himalayas.

As we glided alongside the Jhelum river, we passed the crumbling homes whose only proof of daily life had been some vegetable patches and chickens in the yard pecking at the grains in the frozen filth. This section of aged Srinagar conveys a tale of a crumbling earlier that may well have been wonderful as soon as, as is associated in Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Kids”…

We crossed a nestled cove, surrounded by golden-environmentally friendly trees and lush meadows positioned at one more corner of the Dal lake which appeared like keats’ “fairyland forlorn”… The tasteful Houseboats beckoned us from the distance to invest the evening floating on the lake. The Marble dome of Hazrat Bal, noticeable like an “egg-formed pearl” from the length allured us to come to feel its ancient story of Moi-e-Muqqadus, the sacred hair of Prophet Mohammad…
The distant facial area of an outdated fisherman bent in look for for lotus root reminded me of Tai, the mysteriously ageless boats gentleman who arrives alive from Rushdie’s website page…

The Autumnal facial area of Srinagar and Dal evokes me to say:

“No spring nor summer beauty hath these types of grace

As I have found in one particular autumnal facial area… ” JOHN DONNE.