I readily agreed to it and actually I forgot about it until January. In January my friend, Jenny asked, “Shouldn’t we book our tickets for the journey????”
“Journey????? Which journey?????”
“Did you forget?????? Our Kashmir trip….”
“Oh yessss…” replied I
I told my husband about it and he did not object to my going to Kashmir with Jenny. Jenny is older to me by eight years and it was just three years since I got to know her well. She is my co-worker. I got close to her as we were of the same wave length and she knew good English. (Teachers who know how to speak good and correct English are a rare breed in our management).
Jenny and I made elaborate arrangements for the trip. We went to a travel agency and decided to arrange our trip with them. The trip was to start from New Delhi. It would take two days by bus from Delhi to Kashmir. They said that they would halt at Katra the first night which was close to Jammu. We decided to join the group from Katra. We booked our tickets for the Rajadhani Express up to Delhi. From there we had to catch the evening train, again the Rajadhani Express. According to the tour operator we had to carry heavy woolen clothing, shoes, socks, umbrella and so on for the journey. We went together for shopping. We were highly excited about it. We did raise many eyebrows when people heard we were going alone to Kashmir.
The D-Day had come and in the evening we boarded the Rajadhani Express bound to Nizamuddin. There were just two other men in our compartment. The first night we kept aloof from the other two co-passengers. It was only the next day that we started talking to them. One was an Air Force personnel and the other a journalist working in CNN. The journey in the train was okay. There were mainly two problems I faced – one, the catering staff knew only Hindi and I could not manage with them with my broken Hindi, and two, I am a coffee addict and they were not willing to serve coffee often in spite of offering them extra money. I was waiting for the journey to end as I wanted to breathe some fresh air.
After the 42 hrs journey I felt happy to get out. Once I was out of the train I wanted to get back into it as it was very warm and the air was not one bit fresh. It was a mixed smell of sweat, dirt and human excreta. I told Jenny that we should leave Nizamuddin as soon as possible if not, we could fall sick. We came out of the Nizamuddin station and there were cycle rickshaws. I never knew that it still existed!!! We took an auto rickshaw to the Delhi station. We passed across the India Gate and through many big roads and finally we reached the railway station. We were all ready to relax cosily in the air conditioned waiting room until evening.
The upper class waiting room was overflowing with people. The air conditioner was not powerful enough to cool the hundreds of people inside the room. There were people all over the place. There were no vacant chairs. Leave alone the chairs; there was not even space to walk. People were all over the floor squatting, sitting with their legs stretched out; while there were others sleeping on the floor with their heads rested on suitcases or bags. Jenny and I had to wait for an hour or two before we got a place to rest our bottoms. I am the type of person, who loves watching people. In the waiting room I was sick of looking at people. I could not enjoy that sort of a crowd with people from various backgrounds touching you every now and then when they walked past you. I cannot tolerate when people touch me especially outsiders. There was the smell of fruits, pan parag and all those intoxicating stuff. I wanted to get out from there. Over that, being in Delhi means one has to be extremely careful about other people and watch out for unidentified luggage. One can never know when a bomb could blast.
The most disturbing sight at the railway station was the beggars. I had gone to the railway canteen to buy lunch. After lunch as I was leaving my plate at the counter some wet hand pushed me and grabbed my plate. He was a filthy, sweaty man who gobbled down the left over from the plate. Though my immediate reaction was a big “tchee’, I saw the real face of poverty. I took a tissue to wipe off his sweat, straight went to the wash to clean my hands. Even when India boasts of great economic development, there were still many who were living on the left over of others.
The seven hours wait at the railway station were like seven years. Our next train reached platform no 1 and we boarded the Rajadhani Express to Jammu. Dinner was served immediately. Again my Hindi became a problem. I wanted salt and I kept asking the attendant that I wanted “namkeen”. He gave me the queerest look and walked off. Again I called for him and asked him for “namkeen” and he told me something in strange Hindi which I did not understand. Finally a co-passenger told me in English, “It is not namkeen, it is namak.” He told the attendant to bring a sachet of salt for me. Soon after dinner, I went off to sleep.
When I woke up in the morning, we were already in the Jammu & Kashmir state. The state looked very dry with no much vegetation.
. I tried calling home and it was in vain. One of the passengers told me that pre-paid connections were not allowed in Jammu & Kashmir. It was a big blow. I had taken my two phones….one with BSNL connection and the other with an IDEA connection. It meant for 10days it would be difficult to keep in touch with my family. I felt handicapped without a phone. I started getting restless. Jenny consoled me saying that I could se her phone as she a post-paid connection.
At the station, Jenny’s friend, a nun waited for us. She was the Principal of a school in Jammu. I saw policemen and soldiers all over the station. For a minute my mind went blank. Fear seized me. Did we make a mistake traveling with no male escort????? Then I thought in the positive….We had come from the southern tip to the northern most state and we should fulfill our dreams of seeing Kashmir. If worst comes to worst we could be killed in some blast or shoot out at some encounter. I didn’t mind dying but I did not want to be alive with my flesh ripped off from parts of my body to expose my bones. My thoughts kept wandering wild until the driver started the car. The people were different. They were good looking people – both men and women. The women were colourful. They wore many bangles and chains of various hues. There were flowers in front of every house, be it a bungalow or a hut and on the sides of the road.
The convent were we stayed was situated in a village. It was an hour journey from the railway station. As the car entered the convent gate, around six sisters came to greet us. They were warm people. One sister served us tea and asked us to freshen up before breakfast was served.
There is a community health centre and a school attached to this convent.
There were patients in the hospital. They gaped at us as though we were the aliens from outer space. I tried talking to them with my broken Hindi and they did not understand. The nun there told me that they understood only Dogri. So my communication with them was limited to smiles and gestures.
The sister took us to her school. The children were so cute. Sister introduced us as “two teachers who came from the southern most state to see and learn about the northern most state”. The children were very friendly. They spoke to us freely. They were so sweet that they even invited us to share their lunch with them. They had a number of genuine questions to ask us. They wanted to know which language we spoke, what we ate, how were the students in Kerala, did we teach the students in Hindi or in our mother tongue and so on. When they heard we were going to Katra that evening, they wanted to know if we were gong to Vaishneo Devi Temple. One girl spoke eloquently on her the trip to the temple and she added, “Aunty, you have to go there. It is a beautiful place.” We also met their teachers and spoke to them.
That evening, Sr. Principal took us to Katra.
On our way to Katra she took us to the Bishop’s Home in Jammu. There was a nice church in the Bishop’s House. As Jenny is a very religious person, we spent some time in the church. I was busy photographing the nice interiors of the church. We met a few priests there and had tea with them.
On the way we stopped at another convent as there were malayalee nuns there and they invited us over for dinner. The sisters there took us to the Talwar falls which is supposed to be a tourist spot. There was hardly any waterfall other than a small trickle.
After dinner we thanked the sisters at the convent and left for Katra.
( To be contd…..)
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