Heart of solitude

Lakshmi Sharath explores the quieter side of the Kashmir Valley, which is home to some of the most spectacular lakes and a tranquil lifestyle

The flight was hovering around for a while, flying a little low amidst the Himalayas, treating us to a spectacular display of snow and ice. The white was blinding to the eye, but I had no reason to complain. I was lucky to have got the window seat. The flight was late, but it did not matter. It is not everyday that you get such a gorgeous view of the Himalayas. In a short while, however, the flight touched down at the Srinagar airport in Kashmir.

It started drizzling just as I got out of the airport. It seemed like the weather would follow me wherever I go. My taxi driver smiled and greeted me with these words, “Mumbai ka fashion aur Kashmir ka mausam, donon ka koi barosa nahin,” he said, adding that the sun would be shining rather brightly in a few hours. But the drizzle became a downpour. The taxi dropped me by the Nagin Lake and a blinding array of colours greeted me. The shikaras were vying with the rainbow to showcase more hues although the lake and the sky were in unison, sporting shades of grey. The sun had been banished.

Life on a lake

I was ferried to a pretty wooden houseboat, warm and comfortable, and fortunately, I had the entire houseboat to myself. Now, I have stayed in resorts, homestays, forest lodges, inns, but there is something special about staying in a houseboat. It was like being cocooned in a world that is both luxurious and homely, ornate and simple with absolute privacy and personalised service.

And sitting in the cosy balcony, sipping the Kashmiri kahwa rich with saffron and cinnamon, I watched the rain tumble from the grey skies forming ripples on the Nagin Lake. I looked at the infinite spread of water and sky and felt like a tiny microcosm in the universe. The rain battered down the roofs of the houseboats, and even with 200 of them stationed in the lake, it was so still and silent but for the regular rhythm of the rain. I lounged in the living space of the houseboat and picked up a book only to be distracted by a pair of little grebes in the lake. And then I heard that an earthquake had actually rocked the region and tremors were felt while I was still up in the air, hovering the Himalayas.

The rains soon abated and the birds came out. There was a pair of common starling nestling in the neighbouring houseboat. A flock of barn swallows came out to sun themselves, while a trip of common kingfishers were calling out to each other. Another flock of common moorhens were swimming in the waters. A bright red shikara stopped by my houseboat and offered me a ride to Dal Lake. Lying on the ground almost at eye level with the surface of the waters, looking up at the sky and touching the reflections of the mountains on the waters was an unreal experience. The sounds of silence rang in my ears. I was trying to count the ripples on the waters — a bit like counting stars. A night heron looked on, as still as a statue, as I looked for the little bittern. A bright yellow citrine wagtail flew from one leaf to another, floating on the waters.

The boatman took me through a lily pond and we soon had company. Another shikara came by to sell flowers and seeds. He was soon followed by a couple selling jewellery.

Floating markets

A shikara parked under a small vegetation floating in the waters and the boatmen seemed fast asleep. We sailed along through small tracts of floating vegetable gardens growing tomato and bottle gourd. The lake became a canal. We had been sailing in uncharted course, not the usual tourist haunt, a slightly longer route to the Dal Lake. A boat steered by a little girl and her sister passed by us, as the mother sat behind holding a baby. The boat was a virtual nursery filled with little saplings that were going to be planted in the waters. We watched the family at work, as another boat interrupted us carrying more vegetables. In this vast tract of waters, we were in a little canal, jostling each other and creating a mini traffic jam. But then, this was the way of life for these men who lived by the lake.

The waters eventually merged as the canal took us to Dal Lake. From being a lone shikara on the mighty lake, we suddenly burst upon a crowd of tourists in several shikaras, eating, drinking, screaming, buying and singing. It was a floating market with shops selling everything from pashmina shawls to saffron. We had some chai and pakodas and set sail again.

Our last stop for the day was by a small little home on the fringes of the lake. The shikara was anchored by the coconut tree and we went inside a little warehouse where new shikaras were being built. The entire family came out as all the children peeped out to see their new guests. The Kashmiri hospitality was at its best as they welcomed us with tea, and spoke to us about their business. Almost every family here needed a boat or a shikara, some were for tourism and they needed to get a licence apparently, while the others used it to just ferry themselves across the lake or to the various markets floating on the lake.

Twilight had already stolen the evening sky. The clouds turned into black mushrooms hovering around the peaks of mountains, which slowly faded away as the night sky took over. The birds were silent. Tall stalks of plants turned into dark shadows as even the waters reflected the blackness of the sky. We saw the moon steal a glance from above. Slowly the eyes closed as the lake rocked us to and fro and the boatman began his song — a sweet love song, and as he sang the ditty in his gentle voice, we just drifted away to sleep.