Kashmiri Fragrance

Dearest luv,

It’s 5:14am in Srinagar, and I sit on the front porch, facing the Dal Lake typing my love to you.


Bidding farewell to Ganga gets only more difficult every year. Teary as the goodbye was, I pleaded the river to call me back sooner than later. The train from there to Jammu wad a ceaselessly beautiful sight. Ninety percent of the passengers were off to Katra, to visit the Vaishnodevi temple. Have you ever been there jaan? Once again, I was blown away with the kind of belief an entire sect of our population nourished; they’d walk ascending miles relentlessly, through sleet and ice, just for a three second view of an idol of ice. I don’t know if idols house godly spirits, but I know for certain that even if one of these hundred thousand people who visit Vaishnodevi every month truly and earnestly believes theย  idol to be a symbol of divinity, then divine grace does manifest itself a piece of wood or stone or ice. I believe in faith, and its powers.

5:25 now


We reached Jammu in the wee hours of morning. Couldn’t explore much, we were to fly to Srinagar before Jammu broke out of its Sunday sleep. But I know this about Jammu –ย  Jammu is safe. Jammu has sardars. This isn’t a racist predisposition. I just happen to have instinctual faith in the goodness and the kindheartedness and the valour of the Sikh community, for reasons I can’t really explain.

And then, we were in Srinagar. What to tell you about this place love
We’ve come in the peak of its tourist season; the traffic and the blaring of hours and incessant human chirping is infuriating after an extent, but – BUT, this city makes up for all of it and much more. Flying over the Himalayas was exhilarating! The airport to Almond Villa traffic was slightly a turn off, but I fell asleep on the way, so for me it was like sleeping off when the world was a heaven and then waking up straight in paradise, and by paradise, I’m referring to Almond Villa.

At the edges of the Dal Lake, but properly distanced from the noisy hordes of traffic, Almond Villa is MAGNIFICENT. I wish I was being paid to promote the place, because oh boy I can go on and on about how great this place is. It’s owned by Dr. Jyoti Singh, who happens to be the granddaughter of Raja Hari Singh – the last king of Kashmir. Her charm and hospitality make her beautiful. I have SO MANY questions to ask, but the people I’m traveling with have told me in more than a few words that my questions aren’t going to be taken well received well. So well, that’s that. No promises to bring you any revelations of history in this trip.



But who even has the time for curiosities like that here. (Me.) Every flower here blooms out of earth with a purpose, with a story to tell; the sadder the story, the more gorgeous the flower is – it doesn’t want to be forgotten. Srinagar is Nature’s gift to us, a bouquet of the most heart melting tales of travesty, tragedy, compassion and love, packaged and preserved in the fragrance of every flower that grows here. Srinagar is am endless candle with both it ends – chaos and serenity – burning. It’s all about which side you’re standing on; one could burn you down, the other could light you up.

I was strolling by the Dal Lake last evening, thinking about what this place would be like in your company and smiling to myself.
You are, after all, my personal paradise

6:15am sunrise




      1. I am going to go on writing about everything this place makes me feel. But I might go wrong in certain places, my view of course is limited to that of a transient tourist. Feel free to tell me where I’m mistaken please

        I think it’s very difficult to justify the social conscious of this place in a trip so short, so help me ๐Ÿ™‚


      2. Sure thing, would love to.
        But on the other hand, I am a huge fan of your writing. It is not too conventional, and yet appealing in some strange way. I don’t think you would write something inconsiderate and underestimating. Good job, dear =)


  1. What a wonderful literary style to write a travel diary. The best pieces of literature in the world were penned down by great minds when they were in the highest state of tranquility or anguish.

    Liked by 1 person

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