Blog: "Nothing Will Happen In Pahalgam": A Kashmir Trip That Scarred Me For Life

"Go to Pahalgam. Nothing will happen," the Jammu and Kashmir Bureau Chief of the organisation I worked with, told me. It was September 11, 2015. A series of clashes had broken out in Srinagar shortly after the Valley wrapped up its Friday prayers. A cow was cut open in Lal Chowk. There were reports of guns being fired and stones being hurled. Tweets were few and far between. Our phones, prepaid numbers from the other parts of India, did not work in Jammu and Kashmir.

I was on a family trip. It was my second visit to Jammu and Kashmir, then state now Union Territory. The weather was just right, I had a few days of leaves to take, and Kashmir was a great option for a whirlwind trip from Delhi. We boarded the flight to Srinagar on the morning of September 9. Little did we know what was waiting for us in Kashmir.

The first two days of the trip were out of the laidback holiday we had anticipated. On Day 3, after a day of local sightseeing in Srinagar, we were at the Adi Shankaracharya temple. It must have been around 5 pm. The sun was on its way down and Srinagar glowed in the golden hour. From top of the hill, it was a breathtaking sight.

A few minutes later, we spotted our driver running up the stairs, panting, huffing, telling us that we had to "leave immediately". "Lal Chowk pe gaai kaat di, abhi nikalna hai," he said in Kashmiri-laced Hindi. The three of us - my father, sister, and I - hurried down the stairs. When we got back into the car, our driver filled us in on what had happened in the few hours that we were out of WiFi. 

On Thursday, September 10, the Jammu and Kashmir High Court upheld a beef ban in the state. The majority-Muslim Kashmir erupted in protest. The smattering of protests here and there took a scary shape after the Friday prayers. Men, armed with stones and guns, went to town to protest the ban. They cut a cow in Downtown Srinagar. There was a call for a state bandh on Saturday.

We reached the hotel to concerned looks from the staff. "We were worried about you," said our manager, Arshad, and thanked the driver for bringing us back before the "situation got worse". Our flight back to Delhi was booked for September 13. My father, in the middle of a proper nervous breakdown, asked me if we could get flights out of Srinagar for the following day, September 12.

From the hotel landline, I called up a colleague in Delhi. He asked me to speak to our person on the ground in Srinagar. The next call was to our Kashmir Bureau Chief. He asked me to calm down and suggested we not fly out the following day.

"Flights will be full. There will be chaos at the airport. Try and fly out on Sunday as per your original plan. It will be easier," he said. I dithered. A few feet from the phone, my father followed every "hmm", every eyebrow-raise, every sigh that I let out on that call.

I asked my colleague what we should do, "Should we stay put in the Srinagar hotel?"

"No. Go to Pahalgam. The hotel can arrange for a taxi. It is an out-and-out touristy area, and no disturbance ever reaches Pahalgam. Tell your father we are here. If needed, we will get you out," he said, adding that we take the Bijbehara route.

After another round of assurances, we spoke to our driver. Asked him if it was okay to go to Pahalgam the next day. He said yes.

That night, we slept very little. My father pranced up and down the room for many hours, before realising there was nothing much he could do. He was travelling "alone with two daughters".

2015 was a year of abandon and abundance of tourists in Kashmir. Two big Bollywood movies shot in the Valley had just become blockbusters. The locals were ecstatic and could not stop raving about Bajrangi Bhaijaan and Jab Tak Hai Jaan. Shah Rukh Khan and Salman Khan had both ensured a steady stream of tourists in Kashmir, after the turbulent 90s had rendered the Valley an area unvisitable. The three tourism hotspots of Gulmarg-Sonmarg-Pahalgam were smiling at the influx of visitors. It was all okay. Kashmir, thus far out of reach for a generation, was back on the map of tourists, travel agents and film stars.

Our first two days in Kashmir echoed the same. The day after the protests, when Srinagar was shuttered shut, we took the beautiful Bijbehara road to Pahalgam. The day was idyllic. Pahalgam was pristine and bustling with tourists. The disturbances of Srinagar were far behind. For a day, Pahalgam helped us forget that Kashmir was a tinderbox, perhaps only a spark away from chaos.

On our way back from Pahalgam, that realisation returned to smack us hard in the face.

Somewhere on the way to Srinagar, we saw a group of men on seven or eight motorcycles approach our Tavera. The driver slowed down. He asked my sister and me to cower. We were in the back seat and the driver did not want to take any chances.

The bikeborne men asked the driver to step out of the car. He obeyed. There was a brief conversation. Hunched over in the back seat, I peeped out of the window to spot a gun peeking out of the pockets of one of the men. My intestines were in a knot. 

I heard the driver's door closing. The bikes left. Our car sputtered to life. The driver let out a long sigh and asked us to sit back up.

"They asked me who you were and why you were out on a strike day. I told them you were tourists, you were in Pahalgam, and did not know that there was a strike. They said okay and asked me to be careful," said our driver.

The rest of the road was a blur. I don't remember much of the beautiful Bijbehara road or crossing an eerily silent Lal Chowk. We made it back to the hotel, had a quiet dinner, and packed for our flight back the next morning.

On Sunday morning, we navigated heavy security, a thousand checks, and checked in for our flight to Delhi. We boarded after the mandatory wait. When the plane left the tarmac, my father pulled a photo of 'Adya Ma' out of his wallet. I saw him wipe a tear.

(The author is Editor, Entertainment & Lifestyle, NDTV)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author

Trending News