Tv tower atop Shankaracharya hill, as seen from Dal gate.
Tv tower and house
Swimming
On way, Baltal via Sonamarg
Views on way to Baltal via Sonamarg
July 2009.
Baltal Thajwas Wildlife Sanctuary
A small Fishery
White water rafting in Sindh River
White water
Sindh
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Shared by my father.
Birch tree, Burza
A Birch tree (called Burz’e Kul) at Sonamarg.
A ‘murder’ atop Birch tree.
(Murder, that’s what a group of crows is called) These mountain crows are known as ‘De’v Kaw‘ or ‘god crow’. (more of them later)
Birch bark or Burza. In old days, when there was no paper, Birch was used for writing. A lot of ancient Kashmiri manuscripts are preserved on burza. [Restoration of these works]
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Jajeer
The thing that goes: good good good
A Kashmiri with his Hookah.
If he coughs, he takes another drag. ‘It is good. Relieves the cough. Clears the chest. Just like a medicine.’ Takes another drag. Good Good Good.
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Jahamuk tamok
Tobacco from Jaham (ie, splendid tobacco).
Jaham tobacco is said to be the finest in the valley
– A Dictionary Of Kashmiri Proverbs and Sayings
(1885)
J. H. Knowles
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Photographs are by my father.
Stray
– Just outside Ganpatyar.
School Excursion to Shalimar Bagh
Every Friday Open.
Original Mughal Garden Plan didn’t include an Iron gate. Stupidly enough, nobody thought of it at that time. And these Royals were supposed to be master builders of gardens. The iron gate stands right over the stream making exit from the garden.
Queued. As Master and Madam confer. Children are all ear. Almost all of them.
We are in. It’s a Picnic.
Watch me make a splash! Don’t wet my shoes!
The kid just put his face right in front of my face, smiled and went, ‘‘Asalawalekum!’ The right thing to say is – Walaykumsalam.
As stood on the ancient terrace, a little girl walked unto the place where I stood, confident, she went, ‘Execuseme!’. I realized I was blocking the entry to the monument. The right thing to do is – walk aside.
The humble-almost embarrassed – source of all water in the great garden.
Alternate entry point. No entry fee. And it is fun. Again, stupidly enough, it was not included in the original garden plan by the great Mughals.
Swimming, Fun and Frolic at Nehru Park
Nehru Park in Dal Lake
Boys fishing and swimming at Nehru Park
Splash
The boy kept pushing his friends into the water. Finally, they all ganged up on him, caught hold of his legs and arms and swinging his body in air, prepared to throw him into the water. The boy started screaming, ‘I don’t know how to swim! I will die! I will die!’ His friends got tired of his drama. They let him be. Some minutes later, one of his friend talked him into going into the water. He agreed. Once in water, he almost drowned his friend by riding onto his head. ‘What’s wrong with you! You want us to get killed. Nothing will happen! I won’t let you go’. The boy wasn’t so sure, he kept repeating, ‘I don’t know. A boy drowned at this very spot a couple of days ago. Swear on your mother you won’t let go of my hand. I will die. Die’ The boy was a genuine dramabaaz, anybody could tell. There was also a slight chance that he even knew swimming. A couple of minutes later he was (while still holding onto his friend’s neck) splashing his legs wildly in water, exclaiming, ‘I can swim! I can swim!’. His other friend, standing at shore, threw a brick (deliberately mis-directed) at him. Of course, it missed and hit the water, creating a big sploosh. The boy looking genuinely offended told them, ‘Swear on mother, you won’t do that again. You want to see dead!’ All the boy were in their late teens. If you witness a scene like this anywhere else in this part of the world, boys having fun like this, there is a good chance that they will also be rhyming insults at each other’s mother and sister – it’s almost a way of showing endearment among males. It seems Kashmir (at least most of it) is still too idyllic to move in that direction. Pleasures are simple. Friends are friends. Mothers are mothers. Swimming is swimming.
triply
Three heads
Palladium
Remains of Palladium Cinema Hall, Lal Chowk, Srinagar. June, 2008. Burnt down in 1992.
I couldn’t put my eye to the viewfinder. I didn’t want to draw attention. I didn’t want anyone to know that I was taking a picture. I was afraid. It seems stupid.
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She came back from school that day and ran straight to her mother who was in the kitchen at the time, sitting next to a reluctantly burning stove. Mother was decongesting stove’s snooty nozzle using one of those half-blackened-needle-tipped tools. There, it was fine now. Burning with that right gushing sound. It was quite a sight, but this didn’t make Mother happy. It never did, even though it was a dangerous thing to do, even though Mother was good at doing this thing. She knew what would make Mother happy. The news. The good news. She was now bursting with excitement. It was just too good. One look at her, and Mother knew her daughter had something to say. So. She told Mother the news, in single breath, she told her what she saw that afternoon on her way back (it wasn’t there in the morning) from the school: Poster of Rajesh Khanna’s Roti on Palladium’s hoarding wall. Finally it was here. They had heard the songs together on radio, they had hummed the songs – Naach Meri Bulbul Paisa Mile Ga, Gore Rang Pe Na Itna Gumaan Kar, Yeh Jo Public Hai Sab Jaanti Hai. And now the film was here. Mother walked into the hall, looked at the wall clock- they had time. They definitely had time. Mother offered her the afternoon meal, a plateful of hot rice, a thick Dal and some fried potatoes ( a treat just for her). ‘Finish all of it.’ While she ate, her mother got into a Sari. They were going to see the film, they were going to see Roti. There was no doubt about it from the beginning. She knew it would turn out this way, it always did. And as usual her big brothers won’t get to come along. What fun! They were still at School. They would be there for another hour or so. When they come back and find the lock on the front door, as always, to get the key, they would go to aunt’s house down the street. Boys didn’t seem to mind it at all, ever. After all, they did get to see the films later with gang of friends and cousins. And Mother paid for it all. So it was fine. Till: They all made it back to the house by the time Father got back from office in the evening. It was their little secret. Something on the side. They always had time on their side. So, the mother-daughter duo saw Roti that afternoon at Palladium cinema.
Later at night, after dinner, Father, as usual, did ask them, “So, How was the film?” And he got the answer, in one voice, “Rajesh Khanna, Mumtaz, Song, Dance, Pahalgam. How do you think it could have been?”
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