Drawing the White Curtain
LAST YEAR, during what locals were touting as the coldest winter in 12 years, I made a visit to Srinagar. Despite it being the tail end of chillai kalan—the period from late December to the end of January, the coldest and harshest part of the season—the city received a fresh fall of snow. Winter in Kashmir has three stages. Chillai kalan gives way to chillai khurd and eventually to chillai bache—bache means “little child”—which is gentler than the previous two and gives way to spring.
As a first-time visitor to Kashmir, I was told by Kashmiri friends that my trip would be incomplete without a foray, even a short one, to Gulmarg—to experience it in peak winter as much as to see the markers of militarisation along the route there and at the destination. As the city roads gave way to the highway, every so often we saw army convoys cross in the opposite direction. traditional garment—ropes slung across their shoulders, pulled enthusiastic Indian tourists down the slopes on makeshift wooden sledges. The scene was heavily reminiscent of the British, during the Raj, being pulled along in hand-drawn carts while perched on cushioned seats; the situation was only somewhat lightened by the comic element of the vacationers’ discomfort as they tried to maintain some poise. There were also more conspicuous echoes of occupation. As we turned a corner, we spotted a couple of skiers resting near a lodge, while a soldier in army fatigues, white snow boots and dark glasses stood guard nearby, holding an assault rifle. The tourists’ excited shouts were interspersed with the whirring of a helicopter that, I was told, was flying to an army base at the top of the hill.
