Inside of Jamia Masjid
We arrived in Srinagar in spring this year-a time for change, flux, a visible alteration in the mood of the city. The Chinars (maples) were bursting in neon greens, the Safedas(poplars) again rustling. Doves circled overhead, and ducks splashed in the lake. Shikaras plied once more on Dal lake, in rich gaudy colors, kishtis crowded the waterways laden with produce, flowers. Mughal gardens reopened on Baishakhi-the first day of spring, and still competed for attention of admirers hundreds of years later. Shiraj - the tulip garden- put on an impressive show with nine hundred thousand tulips marking its opening.
People also racially merged in Srinagar and defined their own Kashmiri identity with distinctive clothing, food, and lifestyles. With spring, heavy woolen pherans that sheltered live kangris were shed, and lighter pherans with flashing tilla work, colorful headscarves and silver jewellery made a more flamboyant statement. Men could be seen sitting in groups in the courtyards, sharing a hookah, while longer lines of people relaxed and gossiped awaiting kashmiri bread outside bakeries.
Along the lake front, shutters reopened after long winter months, Lal Chowk overflowed with merchandise, and travellers from distant lands could still be seen crossing the ancient wooden bridges over the Jhelum- tall Pathans with fiery beards, traders from buddhist Ladakh, portly merchants from the Indian plains. Srinagar accepted them all with a rakish laughter, a crinkled cunning look, ready to strike a bargain, acknowledging their historical role and ready once more to gain from it.
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