I walk bent over like a mule. I am weighed down by stones collected since Karsha; stones of many colors, shapes, sizes - irresistibly attractive and impossible not to pick. There are zen stones of quiet and sombre gravity in deep browns, ochres, olive, black and ivory. And then there are those that dance in jewel shades, reminiscent of Persian miniatures in gold, orange, red, maroon, turquoise, jade and emeralds. Loaded, I still bend over to pick up one more gem from this endless quarry, marveling at my good fortune, joyous in my finds.
And so it has been all my life. I have been collecting and gathering gems - of experiences, relationships, possessions - joyous and grateful for my blessedness. I have been collecting and gathering a treasure trove of my many carings and attachments. Each of them speak to me in their own unique way - each with a precious beauty and joy.My life brims with gems of parents, sisters, husband, children and many friends. I love my home, my music, my books and the many artifacts gathered from decades of wanderings - buckets of stones, shells tucked in corners, under my bed, a glass full of feathers and quills, a box of precious bugs and butterflies on the shelf. These gatherings in my life usually keep me so rapt and engrossed, that I am usually unmindful of my weariness and my bent back.
In all these cases, the burden is in making it mine - in the ownership - in the Me. Stones of Zanskar will continue their jewel dance or instill a zen quiet - as is their nature. It is in their possession that I start loading my back. And so also in my life - the burden comes only from the ego of my possessing - bringing expectations and pain. Love continues even without burden of ownership.
It is to seek this lightness and grace that I came to Zanskar.
(from my notes while trekking, in solitude, through Zanskar - one month back)
Showing posts with label Kashmir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kashmir. Show all posts
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Kashmir Dreams
Memories and nightmares my days sustain
Kashmir re-surges in my blood, thick with pain
Torture cells around the crystal lake abound,
while dead disappear below without a sound.
Snow capped hills bear a silent testimony
to firings, rapes, and repressive hegemony
rolls of barbed wires cut every street in two
dicing minds, people, cultures and memories too
Young hands pick up stones and throw
at soldiers, police, and every Indian foe
Mothers beat their chest and wail
at dead sons, bruised, bloodied, cold and pale
Lands shrouded in deep, merciless snow
silent, as the dead pile un-named below
no spring will melt heart's winter ice
where Azadi is claiming a lover's price
Oppressors, that is the name for you and I
a sentence, I will shamefully bear, till I die.
Kashmir re-surges in my blood, thick with pain
Torture cells around the crystal lake abound,
while dead disappear below without a sound.
Snow capped hills bear a silent testimony
to firings, rapes, and repressive hegemony
rolls of barbed wires cut every street in two
dicing minds, people, cultures and memories too
Young hands pick up stones and throw
at soldiers, police, and every Indian foe
Mothers beat their chest and wail
at dead sons, bruised, bloodied, cold and pale
Lands shrouded in deep, merciless snow
silent, as the dead pile un-named below
no spring will melt heart's winter ice
where Azadi is claiming a lover's price
Oppressors, that is the name for you and I
a sentence, I will shamefully bear, till I die.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Each Night Put Kashmir in Your Dreams : Nilima Sheikh
Yesterday, I heard an amazing lecture with slide show by Nilima Sheikh, based on her stunning scroll painting, originating in memories, history, culture, people, landscape, dreams of Kashmir...
I put Kashmir in my dreams last night. Today I sat with a white sheet of paper and remembered the 'Chinar' tree.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Two Trips: Kanihoma and Dachigam
Often life's surprises come in small parcels-either small moments captured that illumine one's future in richness and color, or places passed through that distill the essence, and reveal a hidden spirit, or words encountered that change the course of a meandering life.
Visits to Kanihoma and Dachigam are parts of such surprising encounters in my life, parceled away to be later recalled in moments of leisure and self indulgence.
Dachigam is a wildlife sanctuary a mere 13km away from the heart of Srinagar-yet this world is far removed from the cultivated charms of the kashmiri capital, covering highlands of rarified stillness, green drenched pristine forests, bubbling streams, small rivers, created by the winter snow melts, that still provides drinking water source for the entire Srinagar. To add to this, Dachigam is one of the last reserves protecting a disappearing population of Hungals or the red deer - on the endangered list of world wildlife.
To have a fighting chance of seeing these shy animals, the kids and I left for Dachigam in the dark pre-dawn hours, arriving as the first visitors to the park. A walk with our guide in the hushed quietness of these early hours, looking for signs and presence of Hungals, was filled with suspense and bursting excitement. It took an hour or so of wandering before the guide spotted a herd of about six deer at a distance. What we saw were moving smudges against matching hills-moving higher and fast-apparently we had been spotted way before we saw the herd, and they were taking no chances with humans-smart choice!
I cannot say what it was about Dachigam that impressed me-seeing the deer, walking through the forests, or encountering spaces that seemed so unharmed by human presence. It seemed that whatever the practical merits, human life cannot but be enriched by close presence of wild and wilderness, in sensitivity its quietness instills within us and the lessons that it teaches for free.
Kanihoma is a tiny village on the road from Srinagar to Gulmarg. Its name derives from 'kani' - the wooden bobbins used in weaving of traditional Kani shawls with their rich tapestry of colors and patterns drawn from the mughal era. These shawls became a rage in European courts and fashion world in 1800s till the British cloth mills started mass production of cheaper imitations usimg raw materials procured from India. Recent efforts to revive this rich and elaborate weaving tradition is meeting with some success, as I discovered on a visit to Kanihoma.
A small street along a creek, houses of exposed, unbaked bricks, thatch roof, small yards with hanging chillis, a patch of mustard, a few flowers, a couple of fruit trees-at this time in blossom.
Inside these small homes, hidden from prying eyes, masterpieces were being created-soft as clouds, in colors of brilliant rainbows, fabrics woven of finest pashmina and shatush, in intricately woven patterns of ivory, gold, crimson, jade, purple...with love and patience each thread was wrought, in and out, up and around, taking 18 long months of labor, to produce a small piece, a few feet wide and long, to wrap privileged shoulders in riches rare. Kani shawls come at a price tag upwards of Rs. 60,000 an extremely modest cost for an effort so long and hard, and craftsmanship so rare. However, takers for this rare crafts are few within India, and most of these shawls make it to appreciative markets abroad-mainly in the middle east. For this one is grateful-since it preserves and propogates a tradition, saving it from becoming a dying crafts form, to a living, evolving and thriving artistic expression.
Visits to Kanihoma and Dachigam are parts of such surprising encounters in my life, parceled away to be later recalled in moments of leisure and self indulgence.
Dachigam is a wildlife sanctuary a mere 13km away from the heart of Srinagar-yet this world is far removed from the cultivated charms of the kashmiri capital, covering highlands of rarified stillness, green drenched pristine forests, bubbling streams, small rivers, created by the winter snow melts, that still provides drinking water source for the entire Srinagar. To add to this, Dachigam is one of the last reserves protecting a disappearing population of Hungals or the red deer - on the endangered list of world wildlife.
To have a fighting chance of seeing these shy animals, the kids and I left for Dachigam in the dark pre-dawn hours, arriving as the first visitors to the park. A walk with our guide in the hushed quietness of these early hours, looking for signs and presence of Hungals, was filled with suspense and bursting excitement. It took an hour or so of wandering before the guide spotted a herd of about six deer at a distance. What we saw were moving smudges against matching hills-moving higher and fast-apparently we had been spotted way before we saw the herd, and they were taking no chances with humans-smart choice!
I cannot say what it was about Dachigam that impressed me-seeing the deer, walking through the forests, or encountering spaces that seemed so unharmed by human presence. It seemed that whatever the practical merits, human life cannot but be enriched by close presence of wild and wilderness, in sensitivity its quietness instills within us and the lessons that it teaches for free.
Scenes from Dachigam
Kanihoma is a tiny village on the road from Srinagar to Gulmarg. Its name derives from 'kani' - the wooden bobbins used in weaving of traditional Kani shawls with their rich tapestry of colors and patterns drawn from the mughal era. These shawls became a rage in European courts and fashion world in 1800s till the British cloth mills started mass production of cheaper imitations usimg raw materials procured from India. Recent efforts to revive this rich and elaborate weaving tradition is meeting with some success, as I discovered on a visit to Kanihoma.
A small street along a creek, houses of exposed, unbaked bricks, thatch roof, small yards with hanging chillis, a patch of mustard, a few flowers, a couple of fruit trees-at this time in blossom.
Inside these small homes, hidden from prying eyes, masterpieces were being created-soft as clouds, in colors of brilliant rainbows, fabrics woven of finest pashmina and shatush, in intricately woven patterns of ivory, gold, crimson, jade, purple...with love and patience each thread was wrought, in and out, up and around, taking 18 long months of labor, to produce a small piece, a few feet wide and long, to wrap privileged shoulders in riches rare. Kani shawls come at a price tag upwards of Rs. 60,000 an extremely modest cost for an effort so long and hard, and craftsmanship so rare. However, takers for this rare crafts are few within India, and most of these shawls make it to appreciative markets abroad-mainly in the middle east. For this one is grateful-since it preserves and propogates a tradition, saving it from becoming a dying crafts form, to a living, evolving and thriving artistic expression.
Art and the artisans
Sunday, May 25, 2008
A Week On Dal Lake:Srinagar
When the Maharaja of Kashmir had to host the british at his court, he decided to build up residences for them on Dal Lake- this was more than a hundred years ago-or such is the folklore around the origin of houseboats on Dal Lake. Now the presence of houseboats, and the lifestyles set up around them are a major tourist draw to the romance and attraction of Srinagar- a not-to-be-missed experience on most tourist's agenda in Kashmir. The tourist houseboats range from the basic, budget options where a few hundred rupees allows you to squeeze into tiny a congested room, and still be rocked gently to sleep with the lulling movement of the parked houseboat. At the other extreme are the opulent, spacious, chandelier-ed and silk carpeted residences fit for the Maharajas of today.
Completely different from a system meant to draw tourist attention are the houseboat residences of kashmiris themselves. We were lucky to find one such "home" that we shared with our kashmiri hosts- Javed and his family. Unlike the tourist quarters, this was not crowded with western style furniture, or television. We were given a large spacious room with two double beds, while the family occupied the rest of this houseboat, and another adjacent houseboat. The boat had a large deck where my kids, Aman and Avani, hung around with the host family members, and had enough companions for play and fun. The kids also got very comfortable moving around Dal Lake using one of the three family kishtis . Our day began with an early morning ride across the canal to the Kashmiri bakery for fresh delicious hot breads that we brought back-breakfast everyday was these naans with a thick layer of butter and jam and a usual cup of black tea for me and chocolate milk for the kids. Day progressed with holiday homework that the children worked on, rides on Dal Lake for boating practice, lunch and dinner outside along the boulevard at our favorite Vaishno Dhaba-delicious rajma, rice, roti, salad, lassi.
Post lunches for me meant long siestas gazing at the distant hills, ducks squawking and hens clucking trying to escape the 4x4 feet floating platform to which they were confined. Javed's dad sat with a hookah,the women cooked and made endless cups of chai, salted pink concoction for the morning and the regular milk and sugared version for the rest of the day. Relatives visited, friends dropped by, vendors stopped hoping to sell merchandise to the family and also us. We quickly became at ease with our new family-the youngest child, a five year old, invariable came to wake me with an energetic "Utho,Utho (up, up..)" tugging away my blankets-I started waiting for this wake up call-while his mother would invariably tuck hot water bottles in our beds, to have them cosy warm at night. We ate a special vegetarian dinner cooked for us by the host family- delicious and different.
Aman worked on making a small model boat with wood donated by the family; Avani practised her Urdu skills and picked up basic alphabets and writing small words...such beautiful calligraphy, what beautiful language. What surprised me was there were no fat people here-everyone walked, rowed, worked. While we still went around in jackets, the weather was sufficiently warm for children here to be jumping off the boardwalk into the lake for a bath, a swim.
We were in no hurry to sightsee, and spent this week giving in to living differently, to the rythm of the water, rocked and comforted by its movement, to the colors in the sky, to the high mountains always visible, and mostly graced by affection and love granted to us by a family who so easily adopted us in their lives.
Dusk on the canal
Aman's boat
Flower Vendor's boat
Hanging out at the deck
Neighbours' boats and kishtis
Spring on the boardwalk
Bringing breakfast home
Floating farms on Dal Lake
Completely different from a system meant to draw tourist attention are the houseboat residences of kashmiris themselves. We were lucky to find one such "home" that we shared with our kashmiri hosts- Javed and his family. Unlike the tourist quarters, this was not crowded with western style furniture, or television. We were given a large spacious room with two double beds, while the family occupied the rest of this houseboat, and another adjacent houseboat. The boat had a large deck where my kids, Aman and Avani, hung around with the host family members, and had enough companions for play and fun. The kids also got very comfortable moving around Dal Lake using one of the three family kishtis . Our day began with an early morning ride across the canal to the Kashmiri bakery for fresh delicious hot breads that we brought back-breakfast everyday was these naans with a thick layer of butter and jam and a usual cup of black tea for me and chocolate milk for the kids. Day progressed with holiday homework that the children worked on, rides on Dal Lake for boating practice, lunch and dinner outside along the boulevard at our favorite Vaishno Dhaba-delicious rajma, rice, roti, salad, lassi.
Post lunches for me meant long siestas gazing at the distant hills, ducks squawking and hens clucking trying to escape the 4x4 feet floating platform to which they were confined. Javed's dad sat with a hookah,the women cooked and made endless cups of chai, salted pink concoction for the morning and the regular milk and sugared version for the rest of the day. Relatives visited, friends dropped by, vendors stopped hoping to sell merchandise to the family and also us. We quickly became at ease with our new family-the youngest child, a five year old, invariable came to wake me with an energetic "Utho,Utho (up, up..)" tugging away my blankets-I started waiting for this wake up call-while his mother would invariably tuck hot water bottles in our beds, to have them cosy warm at night. We ate a special vegetarian dinner cooked for us by the host family- delicious and different.
Aman worked on making a small model boat with wood donated by the family; Avani practised her Urdu skills and picked up basic alphabets and writing small words...such beautiful calligraphy, what beautiful language. What surprised me was there were no fat people here-everyone walked, rowed, worked. While we still went around in jackets, the weather was sufficiently warm for children here to be jumping off the boardwalk into the lake for a bath, a swim.
We were in no hurry to sightsee, and spent this week giving in to living differently, to the rythm of the water, rocked and comforted by its movement, to the colors in the sky, to the high mountains always visible, and mostly graced by affection and love granted to us by a family who so easily adopted us in their lives.
Dusk on the canal
Aman's boat
Flower Vendor's boat
Hanging out at the deck
Neighbours' boats and kishtis
Spring on the boardwalk
Bringing breakfast home
Floating farms on Dal Lake
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