Himanshu Khagta in Ladakh, Himalayas - Pic : Poras Chaudhary

The beauty of her mysterious mountains and the tranquility of life in Shimla, had been captured with amazing flair by a zillion cameras over the years but never could the “queen of hills” truly boast of someone out of these shutterbugs, who was nurtured in her own bosom.  Certainly not someone, who is just 21 years old.

Walking back from school everyday little did he would have expected that very soon the pictures he clicked of those tall, dense deodars would earn him a name that would transcend the misty, huge mountains of his town.  Started off just as a hobby, photography now completely fits as another form of living for Himanshu Khagta.

While his fellow classmates were occupied with the hits and wickets in cricket, he was busy chasing the magnificence of the historical monuments around him in his reel camera. Nothing was as essential as the call of the camera for this Himachal lad.  Photography happened to him like flying happens to a bird.

Every time they got the photographs developed, his parents wondered why they were never made one of them. Their perplexed mind finally got an answer when they saw their boy’s clicked picture in one of India’s leading magazine’s guidebooks, Outlook when he was only in 12th standard. The journey, from a reel camera to a camera phone to a digital camera to his first DSLR, a short one though, was long enough to draw him out his hometown and take him to more intriguing places in the North.

He couldn’t wait long to give the colours of Pushkar a touch of his own. The vibrant festivals of Gujarat could not be missed. The diversity of culture in Uttar Pradesh surely deserved to be caught. But the Pahari boy adored the mountains like nothing else. Srinagar just deepened this love while he went on capturing the people making them appear as normal as every other Indian.  And Uttarakhand was the perfect destination for the making the flashlight meet the thunders of the sky. But nothing could change the love he had for the place he came from. He has travelled extensively in Himachal. Every culture which has always remained unnoticed in the country’s best tourist state was put in frames with stunning sanctity.

Himanshu Khagta with the Raika Tribe in Rajasthan

Doing the rare required him to put down the comforts he was used to. His photography expeditions have made him starve, walk endlessly for 14 hours and what not. “The Chanshal Valley tour almost made me forget about photography, all I wanted then was some morsels of food” he says smilingly. His experiences of convincing people to let him click a picture can make for an interesting storybook. “Often I have been asked to pay them in return” he says it with a smirk.

He thinks of his camera as more than a machine to click and capture people, moments or nature. He feels he can contribute in preserving the rich and varied ethnicity of rural India which faces a threat from the Western influence, with his small yet powerful tool. “Rural India is more intricate than we think, every experience there gives me an impetus to travel deeper into it” believes the snapper. And the respect with which he treats his subjects and the sense of maturity he shows with sensitive themes cannot be guessed by his age.

The geek is not a great fan of technology but admits is a slave to it, after all, everything started for him from the clicks of the mouse. It would not be wrong to say that the Internet mentored him.  It wasn’t a long time ago when he used to put his pictures on sites like Flicker and get his friends to comment on them, now he is a contributor in various national and international magazines and newspaper; Femina, DestinAsian, Discover India and The New York Times to name a few.

The travel photographer wants to make a trip to the South soon but wants to go with the Gujjars(nomads) on a mountain climbing trip first. There is no dream project as such but yes there is a bag full of aspirations.  There is a lot more to travel, lots of cultures to be explored, lots of people to be met and of course lots of pictures to be clicked.

Ladakhi Dancers wearing traditional Ladakhi outfit in Dras, a small town of Kargil District which got famous after the Kargil War of 1999. (Himanshu Khagta)

( Originally appeared in the October/November 2011 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“The Last Valley”) )

Long marred by separatist violence, the Kashmir Valley is finally enjoying a relative peace, with tourist numbers higher than they have been for years. But will it be enough to return the beautiful Himalayan vale to the ranks of India’s most legendary destinations?

Text By Shoba Narayan
Photographs by Himanshu Khagta

At 3,528 meters above sea level, Zoji La is among the highest—and most hair-raising—mountain passes in the world. It constitutes a narrow, precipitous spur of India’s National Highway 1, which connects the serene Kashmir Valley with Ladakh. I’m en route there now, risking muddy switchbacks and plunging ravines just to see a polo tournament in the remote Himalayan town of Drass. And right when I think things can’t get any more unnerving, the convoy of tourist vehicles I’m traveling in screeches to a stop. There’s a landslide ahead.

Thankfully, a patrol of rifle-toting soldiers is on hand to clear away enough of the debris to allow a single lane of traffic to pass. Their being here is not merely fortuitous: the Indian Army has maintained a heavy presence in the area since the Indo-Pakistani War of 1947, the first of three border wars fought over Kashmir. One of our drivers tells me in a soft Kashmiri accent that there’s a high-altitude army training center nearby.

While we wait for the way to be cleared, the group of journalists I’m traveling with loiters by the gravely roadside. Some of us take pictures, or blow cigarette smoke into the thin mountain air, dazed by the raw beauty all around. The snow-capped Lower Himalayas rise on the horizon like frozen tidal waves. Far below, in the grassy plains where the River Sindh rushes headlong toward its confluence with the Baltal, Hindu pilgrims en route to the holy cave of Amarnath have populated a massive campsite. Their turquoise and yellow tents look like candy wrappers from where we stand.

Finally, we’re ready to move on toward Drass, which in winter is said to be one of coldest inhabited places on earth. It’s also the closest Indian town to the Line of Control, along which a tenuous cease-fire exists between India and Pakistan. Only this morning, that all sounded like a terrific adventure. Now, I’m not so sure. As our vehicle edges around the rubble, its wheels perilously close to the drop-off, I’m wishing I were back in my bed in Srinagar.

A Kashmiri Private bus on its way to Srinagar near Baltal, Kashmir (Himanshu Khagta)

“Five thousand years ago, at the time of the great Mahabharata War, we Kashmiris did not participate in the battles, saying that we were saints and not fighters,” says Yousuf Chapri, the owner of Discovery Tours, one of the oldest trekking operations in the Kashmir Valley. “Just look at us now.”

We are sitting in his office right across from Dal Lake in Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir. It’s a mild, sunny day and the shikaras—canopied gondolas—are out on the water in force, carrying boatloads of tourists across the lake’s mirrored expanse.

Over cups of masala chai, Chapri recounts Kashmir’s long, turbulent, tragic history—how it was once a major center of Sanskrit scholars, or pandits; how Buddhism came to the Kashmir Valley during the third century, followed later by Sufi sages and Muslim invaders from Turkestan; and how it was eventually absorbed into the Mughal Empire during the reign of Akbar the Great, whose heir, Jahangir, was so besotted with the valley’s beauty that he penned this famous Persian couplet: “Gar firdaus, ruhe zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin asto” (“If there is a heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here”).

Trucks crossing the mighty Zoji La Pass, Kashmir. Zoji La is 9 km (5.6 mi) from Sonamarg and provides a vital link between Ladakh and Kashmir. It runs at an elevation of approximately 3,528 metres (11,575 ft) (Himanshu Khagta)

Alas, everyone wanted a piece of heaven. By the 19th century, control over the valley had passed from the Mughals to the Durrani shahs of Afghanistan and thence to the Sikh kingdom of Ranjit Singh. In 1846, as an upshot of the First Anglo-Sikh War, it was lost to the British, who, in turn, sold it to Maharajah Gulab Singh Dogra as part of the semi-autonomous princely state of Jammu and Kashmir.

Then came Indian independence, and Partition. Pakistan claimed predominantly Muslim Kashmir for its own, kicking off a series of wars and military standoffs between the nuclear-armed neighbors. The area became a tinderbox. In 1987, separatist insurgents, trained and armed across the border, launched a campaign of terrorism that, together with brutal crackdowns by the Indian government, would eventually claim tens of thousands of lives. Not for nothing did U.S. President Bill Clinton, in 2000, call Kashmir “the most dangerous place in the world.”

“If the dispute between India and Pakistan had been settled during Partition, we would not have had to suffer so many decades of terrorism,” says Chapri with a sigh. “Now, we have lost our infrastructure, our education, our youth. Politics can be settled overnight at a table. But if we lose Dal Lake, the chinar trees, and these mountains, then what do you have left to fight over?”

Kashmiris are given to such poetic turns of phrase, partly out of nostalgia, and partly out of a sense of what could have been, had the politics of independence taken a different turn. “Disillusionment is a cottage industry in Kashmir,” a Srinagar cab driver tells me.

And yet the valley’s tourism amenities remain largely intact, including Dal Lake’s famed houseboats, vestiges of the colonial days that still bear fanciful English names such as Jewel of the Thames and Queen Victoria. As for hotels, there’s the historic Lalit Grand Palace, which was first built as a residence for Maharaja Pratap Singh in 1910. It’s almost perfectly situated, with the snowy peaks of the Zabarwan mountains as a backdrop and Dal Lake in front. Perfectly symmetrical chinar trees (a member of the maple family) tower above sprawling lawns where tables have been set up for tea.

After checking in to my wood-paneled room in the hotel’s old wing, I head down for lunch and run into Daisy Nedou, whose family owns hotels in Srinagar and the ski resort of Gulmarg, 56 kilometers to the southwest. Taking a table together, we talk about Kashmir’s famous cuisine, both the vegetarian fare of the pandits and the meat-based, 36-course wazwan feasts, where guests are seated around a common plate called the traami, and share dishes such as rogan josh (an aromatic lamb curry), minced-beef kebabs, mutton kurmas, and yogurt-based yakhni stews. Nedou invites me to go skiing in Gulmarg (home to the world’s highest cable car) during the season, which begins in December.

Lunch lasts almost three hours, and by the end, we are sated by both the food and the view. “Where else can you find this?” Nedou asks rhetorically. “You look up and see the pine forests; you look down and see the lake. This beauty…” Her voice trails off.

That evening, I go downtown to the shopping district near the narrow Jhelum River. Almost everyone directs me to a handicraft store called Suffering Moses. There, I’m shown a rare khani shawl, seen these days only in museums. Mohammed Sadiq, the shop’s second-generation owner, then shows me the design for a lacquer tray that he’s working on with local craftspeople.

“The British did us a huge favor,” he says. “They taught us to incorporate a certain utilitarianism in our arts and crafts so that we could create lampshades, cigar boxes, biscuit tins, and other household items instead of mere objects of beauty.” Only in Kashmir is beauty taken for granted.

Nearby at Asia Craft, owner Afzal Abdulla walks me through two floors of high-quality carpets, lacquered papier-mâché boxes, pashmina shawls, and carved walnut furniture. The highlight is a reproduction of the oldest known hand-knotted Persian rug, the Pazyryk Carpet, unearthed from a Scythian burial mound in the Altai Mountains in the 1940s and now exhibited at St. Petersburg’s Hermitage Museum. Abdulla’s copy is no knockoff: he tells me it took 18 months to make, and has more than 600 knots per square inch. The price? US$10,000.

“Most of the Kashmiri crafts came to us from Persia, brought over by the 14th-century Sufi mystic Shah Hamadhan,” he says. “Unfortunately, 20 years of terrorism has taken its toll. Many of our artisans have left the valley.”

Kashmir still bears the scars of those decades, but in the last couple of years, a degree of normalcy has returned. The once-deserted streets of Srinagar are now full of traffic. Along the banks of the Jhelum, families sit peacefully on the lawns eating corn: women in headscarves peel oranges; boys play ball; girls in pink frocks hold up matching cotton candy; white-capped men talk softly about politics and the state of affairs.

Local vendors sell kashmiri Halwa and Parantha during the festival near Hazratbal, Kashmir Devotees converged for peace prayers at the famous Muslim shrine of Hazratbal to mark Meraj-ul-Alam festival in Srinagar, Prophet Mohammed's Moi-e-Muqaddas (Holy Relic) is displayed for public viewing on ten occasions in a year, which includes Meraj-ul Alam. (Himanshu Khagta)

“Kashmir today is as safe as any other part of the country, or any part of the world, for that matter,” the area’s top cop, Inspector General S. M. Sahai, tells me during an interview at his Srinagar headquarters. “We are in control of the situation. While there are still some incidents, violence is at its lowest levels, ever.”

Tourists, primarily from elsewhere in India, have responded in kind. As of July, more than 500,000 people had visited the Kashmir Valley in 2011, the highest numbers seen in years. And that doesn’t include the hundreds of thousands of Hindu pilgrims that have come to Kashmir for the annual yatra (“sacred journey”) to the holy cave of Amarnath, which has been worshipped as a Shivaist shrine for five millennia. Theirs were the candy-wrapper tents that I saw from the heights of Zoji La, en route to a polo game in Drass.

Polo has been played in Drass for generations, but today’s tournament is special. Organized by the Lalit Suri Hospitality Group, it’s part of the centenary celebrations of the Lalit Grand Palace. It’s also meant to show that the winds of peace have swept over Drass as well, with various government bigwigs on hand to press the point. Midway through a match pitting a Delhi-based team against the local club, the youthful chief minister of Jammu and Kashmir, Omar Abdullah, arrives by helicopter and takes his place in the VIP tent. I see him tapping away on his BlackBerry between chukkas.

The entire town has gathered to see their men compete. Folk music played on oboe-like surnas and daman drums cheers the players on. The Delhiites are in smart red shirts, the locals in white. Horses run, swirling up dust. “The horses of Drass are smaller, but generous,” notes the commentator enthusiastically. But not generous enough—the Delhi team trounces the defenders. After the final, there’s a filling lunch by the banks of the raging

Drass River, and then I’m on the road again for the five-hour, hair-raising trip back to the Srinagar.

The next day, I wake early to take a shikara to the morning vegetable market in the middle of Dal Lake. I quickly learn that Dal isn’t a just lake; it’s a community. There are hundreds of families living on the water in floating villages, complete with schools, vegetable gardens, and lotus ponds. The market itself comprises a knot of about two dozen vegetable-filled canoes. Men haggle with each other and lift sacks of tomatoes, melons, cucumbers, and marrows from one boat to another. As the sun rises, the market disperses, and the produce is carried to bazaars all over Srinagar.

That evening, a group of us drive half an hour to the Muslim shrine of Hazratbal, where the Meraj-ul-alam festival is taking place. Thousands of devotees stand on the lawns facing the mosque and pray. The women wear hijabs, but are not dressed in black. Instead, they hold aloft colorful dupattas (scarves), as if to catch a blessing. At the appointed hour, an imam appears on the balcony, carrying a holy relic that is displayed only 10 times a year. Called Moi-e-Muqaddas, it is thought to contain a lock of Mohammed’s hair. Upon seeing it, women break out into tears and chant Koranic verses. It’s all over in a few minutes. The imam ambles back inside, and families return to picnicking on the lawns.

The roads outside are packed. Lines of stalls sell giant fried paratha flatbreads served with sweet yellow halwa. I sample a piece—it tastes like a Latin American churro, without the dusting of sugar. On the way back around the lake, we spot the brand-new Vivanta by Taj hotel, yet another hopeful sign for the valley’s tourism industry.

The Mughal gardens of Srinagar are best enjoyed alone. For this, you have to go early in the morning, which I do, the following day. The Pari Mahal is set amid the ruins of a palace built high above Dal Lake in the mid-17th century by the eldest son of Shah Jahan, builder of the Taj Mahal. It’s worth the hike for the views alone. And next to it is the Chashma Shahi, a modest garden with pools and fountains arranged over three terraces. The spring here is said to be the source of medicinal water.

Later, I spend a solitary hour at the Sri Pratap Singh Museum, which has a fine collection of textiles, weaponry, and relics. While I’m pondering Kashmir’s rich past, my phone rings. It’s Yousuf Chapri, telling me that I forgot my notebook in his office.

Chapri is waiting for me when I arrive. He hands me my book and some brochures about the successful travel company that his sons are running in Delhi. They have a great life there, he says. So why hasn’t Chapri joined them, I ask?

The old man pauses. “I love Kashmir,” he says finally. “I love its lakes and mountains and the valleys that nestle between them. I pray to Allah to give me paradise after death. But in the meantime, I can ask for no better place to be than here.”

THE DETAILS
KASHMIR

Getting There
Srinagar’s recently upgraded Sheikh ul Alam Airport is connected to Delhi by numerous daily flights (90 minutes).

When to Go
The Kashmir Valley is at its most pleasant during the summer months of June through August. Gulmarg’s ski season typically kicks off in mid-December and runs until mid-April.

Where to Stay
** Lalit Grand Palace Srinagar: Gupkar Rd.; 91-194/ 250-1001; thelalit.com; doubles from US$210.
** Vivanta by Taj – Dal View: Kralsangri, Brein, Srinagar; 91-194/246-1111; vivantabytaj.com; doubles from US$294.
** Houseboats: For a more romantic lodgings option, stay in one of Dal Lake’s renowned houseboats, which range in standard from budget to five-star luxury and come with sundecks, lounge areas, two or more bedrooms, and the use of a shikara. Contact the Houseboat Owners Association (91-194/245-0326; houseboatowners.org) to learn more.

Where to Eat
Shamyana: This elegant Srinagar dining room specializes in top-notch Mughlai cuisine. Boulevard Rd., Dalgate; 91-194/245-3360.

Getting There
Sri Pratap Singh Museum Hazuri Bagh; 91-194/213-2859; spsmuseum.org.
Pari Mahal: Located five kilometers west of downtown Srinagar.

What to Do
Discovery Journeys: In business since 1870, this operation arranges custom tours and treks throughout Kashmir. Boulevard Rd., Nehru Park, Srinagar; 91-194/ 250-0337; discoveryjourneysindia.com.

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Following are some of the memories I have of the amazing moments of last winter.

1. Breakfast at Sangla

So I’ll start with food. Nothing is more delicious then a breakfast after a freezing night at Sangla. Parantha, rajmah, curd and tea.

Indian Breakfast of Stuffed 'Parantha' with lentils and curd at Sangla, Kinnaur. In winters all the shops and rest houses remain closed and the only 'Dhabas' that are open have almost no choice of food. (Himanshu Khagta)

2. 10kms walk to Chitkul and back.

Reaching Chitkul after walking for around 10kms on ice and snow and staying with a hospitable family.

Kids playing on the roof in Chitkul, Kinnaur (Himanshu Khagta)

Son of Mr. Thakur, our hosts in Chitkul checks his picture in a Digital Camera. (Himanshu Khagta)

Harsh Kalta checks something on the laptop with a Kerosene heater (Himanshu Khagta)

3. Sunset Treks

Sunset treks started last year with me and two of my friends, Ankur Khachi and Harsh Kalta. To get rid of the boredom of roaming senselessly on the mall road, we started exploring new places in and around Shimla, where people don’t generally go. From small tea shops with their aromatic tea to places were you could enjoy the different versions of Shimla Sunset.

The following shot we took when we were going back home as the dark orange sunset light fell on the green trees. I asked my friends for some poses and this is how we came up with this shot.

Friends posing for a shot at sunset time when the orange rays of the sun were falling on the green pine trees in a forest in Shimla (Himanshu Khagta)

4. Qilaa

Our friend Aasheesh Mehta, recommended this new place in town.  There were not many eating joints in Shimla so we decided to try it out and the moment we entered. we fell is love. Owned by a friendly couple, Qilaa has stone walls and low sitting area. We used to sit there for hours, without getting thrown out. We used to read, eat, talk and play games while waiting for the snowfall.

A cozy winter afternoon at Qilaa, a themed restaurant at Shimla. (Himanshu Khagta)

5. Early Morning Walks

Its difficult to get off your bed in sub zero temperature of Shimla, but once you are out, its worth the pain. Shimla looks beautiful with the empty roads of the mall road, the muted tones and grey clouds. Except for a day or two there was hardly anyone who would accompany me to the mall road at this morning hour. I befriended many mall road dogs. I used to walk around the ridge, Lower Bazaar and Lakkar Bazaar and my walk ended with a light breakfast at the Indian Coffee House.

People busy with their daily chores in a cold winter morning at Lower Bazaar of Shimla, Himachal Pradesh, India (Himanshu Khagta)

An early morning scene of the Indian Coffee House of Shimla. (Himanshu Khagta)

Ghats around Pushkar Lake, Rajasthan.

A child waiting for a customer at his shoe shop in Pushkar.

I had a different image of Pushkar and had high hopes from this place when we reached Ajmer. I’ve heard a lot about this townfrom a number of friends. Some of them compared it to Kasol, in the himalayas and some compared it to Old Manali and some to Rishikesh, but when we reached the town I could sense the feeling of disappointment while searching for a place to stay.

A local from Pushkar, Rajasthan waiting in the market.

Market of the holy town of Pushkar.

The only thing I noticed when I entered the market to avoid any accident were the fanatic local bikers who dodged through people in the busy market at amazing speed. After every few seconds you would hear a sharp irritating horn coming from behind the crowd of people and you would have to make way for a motorbike that emerged and vanished though the crowd and into the crowd in a matter of seconds. Magical town indeed.

We had planned to halt here for a night and then continue our road trip to other parts of Rajasthan but the hotel search and the noise of horns only multiplied by irritation. I don’t like crowded places and noise. After searching for about an hour, we eventually found a Guest House. The ones in the ‘Lonely Planet’, bible of travelers were already booked, but with the help of google we found a place to stay for the night. Krishna Haveli, an old house now converted into a guest house. We parked our car and went out to find something for our hungry stomach.

A Rabari waits for someone on his bike as the market crowd passes by at Pushkar Market.

My senses were  all charged up to find the place where I could eat some delicious food that I deserved after a long journey of many hours. It was not difficult to find one. We now had to decide which one to choose. There were so many of them. I had many options, but now I had two tempting places right in front of me, Rainbow cafe on the left and Out of the Blue cafe on the right. Without thinking much we climbed our way through the narrow stairway of the rainbow cafe. First Floor. Second Floor, Third Floor. We finally reached the Rainbow cafe. With a warm welcome by the owner and a nice view of the lake with well lit ghats, though the huge open glassless window on the green wall of the cafe with many lizards crawling on them. I could easily count 7 on one side of the wall. Lizards are common in the summer months and the open windows of these restaurants give them easy access inside the cafe.  Lizards don’t bother me much, unless they are right on top my my table, and they were.

Colorful Cafes in Pushkar.

Mint Lemonada, mint mixed with lemon and crushed ice in a cafe in Pushkar.

So I chose to leave the place as soon as I could. We were really hungry so without cribbing about the lizards we I ordered our light dinner of some lemon drink and sandwiches. I had to try more stuff, so a light dinner was the best option, that too in a place full of lizards. Our orders were prepared and on our table were two glasses with a glass sized mint plant popping out at the top, it seemed like it was planted in the crushed green ice. They had used it for decoration. Innovative. It was delicious as I had expected and so were the potato cheese onion sandwichs.

We also had a big green grasshopper dancing on the next table, with its legs moving with the beats of the music. Were could you find such a place ? Certainly, a ‘Magical Town’.

A street food vendor preparing Israeli Wraps in the market of Pushkar.

Indian Breakfast at a roof top restaurant at Pushkar.

We left the cafe to try out Burgers, Israeli Wraps with tea, Fruit Cream Salad etc on various small street shops. We had to leave early next morning so there was no time to try out more stuff.

I would call Pushkar another ‘Foodie’s Paradise’ and would add it to my list of great places to eat, other names include, Mcleodganj, Kasol, Old Manali, Rishikesh and Leh.  I would certainly  return in winters were there will be no lizards and I would eat while looking into the beautiful lake and taste the variety of food Pushkar has to offer.

An old temple at Pushkar.

More Photos
• Find all pictures from this trip at Holy Town of Pushkar, Rajasthan
• All Pictures of Pushkar – Tagged Photos of Pushkar

Agar firdaus bar rue zamin ast hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast! (“If there be paradise on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here!”) – Emperor Jahangir

I remember quoting Emperor Jahangir in my tweet last month when I was in Srinagar. The quote, I first came across in an advertisement of Jammu and Kashmir Tourism. I still remember it. It had a shot of Shikaras flowing in slow motion at the famous Dal Lake and a heavy voice saying these lines as the cameras panned across, Gulmarg and some beautiful Kashmiri gardens.  I had always seen the darker side of Srinagar, in photographs or in movies, with all the crying, killing and bloodshed, but all the darkness was erased and this echoed in my mind as I admired the beautiful green chinar tree with the exquisite Dal lake in the backdrop from the window of my room at The Lalit Grand Palace, Srinagar.

The Lalit Grand Palace, Srinagar ( Picture by Himanshu Khagta)

I hardly had the time to explore the city. We had to leave early next morning for a four hour long road journey to Dras (Kargil) , but I somehow managed to squeeze the very little time we had to visit the famous Shrine of Hazratbal.

While on our way to the Shrine, our driver, Imran Khan, briefed us about the festival, followed by the excerpts from his experience at Kargil, when he was there for a month with the famous Indian Journalist, Barkha Dutt, who gained prominence for her reportage of the Kargil War. “Haven’t you heard of the famous driver Imran Khan on NDTV ?”, he asked proudly, when he saw the astonished look on our faces.

“Aaj Bhi Mere Kaanon Mein Bombardment ki awaaz gunjti hai” ( the sound of bombardment still echoes in my ear )  sighed Imran Khan, as he parked the car near the Shrine.

As we dodged our way to the Shrine, I saw a whole new variety of street food. There were shops selling huge deep fried breads, locally known as Parantha. Not the regular north Indian Parantha, but a real big version of Punjabi Bhatura. These terms might sound alien to you if you have no connection with India, but you can always Google them and even find some recipes to make them in your own kitchen.

Kashmiri Parantha, being prepared on the streets of Kashmir

A vendor sells a local snack in the middle of the road to Hazratbal Shrine.

Apart from the variety of food, there were friendly faces asking me to click their pictures, cute little children shying away from my lenses when I picked up the camera and beautiful eyes of women wearing Bhurkha. There was all other common stuff that you find in every small town festival in India. Small shops selling bangles to cosmetics to some lotion to fix joint pains or private problems. Colorful scarfs for women and designer Taqiyahs ( Muslim Caps) for men.

Local vendors sell kashmiri Halwa and Parantha during the festival near Hazratbal, Kashmir

We reached the entry gate where we were asked to move to the backyard of the shrine where everyone were assembled.

The first thing that caught my eye was a person showing something in his hand to the group of assembled people. He was the Head Priest showing Moi-e-Muqaddas (Holy Relic of Prophet Mohammed).  It is displayed for public viewing on ten occasions in a year, which includes Meraj-ul Alam. After looking around I saw a sea of women standing with their hands joined in prayer, gazing in the direction of the old man with the relic, asking for blessings with tears falling from their moist eyes as they kept staring with devotion.

Devotees converged for peace prayers at the famous Muslim shrine of Hazratbal to mark Meraj-ul-Alam festival in Srinagar, Prophet Mohammed's Moi-e-Muqaddas (Holy Relic) is displayed for public viewing on ten occasions in a year, which includes Meraj-ul Alam. (Himanshu Khagta)

A girl wipes her tears at Hazratbal Shrine, Srinagar

They remained in the same position for quite a long. They were not even bothered with me trying to click their pictures from many different angles. After the priest went away the crowd settled down with their families to enjoy the food that they had bought with them on the soft grass and we moved back to the Hotel for a movie screening and dinner.

A cute Kashmiri Family sitting in the complex of Hazratbal.