Srinagar postcard: Cafe Coffee Day, malls, and electronica

Kashmir’s recent history has been fraught with so much pain that visiting a state filled with fear was hardly something you look forward to as an outsider. My visit to Srinagar was unexpected and unplanned, sparked by a family emergency not personal desire.

It isn’t the Kashmir I had expected.  Yes, there’s the initial shock of seeing the army everywhere. But what is more surprising is the promise of youth, energy, and hope in the air.

As the road curves around Srinagar, and I take in the Dal Lake in all its majestic expanse, the bloody insurgency seems like a distant memory. Naseer Ahmad, my 48-year-old taxi driver, certainly hopes that’s so:  ‘‘Ye saal ab tak theik guzra hai. Inshallah log aatein rahein. Bahut ho gaya”. (The year has gone well so far. God willing, tourists will keep coming. Enough is enough.)

Ahmad has seen his share of suffering: a journalist died in his arms after a car blast in Lal Chowk in 1996; his elder brother killed in cross-fire around the same time.  This year, however holds out the promise of good business and return to normalcy for his twins.

In his wayfarers, smartly dressed, puffing away on a cigarette, there are many Kashmiris like Naseer: struggling to forget the past and live in the present, hoping for a safer, brighter future.

“I have four daughters and although my younger one did not pass this year I will ensure she completes school and then goes on to college. I want all my girls to be educated and stand on their own feet," says Ghulam Ahmad, a gardener from Pahalgam, “Times have changed for the better, and hopefully days when parents would hide their daughters in the hope that pagal kuttas (militants) or the army men would not find them are long over. Me and my family lived in constant fear, this year however is the most peaceful in a long time and I want it to stay that way.

I haven’t seen as many tourists in Kashmir as I have seen this year in all my years of working.”

There have been 11 lakh tourists this year, a 25-year record high. The bustling markets look like any other in Delhi, as Kashmiri men and women go about their business.

Phiran and burqa wearing youngsters sit next to pierced and tattooed boys in hoodies and young girls in jumpsuits. The very fashion conscious Kashmiri boys and girls can put any snooty Mumbai or Delhi bred youngster to shame. Café Coffee Day at Durgang, Sonwar in Srinagar is always busy, as is the nearby Go Chaatz.

The music too is cutting edge. Paul Van Dyk is spinning Pascha on Acid, followed by a lot of electronica, switching to Jagjit Singh gazals in between. Surreal. In Delhi, Café Coffee Day is still stuck in the stone-age with Britney Spear’s Hit Me Baby.

The reigning rock star is the edgy and subversive 21-year-old MC Kash who raps in English and is hugely popular amongst teenagers. He gained international acclaim with his first song ‘I Protest’ in 2010. The recently released video ‘ Beneath the Sky ’ puts a face to the name.

Protest in Kashmir is taking a more artistic turn.  In June this year Sringar saw its first concert when Zerobridge decided to play at Zero Bridge . Brother Mubashir and Mohsin born in the West had long dreamed of playing in Kashmir. “Just played our 1st zerobridge show in Kashmir. I’m still in shock. A dream of so many years actually happened. This time last year the entire valley was imprisoned under a 6 month crackdown amidst mass protests which resulted in the murder of over 100 Kashmiri youths. But this summer, at this concert for cultural exchange, we achieved what many said could not happen in a place affected by war + broken promises. Srinagar tonight rose above it and sang across the valley,” wrote Mohsin in his blog .

Last year, a hardline faction of Hurriyat conference led by Syed Ali Shah Geelani had issued a daily schedule specifying designated hours to do their chores and an unofficial curfew. The message: stay home or risk being shot in the crossfire. These days, however, Kashmiris wander the malls, cafes, hotels, and restaurants at the Boardwalk in oblivious impunity.

The ultimate sign of normalcy: school kids on the street wandering about without a care in the world.