Mehfil E Moseeqi - Koshur Style

Videos from the night, up on livestream: HERE. About 2+ hours in all.

The Maamu, and the Tulri

Had stunning overnight musical mehfil at our place yesterday. My Maamu has artistic friends. ZOMG FRIENDS LIKE NASEEM UL HAQ 'RAJU' BATT [singer-composer from Doda] and GULAB SAIFI SAHAB [poet from Kishtwar]. Whom he requested to please come on over to Jammu to perform in front of our enthusiastic music-poetry-loving family.



Now, these two gentlemen are really outstanding flagbearers of contemporary Kashmiri culture.

Naseem Ul Haq 'Raju' Batt

Raju has a beautiful, clean, soft voice - very suited to slow ballads [which basically means most all popular Kashmiri songs]. 

Gulab Saifi, poet, works the brooding look 

And Gulab Saifi really impresses with his non-mainstream poetry. He has a unique, #WINNING style of writing, using new words and thoughts in his shaairi. And they have the khanak of spoken Koshur/Kashmiri. 


Both young artists, still not as popular [possibly because they are Pahari, not Valley based?] as some of the other names we hear in Kashmiri music... but their time has come. In music and shaairi circles, these gents are well-known and respected in their fields. The common Kashmiri hasn't heard of them yet. WE MUST CHANGE THIS! Inquilaab!

Oh, you know. Just the family. 

And so. Minimal planning and prepping, headlined by the famous Maamu Malik. It was agreed that all the family [mashaAllah, there are a lot of us when you put together immediate aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, kids] would gather at our place post-dinner on Feb 1 where we'd set up the basics required for best enjoyment of poetry and music. That is: carpets, cushions, blankets and lots of noonchai and kehwa.

Ext. left [black jacket] - Gulab Saifi; ext. right [grey jacket] - Raju

This done, circa 11pm, with local sound guys and accompanying musicians in tow [one tablachi, one percussion board guy], Raju Sahab and Gulab Sahab turned on the brilliance. Maamu added much chutzpah to the night's entertainment. Crowd favourite ka khitaab! 


I decided to try livestreaming the whole performance and what do you know, it worked. Minor glitches here and there but overall, managed to get a live video of the whole Kashmiri music night deal up live. 

Much fun was had with people online from all over, not just Kashmir. We had America, India, Pakistan and I'm not sure where else. Would like to make a special mention of the Twitter gang that put in attendance that night: Shehla, Shahnaz, Rahul, Abhi, Nish, JuneyM, Junaid, Baavri, Mehmal, Yusra, BB,Obaid, Faysal, Sheikh. Nonsense chatting fun. Some trolls of course.


Please click here to view recordings from the Mehfil E Moseeqi at Chez Haji. Three videos lined up under the main screen. The magic started around 11pm and the last song wound up at 0445hrs. Live broadcast went more or less okay. Unfortunately less than half got recorded online. Will scrounge around from various phones and other cameras for missing segments.

Ma [center], flanked by Khaala [r] and Maami

Raju performed a lot of new songs, recently written by Gulab Saifi, and then we had a few classics like that fantastic Jaanbaaz composition: 'Zamaanai Pokh Na Humdum'. A couple of Punjabi and Urdu songs as well.

You will hear me typing, you will see Maamu enthrall the audience and you will hear embarrassing exchanges in between songs that we as a family, collectively, thought were funny then, but now - not so much. If you understand Kashmiri, forgive us our lameness.

Highlights of the night:

Maamu: KYA BAAT HAI! BOHUT ACCHE!

1. MAAMU - Everyone loves him: Raju, Gulab, the family, the online viewers. Too much masti and enjoyment. The life of the mehfil.

Raju/Maamu make a funny at Gulab Sb.

2. Excellent ribbing between the protagonists, i.e. Raju Sb, Gulab Sb and the Maamu. Much laughter and joking to and fro as evidence of their camaraderie.


3. Chai-kehwa-girday!

4. Packed house. And pretty laydiesss, as required by any concert.

Tabalchi Bhai, tak dhin dhin tak

5. Much appreciated tabalchi. Bohut aa'la. We all loved you, O Unknown Soldier.


I mean to work on song videos from the night, with translations and subtitles, and put them up on YouTube some time in the near future. Should be fun. Can do with help on the subbing. Let me know which of you want to do a song or two.


OKBAIII.

From Breswana to Bangalore - for Metallica

My blog post in Mint Lounge a couple of days after the Metallica concert.

Basically, it was fantastic, and Shro and I were doing silly shit like this before we headed out for the gig that day:

The complete, unedited, much longer version follows:

It is only fitting that months of planning, excitement, long-distance travels and pre-show jitters came to fruition with a very satisfactory attendance of the Metallica concert followed by temporary deafness in the left ear. Yes. Metallica. I was there.

The magic of attending any live gig lies mostly in the tremendous buildup to it. What goes down at the concert is only the culmination of everything up to that point – scrambling to get initial information, shrieky high-five behaviour with other fanbois and fangirls, huddling with friends to plan attendance and logistics, procuring tickets, travelling to concert city, rendezvous, make-up, costume, emotions, excitement, and… BAM! …final body frisk as one walks into the venue.

Anyway. Here is a full personal account of travels on my noble Metallicause [apologies in advance, this sort of word play will be rampant throughout the piece].

A few days ago, in my village in the mountains of Doda, Jammu and Kashmir, a full day’s travel away from the nearest city, I sheepishly told the parents I had to head down to Bangalore.

‘Why? It’s very far away.’

‘I know. Music concert.’

‘Whose?’

‘Metallica.’ [*awkward silence followed by quick exit stage right*]

Early next morning, I was packed and ready to leave for the city from the village. Downhill walk for a couple of hours, then on horseback for some time till we got to a motorable road, and finally the highway whence I traveled to Jammu at day’s end. Final packing, more shrieky behaviour and expensive last-minute ticket-booking later, I was ready to begin the final leg of the journey. Overnight on a near-empty train to Delhi – it was Diwali - with phosphoric celebrations in the night sky outside through the lands of Jammu, Punjab and finally, the capital. And the last easy bit - plane hop to Bangalore and its naturally-chilled climes. Two full days of travel concluded, I was here.

Preparations for this had begun back in April 2011, when the first vague rumblings of a possible Metallica gig in India were doing the rounds. As soon as a confirmation came in that Metallica [oh, my God, METALLICA!] was playing in India, one knew one would attend somehow, come what may. By the time tickets were up online in July 2011, with dual options of Gurgaon or Bangalore, I had decided on attending the latter gig [fortuitous?].

Forget about everything else; Bangalore has rock concert vintage. We have had the best of the best here over the years [and we have also had the other sort]. When jokes are made about ‘Bangalore’s knowledgeable crowd,’ it’s not all jokes, let me tell you. More than anything else, Bangalore is known for its rock. From school and college level up, you get a good schooling in indigenous and international rock music. The underground rock scene is booming. Teenagers and their coolth infest garages and makeshift studios across the city. High quality Bangalore bands like Thermal and a Quarter, Galeej Gurus, Kryptos, Synaps have made it big across the country. Let us look proudly on Bangalore’s modern concert history, in no particular order: Mr Big, the Scorpions, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Sting, Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Mark Knopfler, Roger Waters, Megadeath, Lamb of God, and IRON MAIDEN for the love of God [phraseology to be noted] – they have all played here. It thusly followed that Metallica would too, and that I would witness the event in my home away from home in ‘Luru. And so, on a hot July afternoon in Jammu, this writer purchased concert tickets for October 30, 2011 at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore.

Cometh the hour, cometh the band. With great trepidation one watched news of the Gurgaon fiasco and Metallica’s cancellation there. Bangalore was on the edge of its seat. We waited. And waited. The gig was still on! Celebrations! By the morning of the 30^th, the interwebs resounded with many variations of: ‘In Bangalore, Metallican.’ Ha. Ha ha. Precious.

One knows that good people from all over India [and maybe abroad?] had descended on Bangalore to see the band perform. The most obvious travelling fans were identifiable across the city by their unique appearance – in their grungy tees, dirty jeans, long, greasy hair and a certain look - thronging M G Road, loafing in malls, being sullen in pubs. Complete strangers would glance at one another, exchange a slight nod, or alternatively, show the finger affectionately in a spirit of oneness with Metallica. It was almost spiritual.

The morning of the 30^th. Comfortable shoes had been purchased just for the event. Attire selected carefully. Rain predictions in [it would rain], we were prepared. Metallica merchandise and jeans for them as had it, and mostly black for the rest. By noon, we were ready to leave. We had decided we’d watch India’s first F1 race after lunching somewhere and then head to the venue. We zeroed in on The Biere Club, renowned for its, well, beeru, and as for my teetotalling sort, I recommend their fresh lime soda [sweet and salt] also. Heady mixture. The flat screen TVs served our F1-viewing motives and it was a most pleasant interlude. The Biere Club was packed to the rafters with other Metallicans, and smug, knowing looks were being thrown around like it was someone’s coming-out party. It was all quite silly, and quite beautiful.

By midday on the 30th, well before the gates opened at three, an ocean of black T-shirts, jeans and otherwise comfortable attire was slowly making its way across to the Palace Grounds. ‘No drinks at the venue’ was the weird rule for this heavy metal gig, so enterprising concert-goers planned an early start to the day and tanked up at various watering holes across the city before staggering in to Palace Grounds. All the contraband that need be smuggled in *wink*nudge* was arranged for also, with bags and pouches concealed artfully in hair, inner garments and footwear.

At five in the evening we pushed out towards the Palace Grounds. Nodding and grinning at all fellow concert goers in other vehicles headed the same way. In a pre-planned maneuver, we parked the car at a friend’s house, quite a ways from the entry at Gayatri Vihar. Hopped an auto and oh-my-God, crazy traffic as we neared the grounds. What a sight. Thousands of black tee shirts inching their way along roads and in vehicles, and streaming in through the gates. We were borderline manic happy. A crush at the beginning where tickets were being checked, and then the final walk towards the stage grounds.

The high-level security at the entrance has to be mentioned specially, and appreciated, and giggled over. We had the faintest of pat downs, and the lady checking one would ask apologetically, ‘Cigarette toh nahin hai?’ [You’re not carrying in cigarettes, right?’] ‘Maachis?’ [‘Matches?’] All one had to do was shake head in the negative, and they would take our word for it and we’d be politely passed on without so much as a ‘But-wait-let-me-check-properly-anyway’. I suppose the men had it easy as well. Let me tell you, a LOT of stuff got in. *grin*

There we were. After decades of fandom and adoration, we were going to watch Metallica [oh, my God, Metallica!] live, in front of our eyes. Right there. Ah, but we could have peed our collective pants. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was ready, all tens of thousands of us.

And so into the crush of bodies, in the rain, trying to home in on the most suitable location to settle down into for the rest of the concert. A few moves and attempts later we found our sweet spot. By this time the opening acts had kicked in. We walked in on Biffy Clyro, a Scottish rock band, warming the crowd up. Apparently two other acts, Guillotine and Inner Sanctum had gone up before, but we missed that lot. It was past 6 now, lightly raining and everything was most enjoyable, even the minor scuffles and shoving that is natural in huge crowds of very drunk, quite stoned people. Biffy Clyro were tight, impressive and did not get booed off stage. That is saying a lot when you’re opening for Metallica.

Then. A lull. Tense moments in between as organizers asked the crowd near the stage to move back a little. ‘We need you to move back so the security can move in.’ ‘Come on, guys, cooperate.’ ‘Safety first.’ What, after the opening acts they realized this needed to be done? I can tell you we were pretty nervous about things turning fugly again. Obviously it took a while, but the knowledgeable Bangalore crowd worked it out in time, much to the chagrin of many people who were hoping for a second cancellation. Ha to you! Ha!

For almost an hour there was nothing except music playing on the speakers. And amusing incidents with cops chasing down people from the scaffolding and sound towers. We waited.

The Black Album or 'Metallica'

And just past eight, the lights went out, the crowd roared, drums and a familiar riff screamed through the air… AND METALLICA TOOK THE STAGE! Starting their set with Creeping Death and right through the two plus hours they played, IT-WAS-ON. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammet and Trujillo [My heroes! My heroes!] blazed through a mix of their best songs from all albums – Fuel, Ride the Lightning, Sanitarium, Sad But True, One, Master of Puppets, The Memory Remains, Cyanide, Nothing Else Matters and the performance of the evening – Enter Sandman – pyrotechnics and all. The encore closed with Battery and Seek and Destroy. The older music definitely took it, especially songs from The Black Album, because people of a certain vintage [like me] know that music better. So the kids enjoyed the newer numbers more, but the classics were for everyone. The opening riff of Enter Sandman caused a near-frenzy, and the crowd sang as one. Roaring, head banging, smoking, drinking – it was a true-blue concert. Great sound on the speakers [though we lost audio on one set for a couple of numbers in the beginning – fixed soon] and enough big screen projectors for those who couldn’t see the stage that well. From just past eight till about ten thirty, Metallica gave us heavy. For me, Hetfield’s clear vocals, Ulrich’s crazy drumming and Hammett’s guitars-from-the-gut always win it. The gig of the year wound up with the band thanking us, us thanking them, them throwing souvenirs into the crowd, emotions running high and overall awesomeness.

As the band disappeared, we hung around on the grounds taking it all in. Thousands of happy fans – Bangaloreans and guests of Bangalore - with our once-in-a-lifetime experience. Metallica’s first ever gig in India. With the promise of more as they left. All of us were mud-stained, tired and happy. Feet killing us. Many smiles. The throng moved out slowly. There was the long trudge out to the gates, and then the horror of exiting the car park. By the time we worked our way out it was well past midnight.

As always after a late night, Bangalore headed to the very few restaurant chains it knew would still be open – the most popular being Empire. We headed to the Infantry Road joint and one hears that all the Empires were hit alike. So also those comfortable eats in the heart of Shivajinagar that know how to care for the nocturnals. It was like a spillover from the concert. Hundreds of hungry rock fans laid siege to the restaurant, some eating outside on the street, some seated, some waiting. Everyone was served, the entire black sea of concert goers - it was slightly surreal.

That was a special day. A good day. Completely worth the long pilgrimage here from my mountains. As the deafness in my left ear wanes, let me end the narrative with a suitable smarmy something I read online: ‘If you like Metallica, raise your hand. If you don’t, raise your standards.’ Such Metallicads we be. And well done, Bangalore, you do us proud again and again.

Ugh.

Edit: Someone implied to me that maybe Pawan Durani is not the writer of 'that' post. I don't know. How ridiculous all this cloak-and-dagger business is. In any case I am replacing his name, just in case.


 If there's anything I find trying, it's a complete misreading of something I've written by people I don't really care to invest time in. But the misinformation is so annoying, it must be set right.

Last September I wrote an opinion piece in the Hindustan Times 'Are We Ready To Let Kashmir Be?' which was followed by the usual noise and backlash from trolls or other readers who saw much in the piece that I did not even imply. As happens always, the noise faded after a while, and I even had a few civilised though very opposing responses such as this one by Primary Red. One does not have a problem with a different point of view. One even welcomes it provided it is done with a certain amount of reason, sense, civility, absence of silly assumptions, and an impersonal-ness. [I made that last word up.]

Anyway. I was linked to a Tweet about my article [but no mention or tag given to me, hmm.]  This post happened yesterday, and it's coming on to almost a year since I wrote the column in 2010, so I was a little surprised at the timing. Soon after, surprise turned to irritation turned to amusement.

Just to quickly get back to certain observations made by AnonWriter Ji, the writer of the piece ['Ji' implies a lot of respect as I gathered from his blogpost where he has addressed me as Sabah Ji every single time ~ yay! thank you!]. 

I'm going to keep it short and simple. Here we go. AnonWriter Ji's quotes in blue:

1. 'Sabah Haji starts with why does it justify to be called a Kashmiri for those living in the state of Jammu & Kashmir. How can a person from say Ladakh , who may not even be able to say “hello” in Kashmiri call himself a Kashmiri ?  How can a Dogra from Udhampur , Jammu , Kathu , Samba call himself a Kashmiri when he hardly knows the language or doesn’t even live in . How can a a Gujjar Muslim from Poonch or a Shia from Kargil call himself a Kashmiri , when they speak a different language  ?

Errr. Yes, thank you. I never said a Ladakhi or a Dogra should call himself/herself Kashmiri. I was speaking for people like me who live in the Jammu belt but speak the same language. Instead of repeatedly implying that this is a Kashmir Valley-specific movement, please know that there are substantial portions of the Jammu pahari belt that identify with the sentiment. Within Kashmir, I can call myself Pahari. Outside, I take the generic Kashmiri to apply to me. To quote myself [since it was an opinion piece coming from me about what I feel]: 'We speak Kashmiri. So that's our identity.'

2. I would be delighted to know how does a 5 or a 6 year old child know what different nations are ?  What “Azaadi” means ? Why  India should be hated ?  Does this not get picked up while watching how the elders behave or act .  This is purely a behavior a child from any community in Kashmir or elsewhere is likely to pick up from the parents or elders he/she witnesses each day .

I would love to delight you, but am at a loss as to how. I tried to do this in simple English in the original post but it seems to have escaped your notice.

If you pick up my line immediately after the one you've quoted: 'Somewhere between infancy and childhood, I had picked up unwittingly on what most of my family and people felt.'

Now, when I say my parents or any of my cousins'/friends' parents or any adult that I know of, did not feed us kids revolutionary mantras or hold daily sessions to tutor us in the art of 'knowing something is wrong', it is quite possible that that is exactly what I meant, and can you believe it, that I was actually stating the truth! You can, of course, imagine that we are some sort of sick 'others' where parents don't even know how to bring up their children without introducing politics and prejudices in their heads, but that's your call. And has nothing to do with what I've written. What you're saying quite simply then is that I'm lying. Errr. Oh-kay... *shrug* Whatevs.

3. Sabah Ji has very intelligently tried to balance and clear the issue of exodus and atrocities upon Kashmiri Pandits. Now isn’t that interesting , nowhere a courage to call spade a spade ! Instead she goes to extent of even blaming , yes you have read it right , she has ‘blamed’ some Kashmiri pandits of ‘communalising’ the ‘movement’ as well.

Ah. My favourite bit. Where you play the famous Muslim versus Pandit card, implying that because I am a Muslim I don't think what happened with the Pandits at the time of their departure was wrong.

And slightly hyperbolic outrage that I was blaming some, yes you read it right! blaming some Kashmiri Pandits for events around  the time.

I am not into the blame-game you and other easily side-lined Kashmiris are so fond of on the Twitters. That Pandits were made to leave is indisputable fact, as is the reason why. That there were Kashmiris - Muslims and Pandits - who worsened the situation, is also indisputable. I am not blaming the entire community for having to leave. I am not stupid, but thank you for attempting to imply that. It amuses me even today.

4. Can Sabah Ji pls let us know if Subhas Chander had killed innocents and raped women ? Did Bhagat Singh go out and plunder places of worship of others?

Hmm. Let me see... NO! These two heroes of the Indian Independence Movement never did rape women or plunder places of worship that I know of. You really should read your history textbooks closely. It's all mentioned in there. 

Now, Bhagat Singh Saheb was in fact hanged for shooting a police officer - I am unable to comment on whether that qualifies as killing an innocent or not. [Also, according to Rang De Basanti, random people were shot by the revolutionaries. Okay, okay, I won't take facts from a movie. But awesome film it was! Have you watched?] 

Anyway. What these two gentlemen did advocate, which is what I was referencing, d....uh!, was violent resistance. The same ideology that was the armed resistance in J&K in the '90s. I don't support it, but I find it laughable that people throw this in our face all the time as if India's Movement was something wholly sacrosanct and its leaders never had to resort to violent means to get their point across.

Another beauty by you of course is the implication that ALL the militants of the time were into killing innocents, raping women, and plundering places of worship. Nicely done! But, mehhh, lame. Not so. Certainly outrages were committed, there were horrible crimes done, and again, this is indisputable fact. I'm not going to ask you to look at the outrages done on the other side because apparently they don't matter.  

Am also not into comparing wrongs or pitting numbers against each other. We know how that works.

What's next, what's next?

5. As for someone asking “Aap Hindustan se hai ” to people in Kashmir , all I can say is that the argument is a bit to stretched by Sabah Ji . Unlike her, I am from the valley while she is from Doda district .

Tsk tsk. AnonWriter Ji, there you go calling me a liar again. And also all my friends and their families who have told me that their tour guides have asked them this question. Erm... What does my being from Doda district have to do with the simple fact I stated that tourists from India ARE considered as coming from Hindustan, and therefore not Kashmiris? I'm not saying it happens to each and every tourist. I'm saying it happens, and has happened often enough. My point was one of Kashmiri identity. I'm sure the very intelligent and quick-witted tour guides even KNEW the tourists were from Hindustan and therefore asked them. You see? 

Oh, forget it.

This was fun. *insert smiley*

Cousin Riaz debuts in Tehelka Mag

What joy! What kicks! 
On the last evening of my last trip to the village, Breswana as you all should know by now, I scribbled some information after quickly interviewing young Riaz on the Government's new BPL classification policy.  Riaz is one of five brothers, all of whom are the hardest-working, most decent lot of kids I know from the current generation. Like all the rest of my village, he is a sort of cousin to me.

Spot the Riaz: Correct! Sweet fellow on extreme right.

To my utter delightful delight. Riaz's piece was picked up for a Tehelka report compiled by lovely Nisha Susan, who BTW is a brilliance. I do love her. 
Anyway, moving on. I proudly present 'The New Fortune List' in Tehelka mag, featuring the first lad from our area in any publication. 
*rabble rousing cheers*
Instructions to find Riaz:
1. Look at the page.
2. Appreciate the two columns of faces, and their info.
4. Click on 4th thumbnail in right column. Yes, the one that clearly says 'Riaz Ahmed Batt. 22'
5. Enjoy reading about his take on things.


Goodbye.

I've Come To Look For America

So I finally made it across various seas, a couple of oceans and substantial portions of land to reach the United States of America [Wiki it] on the 30th of December, 2010. I know. That's like so last year, right?

The adventures began when I left Jammu a week earlier. Idea was to train in, spend a few days in the Dilli, meet old and new friends and then take off for foren. As always, that whole 'the best laid plans of mice and men...' deal happened. Meaning the foren came later rather than sooner. Not that I minded. I love D-D-D-D-Dilli, Dilli. Song follows. Sing along, please.
 

Now, things started off as planned. Reached Dilli okay, met new Twitter fraands [to wit: St_Hill, Mah_Ima, Fakeha, as1fk, s_purba, Marryam, mriganayanika] and regular old fraands. Metro'ed as much as I could from Ghaziabad abode to all ends of the city. I do like the Dilli Metro, in spite of occasional 'yatra seva mein vilambhs'. Clean convenient and most wonderfully, 'ladies only' coach at the front of every ride.

Finally visited posh Hauz Khas market on Christmas day for lunch with the Avegiii which we had planned at that place called 'Gunpowder'.

Avegiii took me through some winding, shady alleys of Hauz Khas, and since I trust her so much, I didn't panic. Turns out my trust and friendship were not misplaced. We reached lakeside and there was the Gunpowder signage. Up three flights like giggly gals we went, only to realise at the very end, that the place was closed for Christmas. Sigh. There had been a sign at the ground floor, which we totally ignored in our chatty-laughy climb upwards.  

Anyway. Nice facepalm walk downstairs it was. Where we saw the Junglist Movement, saluted etc.

[BTW, verrr interesting kitschy film poster stores which I will visit on return journey.]

Lunched at 'Naivedyam' eventually, for okay-to-above-average South Indian khaana. Had nice filter kaapi after ever so long. Also met the fantastic foodie Marryam Reshii and her adorable Kashmiri husband. 

Dilli days were made up of sight-seeing. Street-walking in Puraani Dilli, which I love returning to. Visited Balli Maaran and the utterly uncared for Ghalib Memorial in Gali Qasim Jaan. Very heartbreaking to see the nonsense state of Ghalib's last abode. 'Ghalib-e-khaasta ke baghair kaunse kaam band hain? Ro'iye zaar-zaar kya, kijiye haaye haaye kyun?' :(

Prayed at Jama Masjid, and unlike last visit where I was completely pissed off with the peeps inside making noise and having a picnic of sorts, this time around it was quieter, and more masjid-like. [Also, w00t! w00t! Running hot water at the wodhu  nooks, which was very lovely in the Dilli winter.]

Did book shopping [Urdu poetry, Islamic books] at one sweet uncle's carpeted bookshop. 'Please remove shoes and all' deal it was. Spent a pleasant hour there, shoeless.

Now, right opposite Jama Masji'd maingate, was this deadly sweet-laden cart. Delish matka firni, doodhi halwa, gajar halwa etc. for ridiculously awesome price of INR 12/- or something. Please to try. 

So far, so good.

Then it started snow-blizzard-ing in Dilli [or at least fogging up verrr bad] and all flights went for a toss. Which is when the exciting phase of my travels began - the Dilli Layover in Swank Hotels, or as I like to call it - DilLiSH. 

The first night my flight was cancelled, I was pretty kicked. Air France [nice enough airlines, tres sucky ground staff at IGI Airport] put us stranded passengers up at the Ramada in Gurgaon. I got a swank double room with a view all to myself, see-through bathroom, TV, Wi-fi, the works. Plus I became pals with one cute Bong-boy-kid traveller and it was a pleasant stay for two days. 

Managed to go sight-see at Humayun's Tomb with two lovely ladies, so that's one more item crossed off my To-Do-In-Dilli list . 

Am pretty sure you've all seen Humayun's Tomb [if not, Google Image it], so I'll show you something you might not have seen in relation to it.

This would be Imran Khan and Kat Kaif doing a song shoot at said location on the very day Fakehaa, Mah_Ima & I were there. Coincidence? I think not. [Stalkers...]

The next flight delay/cancellation was sordid, tiring, unbelievable. Horrendous night at hawaai adda. Was ready to crash and burn by 0400 hours. After very Kafka-esque experiences, finally found self with room at The Park, CP. Well, well, well! I know, right?

Extra colourful rooms at The Park

Anyway. I liked Ramada Inn better because of cosy feel, and, this is most important, it had a bidet in the toilet. I HATE HATE HATE this concept of waterless bathrooms. It may be right up the foreigners' alley, but I need a tap and lots of water in my loo because I was born and brought up the desi way. Steeuuupid swanksters. I had mineral water bottle to keep me company but marble bathroom with telly in it did not impress.

Marble-sharble, Tv-sheevee theek hai, get bidet.

Bedroom and bed were fine, no complaints. I slept off immediately. 

And may I just say what a fantastic spread for lunch. Am regretting having slept through breakfast. The hotel staff is most definitely not. I mean, I went all out. Cleaned out the buffet. *flashback*

Allors. Flight to Paris was nice, what with sudden barrage of French by everyone on board, and very Francais accented Anglais, just like the movies. I was having giggle fit listening to it. To make matters worse, was seated next to lovey-dovey French couple, and well, you know... *blush*

Reached Charles de Gaulle hawaai adda, negotiated through various terminals and metros and security checks in a daze, thinking, "ZOMG! I am actually in Paris. ZOMG!" Also having visuals from various postcards and Paris, Je T'aime.

I must confess that I deliberately went over and spoke to many peeps in the airport just to practise my basic French. Cheap thrills. 

After reaching departure lounge, I learnt that my flight was 'retarded'. [See pic.]

Also, some issue with mon billet, so had verrrry awesome time listening to to hot French men discuss my situation and how to get me on the flight. As I was twirling my tresses [underneath scarf] and smiling suggestively, they sorted out the mess and that was the end of that dream sequence. Sigh... Very Joseph Fiennes one of them was, and with a French beard to boot.

And then a few hours later I reached, can you believe it, the US of A. Sweet immigration guy; had a lovely chat with him although was very miffed he did not know about Kashmir. I mean, WTH??!! Still, he was polite and smiley, I was polite and smiley, we made small talk, I got a quick stamp on passport and here I am, in the wintry Mid-West.

So far Umreeka has been pleasant and quiet, and polite and internet is really fast. Also, I am in love. Crazy love. Check out how crazy:

Zizou, the nephew

It has snowed beautifully in the past few days. I love it [because I don't have to go out and shovel the driveway].

Here, this is me and boyfriend.

Final notes on initial thoughts on Umreeka:

1. Clean, quiet, polite, peeps follow rules - Yayyyy!

2. Huge servings of everything. Unbelievably huge produce. Like gigantic fruits and vegetables. It's scary.

3. Too much availability/use/waste of energy and resources. Too much. Disturbingly much. In that I am constantly disturbed by comparing to the way things are back home. Non-CFL lights, power sockets without ON/OFF switch so gadgets are in stand-by mode forever, dishwashers, big fuel-guzzling cars, central heating, instant hot water... Sure it's comfortable but... it's l'excessive, non? Anyway. I feel bad about it.

4. Great community care by Govt - libraries, Recreation Centres, facilities for each town/community. How nice for families and kids especially. There should be no crime at this rate what with all the perks you get with being an American. Hmmph. 

Of Weddings in a Village

Made a slap-dash trip to Breswana recently to attend a family double-wedding. Photo-story follows [click on pics to magnify]:

Started with road trip from Jammu towards Kishtwar on NH-1B; disembarked 8 hours later at small roadside town of Prem Nagar. Where one crosses a footbridge to get to the mountains on the other side. At this time of the year, the Chenab has shrunk considerably because the source waters in the mountains are now freezing etc. Do the geography yourself.

Here is the bridge we cross and the other half of Prem Nagar built into the facing mountains. It's about a hundred metres max, if that, though when I was little I distinctly remember it being about 5 kms longer.

Once at Prem Nagar, the horses await, and we start our upward ride: 3 to 4 hours at a comfortable amble. Pits stops and refreshments are to be had as you like it.

 Ahem. By the way, this is my new gorgeous black mare. So far I call her Black Mare, which is #FAIL.

Finally reached my home in the hills after sunset, and it was c-c-c-cold, but aha! What's this I spy in my room? Verily it is a blazing fire. Zzzzzzz.

After a great overnight rest, which was preceded by fresh warm buffalo milk and a good hot water foot bath, I awoke the next morning to play with the pups and a few village shrimps. Boy on left is our in-house Gujjar kid, Hashim Din. Boy on right is young Irfan, who has some sort of mental disability and is still stuck at an infant's level of mental development. He's great with animals. :)

Close up of baby cocky spangrel [Cocker Spaniel+mongrel mix], Motu, at his favourite spot, under the dahlias in the sunny front yard.

Anyway... Wedding time, and we head to the next village where Shahida and her brother Nisar were both getting married on the same day. Shahida to leave for her new home, and Nisar to bring his new wife in.So this is the path we take.On foot and horseback, as the road allows.

Now, a village wedding in my ilaaka is of monstrous proportions for the very simple reason that everyone in a village is related to everyone else in the village... and very often the adjoining few villages as well. So a general invite to the whole world and its family is sent out, and since weddings are fun times and provide a rare reprieve from their daily lives to our hardy village peeps, everyone takes advantage of these occasions to come out in numbers. Huge numbers.
What makes a village wedding doable, for even the poorest of people, is the fact that everyone pitches in. Every single family offers something to the wedding preparations. People will either bring milk, curd, ghee, livestock, rice, wheat or whatever they have to help the host families do their thing. This is apart from the cash gifts they give to the bride and groom.


This particular wedding I was at was expected to host 700 peeps at each meal. And so cooking preparations were awesome to witness. The Culinary Department at such dos is the biggest deal. An outdoor cooking camp is set up, with logs, gigantic vessels and impressive manpower at work the whole day. They are in charge of providing chais, rotis, main meals and other special requests for special guests from time to time.

At meal times, the guests are called in batches to the eating tent. Catering units form a human chain and after the hand-washing routine [in Kashmir, hosts go from guest to guest, after they are seated for a meal, carrying the 'tash-nerr' (which means receptacle and kettle respectively) for them to wash their hands in], the preserved plates are brought in piping hot from the cooking area.

 

The pre-served plate will normally have a bed of rice, some chutney and a few pieces of meat from the various dishes on the menu. Then one by one, a line of servers start making rounds carrying huge buckets serving various curries or topping up plates and refilling rice as the case may be. Water bearers do their thing simultaneously. It is most wonderful to watch a well-oiled meal service in action.  [Please note, this is not a Waazwan. This is a most simple wedding meal practised in the poor mountain areas of our district. Waazwan happens in proper Kashmir, i.e. the Valley.]

Here is the young team of Caterers at Shahida and Nisar's wedding.

Inside the wedding house, the aim of the game apparently is to cramp as many human bodies as possible within the smallest confines, then sit and talk loudly or sing folk songs as the mood sets on you. :) The ladies and kids come decked up in their finest, they sit, chat, meet long-lost relatives, gossip and in general make for a very noisy and entertaining scene. For people who don't like crowds [guilty] it is a bit much, and I found myself standing outdoors, in the shamianas or secluded in a separate room with no intruders. Still, most interesting to watch.

 The men and women sit separately, with most of the men involved in the actual running around and wedding work. The ladies just have it easy.
And so, Day 1 of the Wedding, which was Mehndi Raat. Shahida's girlfriend from college in Doda came up to the village to do her mehndi and makeup.

Cute decorations for the next day, when the two brides would be seated side-by-side: One, the new incoming bride and the other, the bride to leave for her new home. [Check out the heart garland. #WIN!]

 New bride arrived in a paalki. Her village was about two and a half hours away, on mountain roads- which means uphills and downhills! Most impressive of the paalki-wallahs.

 And soon after, Shahida's groom arrived. [On one of our horses. :]

 Here are the two lovely ladies. Shahida, screen left, and new bride, screen right.

Cash garlands are a very big deal here, as in UP and Mayawati. Except these are believable sums, and ten rupee notes.
Another funny tradition: After the baraatis/groom come to the bride's house, a select group of close lady relatives from the girl's side, gets to come to his room and stare at him for a while. After many awkward moments, and a heavy silence, suddenly every one of them thrusts cash gifts at his loyal companion, who accepts these token as part of his duties. Scene ends.
Here is Zaana Auntie, Shahida's Ma, seated near the groom [but not talking to him: shy].

 Here is the dashing groom Nisar, happy to have brought home a blushing bride.

 And that was that. A most eventful wedding happened. Masses met and good wishes passed along for the next generation. There were no fights which is surprising for such big gatherings. Much chai was had, many songs were sung. One pretty girl left and another took her place. Lots of animals gave their lives for a good cause. Burp.

Back at the Haji homestead, on the morning of my departure, was hanging with our horses in the fields.

Groomed Black Mare for a bit and she was like, "WTF?" Zanskari horses are not namby-pamby and she was really irritated as I brushed her coat. Tee hee.

Quick stop at the school before rushing out. It was the first day of HPS's annual examination for the year 2010. Kids praying hard at assembly just before the event. :)

Examination hall was created outside in the winter sun because it was chilly inside the classrooms and most magical outdoors.

 Hehehe. Check out little Rubina applying herself as she works out an answer.

 Back home to say bye to the two pup faces: Motu and ThinSo. [ThinSo is stray boy we picked up from the streets in Jammu. He's a nutcase.]

 Farewell shot of the school as I left for Jammu.

Downhill is about 3+ hours of walking. We don't take horses going down because of the steep descent, big boulders and generally unnecessary leg-breakage-risk. In this pic, you can see my poor Abba limping along heroically with his cane for support. He had hurt his feet something terrible earlier and they were not healed yet. Toenails falling off, bleeding etc. But he did the trip and did it well. Hero!

 Here we are resting about halfway down. You can see the bridge at Prem Nagar at the bottom.

 Quick stop at our Doda digs and the office of the Amina Trust.

 

And another quick stop at Kishtwar, my mother's hometown, for a family visit. Here was the highlight of the Kishtwar trip, my bouncy baby cousin Sa'ad, a blonde bonmbshell and most clever kid who I have marked out for greater things in the future.

 

This concludes the present broadcast. Please leave comments and questions below. Also, point out typos to me. There is no way I'm rereading the entire post. :)