“Thum Allah ka Bachha Hain”

My first visit to Kashmir years back transformed my perception of the region. Upon landing at Srinagar airport, I was struck by its fortress-like atmosphere, surrounded by uniformed soldiers. The absence of civilians was stark, and I searched in vain for the person meant to receive me amidst the intense gazes of the army personnel. A phone call to my host yielded only his voice saying, “I’m here, come out.” I soon realized that, unlike other airports, visitors are not allowed near the premises. This gave me the initial impression that Kashmiris live under constant fear. However, as I left the airport with my host, my apprehension gave way to awe. The road to Srinagar was lined with lush greenery and misty mountains, a sight more verdant than any Indian city I’d visited. Towering chinar trees stood proudly, embodying Kashmiri heritage. Contrary to my expectations, life seemed to flow normally—people went about their daily routines, unbothered. The warmth of Kashmir’s people won my heart. Their hospitality made me feel at home, rivaled only by the kindness I’d experienced among Tibetans in Dharamsala. They served Kashmiri kahwa—a fragrant blend of cinnamon, saffron, cardamom, and green tea leaves—with the affection reserved for a dear friend. Everywhere I went, I saw hope in people’s eyes. Like anyone else, Kashmiris strive to make a living, nurturing ordinary dreams. Yet, many expressed frustration with the media’s portrayal of their land. “They never write anything good about Kashmir, only the bad,” a local businessman told me. It made me wonder if we, as a society, are too fixated on negativity. One of my most cherished memories is watching Dal Lake from a houseboat at dawn. As the mild sun rays kissed the foggy mountains, a cool breeze carried fresh air, and I longed to linger in that moment with a hot cup of kahwa. The sight of boats gliding across the lake, carrying everything from vegetables to handicrafts, was enchanting. Dal Lake felt like a bustling town of its own. I left Kashmir with a yearning to return, carrying wordless emotions in my heart. During my stay, I befriended an elderly caretaker at my host’s bungalow. He and his daughter warmly served me Kashmiri butter tea, a salty tea reminiscent of Tibetan tea. We spoke about his village, located far from Srinagar, and he kindly invited me to visit it on my next trip to Kashmir. His gentle and sincere demeanor was that of typical any villager, exuding warmth and innocence.While leaving Srinagar with a heavy heart,his words echoed in my mind: “Tum Allah ka bacha hai” (You are child of God). As he placed his hands on my head and murmured those words, I couldn’t hold back my tears.