On the afternoon of Eid Al-Fitr after my lunch with Bashir's family I was invited to take a boat ride across Nageen lake with Shakeel, one of the local guides working for Bashir, to meet his family where upon I made a spectacular impression. We took a shikara (gondola) ride out across the lake (and by "ride" I mean that I paddled... good exercise he says) and over to a semi-island where his family house is located. I navigated the boat poorly, meandering side to side and constantly switching sides with my stroke in order to maintain some semblance of a trajectory, while Shakeel talked on his cell phone. We hopped out on the other side, tied up the boat, and took short walk down a small dirt path to where his family's red brick and corrugated metal roof house sat among similar on semi-stable ground.
We left our foot ware (me in flip flops because my other sandals had chewed up my big toes) on the concrete steps outside and he introduced me to his wife Zamrooda and one daughter Hadisa (13) on the porch outside [as a side note: ages given here are approximate as no one seems to know (or care) how old they are or the ages of their children]. Inside, we passed through the kitchen (a sunken tiled area with a small wood fire going), the TV room (thin blue Styrofoam sheet padding as carpet on concrete floor, no furniture necessary, TV), and into a carpeted living area where I met his mother, sister and her baby (8 mo), a young man (20) visiting the family, and an older gentleman (70) in Muslim skull cap and robe. I sat quietly on the floor and was served Kashmiri tea (green tea with cardamom and cinnamon and granular sugar added) along with cookies that looked as if they could have come from any gourmet pastry shop. The older man spoke profusely for a long time and I learned from Shakeel that he was a match-maker who had been asked by a local man to discuss a marriage proposal for his sister. I listened to the Kashmiri dialect not understanding, looking at everyone around me and smiling a lot, and enjoyed my tea.
After a while the match-maker got up to leave and said goodbye to everyone... I have no idea what the outcome of any arrangement was. Shakeel's youngest boy Adial (9) came into the room and sat next to his father and me looking shyly at me from a bowed head. His father introduced us and he shook my hand smiling. The family chatted while I sipped tea and was plied with cookies... no one else ate any cookies except the baby kept trying to reach for them and was always pulled away at the last minute. All of the women kept stealing glances at me and would smile when I caught them looking. I would look directly back at them smile a big smile. Kashmiri women are truly beautiful, with black, dark caramel skin, and with deeply dark brown or even sometimes intense blue eyes. They smile big and their eyes twinkle. Their features, as with all Kashmiri, seem more Aryan and central Asian than Indian. I'm pretty sure they were all talking about me with an occasional comment. The mother asked me in more gesture than words if I had a mother, a father, and how many brothers and sisters I had.
The little baby was constantly passed around among the family, sometimes a bit roughly and by one arm, but he was mostly happy and was never without attention. I played with him off and on for a while and he would give me big smiles and wide dark brown eyes. The baby was dressed in a little dark green suite of pants and jacket that looked almost military with a few layers underneath. A beautiful youngish early teenage girl (15) strode into the room and said "Hello" to me very directly and asked my name. She shook my hand and in response to my asking her name said "Rafia", joining the group of about 10. The son Adial went out of the room and came back with a small pack of Spiderman trading cards, sitting on my other side and inspecting the box intently. He noticed my watch and said that he liked it. I thanked him and asked him about his cards which he showed me. He had seen the movie and liked it very much. I turned back to the group, smiling and sipping tea, content to just be welcomed in their home, and I felt a hand on my arm. Adial had reached over to feel my bicep muscle and he made a comment about it being big. I laughed and gave his arm a squeeze and indicated that his felt big as well. Rafia offered me a little almond sticky bun with silver flakes on top... delicious. I thanked her for the treat and looking at me she said that I had a beautiful smile, for which I thanked her by smiling even bigger.
After a couple of hours of smiling and nodding and sipping tea and eating cookies, Shakeel took me to his uncle's shop to look at his hand made papier mache crafts (another of Kasmir's local crafts). The older gentleman made beautiful little boxes, coasters, lamps, bowls, trays, and small animals in hand painted papier mache and of which I was more than happy to buy a small box. Rafia escorted me back to the house and a few neighboring women chatted as we passed and gave me smiles. Shakeel then took me on a walk to see the village area that was actually on the main land to which their island had recently been connected via a shaky wood foot bridge just within the past year. We met a few gentlemen at a shop who, along with a gathering of children who were setting off firecrackers, asked me to take a picture of them and send it to Shakeel. We returned to the house and, after one more cup of tea (a salty Kashmiri milk tea... they call sweet milk tea "English" tea) and goodbye's, Shakeel and I headed to the boat to go back to the houseboat.
The afternoon had passed and now it was getting a dark and a little windy. We started off paddling but Shakeel felt it would be too difficult so we turned back to shore to take an auto-rickshaw from the village on the main land. As he tied up the boat I got out and, taking a step in the wrong direction, discovered that the ground was not solid and was instead a delightful pit of mud covered by a deceptive layer of green weeds into which I sank up to my waist! I hauled myself out, forever loosing a flip flop to the mud, as Shakeel helped take my filthy bag holding my camera, phone, guide book, etc. He was obviously very concerned for me, but I think also for what would happen to him as his guest had just befallen very bad luck. We walked back to his house, me laughing the whole way with embarrassement and returning, after a brief moment of concern, his family also found the whole thing hilarious... they laughed at me with much glee.
I stripped to my underwear on the porch of his house, whereupon the wind apparently crossed two wires near the footbridge and shorted out the power for his island... the mother started lighting matches next to me so I could try to see where the mud was to wash off. I managed to wash most of myself off using the faucet next to the outhouse, and changed into the red/orange/yellow stripped rugby shirt and khaki pants they provided for me. I started to wash my clothes but Rafia took them from me saying she would take care of it (everything in my bag was fine as the mud was to thick to penetrate the fabric). His mother tried to warm my hand by holding it over a flame, and another woman decided that putting my hand in a pot of still hot ashes would be the way to heat me up. With many apologies and laughing I said goodbye a second time and Shakeel and I headed for the village to catch a ride back to the boat house.
I think the whole village is still laughing about it. Ahh... humility.
We left our foot ware (me in flip flops because my other sandals had chewed up my big toes) on the concrete steps outside and he introduced me to his wife Zamrooda and one daughter Hadisa (13) on the porch outside [as a side note: ages given here are approximate as no one seems to know (or care) how old they are or the ages of their children]. Inside, we passed through the kitchen (a sunken tiled area with a small wood fire going), the TV room (thin blue Styrofoam sheet padding as carpet on concrete floor, no furniture necessary, TV), and into a carpeted living area where I met his mother, sister and her baby (8 mo), a young man (20) visiting the family, and an older gentleman (70) in Muslim skull cap and robe. I sat quietly on the floor and was served Kashmiri tea (green tea with cardamom and cinnamon and granular sugar added) along with cookies that looked as if they could have come from any gourmet pastry shop. The older man spoke profusely for a long time and I learned from Shakeel that he was a match-maker who had been asked by a local man to discuss a marriage proposal for his sister. I listened to the Kashmiri dialect not understanding, looking at everyone around me and smiling a lot, and enjoyed my tea.
After a while the match-maker got up to leave and said goodbye to everyone... I have no idea what the outcome of any arrangement was. Shakeel's youngest boy Adial (9) came into the room and sat next to his father and me looking shyly at me from a bowed head. His father introduced us and he shook my hand smiling. The family chatted while I sipped tea and was plied with cookies... no one else ate any cookies except the baby kept trying to reach for them and was always pulled away at the last minute. All of the women kept stealing glances at me and would smile when I caught them looking. I would look directly back at them smile a big smile. Kashmiri women are truly beautiful, with black, dark caramel skin, and with deeply dark brown or even sometimes intense blue eyes. They smile big and their eyes twinkle. Their features, as with all Kashmiri, seem more Aryan and central Asian than Indian. I'm pretty sure they were all talking about me with an occasional comment. The mother asked me in more gesture than words if I had a mother, a father, and how many brothers and sisters I had.
The little baby was constantly passed around among the family, sometimes a bit roughly and by one arm, but he was mostly happy and was never without attention. I played with him off and on for a while and he would give me big smiles and wide dark brown eyes. The baby was dressed in a little dark green suite of pants and jacket that looked almost military with a few layers underneath. A beautiful youngish early teenage girl (15) strode into the room and said "Hello" to me very directly and asked my name. She shook my hand and in response to my asking her name said "Rafia", joining the group of about 10. The son Adial went out of the room and came back with a small pack of Spiderman trading cards, sitting on my other side and inspecting the box intently. He noticed my watch and said that he liked it. I thanked him and asked him about his cards which he showed me. He had seen the movie and liked it very much. I turned back to the group, smiling and sipping tea, content to just be welcomed in their home, and I felt a hand on my arm. Adial had reached over to feel my bicep muscle and he made a comment about it being big. I laughed and gave his arm a squeeze and indicated that his felt big as well. Rafia offered me a little almond sticky bun with silver flakes on top... delicious. I thanked her for the treat and looking at me she said that I had a beautiful smile, for which I thanked her by smiling even bigger.
After a couple of hours of smiling and nodding and sipping tea and eating cookies, Shakeel took me to his uncle's shop to look at his hand made papier mache crafts (another of Kasmir's local crafts). The older gentleman made beautiful little boxes, coasters, lamps, bowls, trays, and small animals in hand painted papier mache and of which I was more than happy to buy a small box. Rafia escorted me back to the house and a few neighboring women chatted as we passed and gave me smiles. Shakeel then took me on a walk to see the village area that was actually on the main land to which their island had recently been connected via a shaky wood foot bridge just within the past year. We met a few gentlemen at a shop who, along with a gathering of children who were setting off firecrackers, asked me to take a picture of them and send it to Shakeel. We returned to the house and, after one more cup of tea (a salty Kashmiri milk tea... they call sweet milk tea "English" tea) and goodbye's, Shakeel and I headed to the boat to go back to the houseboat.
The afternoon had passed and now it was getting a dark and a little windy. We started off paddling but Shakeel felt it would be too difficult so we turned back to shore to take an auto-rickshaw from the village on the main land. As he tied up the boat I got out and, taking a step in the wrong direction, discovered that the ground was not solid and was instead a delightful pit of mud covered by a deceptive layer of green weeds into which I sank up to my waist! I hauled myself out, forever loosing a flip flop to the mud, as Shakeel helped take my filthy bag holding my camera, phone, guide book, etc. He was obviously very concerned for me, but I think also for what would happen to him as his guest had just befallen very bad luck. We walked back to his house, me laughing the whole way with embarrassement and returning, after a brief moment of concern, his family also found the whole thing hilarious... they laughed at me with much glee.
I stripped to my underwear on the porch of his house, whereupon the wind apparently crossed two wires near the footbridge and shorted out the power for his island... the mother started lighting matches next to me so I could try to see where the mud was to wash off. I managed to wash most of myself off using the faucet next to the outhouse, and changed into the red/orange/yellow stripped rugby shirt and khaki pants they provided for me. I started to wash my clothes but Rafia took them from me saying she would take care of it (everything in my bag was fine as the mud was to thick to penetrate the fabric). His mother tried to warm my hand by holding it over a flame, and another woman decided that putting my hand in a pot of still hot ashes would be the way to heat me up. With many apologies and laughing I said goodbye a second time and Shakeel and I headed for the village to catch a ride back to the boat house.
I think the whole village is still laughing about it. Ahh... humility.
3 comments:
I was convinced after the beginning of your story that you were about to be married off to one of the girls! Now, THAT would be making a good first impression!
Maybe he was - but the mud put them off ...
laughing out loud in my quiet little apt on a rainy tuesday afternoon.
absolutely priceless.
rafia totally wants you.
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