| I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion. |
- Henry David Thoreau |
The tourist hubs seldom seem to disappoint, and Srinagar was no exception. From the armed forces compelled to cramp up the spaces twixt the trees to sidewalks lined with crowds and the consequent touts, the lake and the roads seem to be struggling, coping up with all that rush in the continuous backdrop of trying to forge an identity in relatively 'calm' times...
The lake is a neighbourhood in itself, and 'death in a decade' looks inevitable in the algae thronging the surface in numbers unknown, and beneath the row of houseboats, a water world removed from the roads... and a few moments of reflective respites...
One is attached to the joy of feeling gloomy over the predictable state of affairs, but 'tis a feeling one'd rather keep fighting against... to see some good persist over the tides of another brick and mortar rescue strategy...
Amarnath Yatra is further crippling the carrying capacity of the overpopulated valley, and solutions seem afar in the constant loggerheads between the various government bodies... the lack of information, an exorbitant 'tourist economy', the ascent to the 'babu kingdoms'for trek permits... the constant itch to get out of the civilized civilization at the soonest, for the remote, no matter however dangerous, takes some striving, for solitude has to be discovered, and not visited...
One hopes against hope, in the mild sun and drizzle o' the twilight, the shikaras quietly floating about the fringes of another 'season' day, accruing all that one can, for even a single gunshot would stall all that has managed to scrape through... faith and the polity rolled into a mucky ball... but then, the mountains rise above it all...