Kashmir

The young lady dressed in a lovely green sari with intricate embroidery laid her produce on the table where I stood checking out customers. She was beautiful too. Her toddler’s big brown eyes watched me and he smiled at me. Children are a conversation opener, and he gave me the nerve to ask the young woman where she’s from.

“Kashmir.”

“Did you say Kashmir? I want to go there.”

She replied, “You want to go there? You know about Kashmir? You are the first person I’ve met who knows about Kashmir.”

I shrugged. How do I know about Kashmir? I’ve probably read about it. “I’ve heard it’s the prettiest place on earth. I want to go to a houseboat in Kashmir.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she told me, “How shall I say it?” she twisted her hands, trying to explain. “It’s something more than beauty. It’s a feeling…” Words failed her. About then her husband came up. Short with a full black beard, he didn’t necessarily look like he belonged to this stunning lady. He picked up his little boy, and I could tell he was kind. The lady told her husband how I was the first person she’d met who knows Kashmir. He explained a little of the history to me. (In 1947,  the former princely state of the British Indian Empire became a disputed territory, now administered by three countries: China, India, and Pakistan.)

I’d read about the unrest, but they assured me that it’s safe to visit. I told them that  my husband probably would not be interested in going there. The man said that I could tag along with them IF they go back.

Do you want to join me to see Kashmir? Maybe you’ve been there and can tell me about it.

If there is paradise on this earth, it is here, it is here, it is here” (Amir Khusrau).

Berniece