Page 78 - Love Story of a Commando

sights of rolling slopes and the snow-clad peaks of the Himalayas were
breathtaking.
Once we reached the market, everybody started calling out to us to
visit their stalls. A shopkeeper who was selling cashew, walnut, kahwa, hing
and kesar, which he kept under the open sky over a plastic sheet, rushed
toward us to invite us to his stall. It felt so much like the rest of India in the
sheer similarity of its market etiquettes by local vendors.
I smiled.
He tried to sell us the famous Kashmiri kesar which smelled exotic
and was super expensive even after a huge discount, but we had no use for it
so we did not buy any. The man looked kind of upset and so to appease him,
I bought a packet of kahwa that I thought could easily be prepared using my
electric kettle back at the room.
We finally reached the tailor who lived in a brightly painted
traditional Kashmiri house with wooden doors and crooked windows. The
thatched roof was low, so much so that I could literally touch the ceiling if I
raised my hand. But that humble abode was pretty—the wall hangings had
beautiful Kashmiri aari work—as were the wooden crafted things and
papier-mâché bowls. It was amazing that someone had taken such great
effort to decorate that small space.
‘Arrey, Susan beta! As-salamu alaykum, so good to see you.’ The old
woman suddenly appeared like a genie.
‘Good evening, Aunty. So good to see you too.’ They hugged like
two long lost friends.
‘Aunty! See who have I brought along with me? It’s Reeyaa and
you’ve got to stich her salwar suits too,’ she demanded.
‘Jarur! Jarur beta ji! But why just salwar kameez? Why not a pheran?
After all you are in Kashmir. You cannot experience Kashmiriyat if you
don’t wear this beautiful traditional dress. Wait, let me show you first. I
made one for Susan beta too,’ she said.
She brought out a long loose jamawar pheran and forced me to try it
out right over my jeans. It was fun actually. The traditional head dress,
which is called ‘kasaba’ in the local language, was pinned with the help of
brooches. Some chunky silver jewellery was added too and we clicked some
lovely selfies with my phone.
Aunty had the perfect poses and pouts every single time and by the
end of it, over cups of kahwa topped with Kashmiri almond flakes and
strands of kesar, I ordered several different salwar kameezes. By the time we
were done it was almost dark. We hugged her and returned to our cottages.
We had our dinner at the mess and by the time I hit my bed, it was past
midnight. Susan was great company and after a long time I felt at peace.