58 | FORBES ASIA MAY 2017
of interference on the line.
I spent nearly all my time in town, because of the snow. My
sense of being restricted—trapped, even—was enhanced by the
claustrophobic feel of Srinagar, whose surrounding mountains
seemed to mock the misery below with their ice-capped beauty.
Due to alarming levels of unemployment, capable translators
were in ample supply, and I had the privilege of hiring a 20-some-
thing scholar grossly overqualified for the task. Wajahat was a
charming political scientist with excellent English and expertise on
ethnic nationalism, who should have been teaching at a university
rather than interpreting interviews for journalists.
Srinagar was once the summering spot of the British Raj, who
retreated there to escape the lowland heat. Their refuge was situated
at a green edge of town where the mountains provide a spectacular
background to terraced Mughal gardens and the mirror-like Dal
Lake. Rock stars in the 1960s favored staying there on houseboats
with intricately carved porches. George Harrison studied sitar on a
floating hotel, and Lou Reed, rarely one to wax lyrical, said that his
stay on the water “regenerated manhood and introspection.” Bol-
lywood likes to film romantic scenes by the lake, but the violence
has scared off the hippie tourists who once flocked to the zone.
Shuttered houseboats bob forlornly on the water, which has grownapples, cherries, and almonds, to name just a few. Such luxuries
have lured merchants since the days when Kashmir was a popular
stopover on the ancient Silk Road. Kashmir’s admirers included the
13th-century traveler Marco Polo. He was particularly struck by the
stunning women and sorcerers who could, he was told, change the
weather. Polo was in awe of the inhabitants’ spirit, too. “The people
have no fear of anybody, and keep their independence, with a king
of their own to rule and do justice,” he wrote.
Kashmiris may be as strong-willed as ever, but Shangri-La the
Valley is not. My flight landed with a jolt, onto a tarmac that was
white with ice and dark with uniforms. The profusion of security
forces reminded me of Chechnya. This being a police state, I knew
my every movement had to be calibrated. In the name of optimal
transparency, the driver, who had long experience working with
foreign reporters, pasted a large “PRESS” sign on the windshield of
the rented jeep. As soon as I checked into the hotel, a chilly nonde-
script establishment in Srinagar, security policemen arrived for a
few questions. The hotel was geared toward businessmen, but since
Kashmir’s economy had collapsed due to the violence, I appeared
to be one of the few guests, which gave the hotel staff plenty of free
time to follow me into the business center whenever I sent e-mails. I
assumed the room telephone was tapped, owing to the fuzzy sound
FORBES ASIA
BOOK EXCERPT
A Kashmiri patient at the Psychiatric Diseases hospital in Srinigar (photographed in 2015).
REBECCA CONWAY/AFP/GETTY IMAGES