Page 11 of A Kiss in Kashmir

Vendors on shikaras called out to them to buy daisies, marigolds, zinnias, lilies, eggplants, and lotus stems.

“Hello, sir, you should buy flowers for your lovely wife,” a flower vendor called out to George. He smiled and waved her off.

Two waiters dressed in blue uniforms appeared with trays and offered them some saffron-rose tea and a Kashmiri tchot, an oven-baked bread.

“Take a bite. This is my favorite bread. It is pleasantly chewy on the inside,” the owner said.

“Ooh, I love how this tastes. It’s so different from other breads that I’ve tried,” Alina said, then turned to the owner to ask him questions about the boat and how many people it could host.

“George tells me that there was some concern over the weather in the early spring? Let me assure you that this boat is well equipped for the Kashmiri cold. We typically don’t open the houseboat until later, but if that is what you really want, we will make sure your guests are warm and cozy. Besides, if you are open to hosting the wedding in April, the weather will be glorious, and the valley will be at its best as that is the prime tulip season,” the owner explained. Then he invited them for a late lunch and ushered them into the main dining salon.

The salon’s walnut-paneled walls were engraved with many flowers, including lilies and roses. The cedar ceiling had a mesmerizing circular pattern. The chairs, the tables, and the daybeds all had ornate lattice wood frames.

“These rugs, see how colorful they are? They’re called gabbas. I always found that name to be funny-sounding,” George said. He looked up at the chandelier. “That’s called a fanoos. I just love its light in the evening. When the lake is quiet and the sun sets, this particular fanoos just sparkles. Even the lake in the evening is something else—it looks like liquid gold.”

“Ah, George, I am honored that you love my boat so much, and yes, we can’t compete with Mother Nature.” The owner grinned. “Now, today’s lunch is a special treat for your guests. We are going to serve a nadur—basically, lotus stems in yogurt—and then my favorite, haaq. That is greens with garlic and green chilles. And of course, several meat kebabs seasoned with saffron that my cook has made for you all. Here is another tidbit for you, Alina. October is saffron season in the valley so everything has an extra touch of saffron at the moment.”

The large table in the center of the room boasted intricate carvings on the legs. The staff brought in food in silver-plated chafing dishes. Heady aromas of spices, freshly baked bread, and steamed rice quickly filled the air.

“Oh my God, Ma. You have got to try this rogan josh. It’s even better than the one you make!” Alina exclaimed, tasting a large spoonful of the meat curry seasoned with cloves, bay leaves, and cinnamon.

“I am delighted you like this dish. We braise the meat in ghee and, of course, the red color is from our traditional Kashmiri red chili, and that aroma, yes, it is saffron,” the owner said. “Please take your time and enjoy. This meal is meant to be savored, much like all the views around Dal Lake. I will join you in a bit.” He left and the trio began to discuss all the different dishes.

Alina was impatient to see the rest of the boat. “You both can keep eating, I’m going to explore,” she said and left.

Sharmila turned to George. “Til yesterday she didn’t even want to be here. It makes me happy to see her learning about her father’s hometown.”

“What about you, Sharmila? Where are you from? Do I remember right—Jaipur?”

“Me, yes. I grew up in Jaipur. I think I spent most of my youth exploring the stepwells and palaces of Jaipur. I miss it. I haven’t been back since before Alina was born.” Sharmila suddenly remembered she had not yet heard from her sister and made a mental note to call her again and prayed that she would actually answer this time.

“Will you and Alina be visiting Jaipur? Has she seen your hometown?”

“No, not yet. I was hoping that after this visit she would want to do that. For this visit, I just want to show her, and I guess myself, all the beauty of Kashmir.”

“Yes, I hope I can find you more places that she will like,” George said.

“Do you have any children, George?” Sharmila asked, refilling her plate with nadur monje, crispy lotus stem fritters seasoned with fennel seeds.

“No, no. I wish I did. It would make life a bit sweeter.” His voice was tinged with deep sadness.

“Yes, childrendothat. And your wife? I would love to meet her.” Sharmila so wanted to see who was married to this marvelously handsome and smart man.

“Daneen. Here is her picture.” George held out his phone and showed Sharmila. Daneen was dressed in a flowing red lehenga, a beautiful bridal floor-length skirt with a blouse, with golden embroidery. Her hands were covered in intricate henna patterns. He was seated by her side holding her hand.

“She is beautiful. And what a lovely name: Daneen.”

Sharmila could feel the love in the photo.

Chapter 5

Four Years Earlier

George Washington University Hospital, Washington, DC

“You’re going to need surgery.” The cardiologist showed the test results to George and Daneen as they sat opposite him in his office. “I’m afraid that this time, it’s urgent. I’m going to get everything set up in the hospital this afternoon. I spoke with the cardiac surgeon before you came in. I’m not letting you out this time, Daneen. Now we have no choice. Your heart is in serious trouble.”

Daneen held onto George’s hand. “I don’t want surgery. I don’t want anyone cutting my chest open. I know I can take care of this in my own way. I will continue my meditation and my breathing practices.”

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