Page 7 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“Sharmila? Sharmila? Hey.”

Alina told him, “Oh, don’t worry, George. Ma does that sometimes. She goes off into her imagination and I’m left here on Earth, wondering which planet she’s visiting. By the look on her face this time, at least she isn’t visiting her favorite planet: the land of stress and anxiety.”

“Hah, very funny, Alina. What were you saying, George?”

“For what it’s worth, I’m very familiar with that planet. Why don’t you take a few photos and then we can continue on to Dal Lake?” George said. “Also, Alina, if you want an outdoor wedding here, may I make another suggestion? We won’t be able to see it now, but I think it would be worth you looking it up on your phone.”

Alina pulled out her phone and nodded.

“Check the Indira Gandhi Memorial Tulip Garden,” he said. “It is better than any tulip garden in the world and in April, it is in full bloom. The gardens in Amsterdam are no match for the tulips here.”

“Omigod.Ma, look at these pictures. What a riot of colors. It says here that there are over sixty varieties. I had no idea tulips came in that many. Thanks, George, already this is so exciting.”

George was delighted. He continued to tell them more about the garden and the tulips and offered to take a few pictures with Sharmila’s phone.

When he handed the phone back, Alina quickly browsed through the photos. “Wow, Ma. George takes amazing pictures. Look at how beautiful you look in these.”

A half-hour later, they were back in the Jeep and on their way.

“Ladies, do you see that small building there? That used to be a palace. It was called the Pamposh Mahal. Do you know what pamposh means, Alina?” George pointed to a building covered in scaffolding, debris all around. It looked like the roof had caved in. A group of workers were calling out instructions to each other.

“I can find out in a minute on my phone, but I’m guessing you want to tell me.” Alina waved her phone at George.

“Thank you for letting me show off what I know. Pamposh is the name of the Kashmiri lily.” George pulled the Jeep to the side of the road, directly in front of Pamposh Mahal.

“I’ve never heard of that.” Sharmila looked at the building, which appeared newish in construction. “Well, I mean this is my first time here and I am sure there are so many places I don’t know about.”

George turned serious. “Yes, it’s called Pamposh Mahal and it was said that the king who lived in it abdicated the throne when his queen died. It’s rumored that he died of a broken heart. But then, it’s also rumored that he died of overindulgence with the fairer sex when he tried to find someone to replace his queen. Anyway, the short of it is that the throne was then taken over by his daughter who, it was said, had fallen in love with a man who was the illegitimate son of the king. A son that the king had fathered with one of the ladies-in-waiting.” George pointed to the various parts of the palace and explained a few more things about the illicit relationships of the princess and the craziness of those who lived in the palace.

“Wow, I had no idea that all this existed. I’m learning something new,” Sharmila said as she removed her shawl. It was getting warm.

“Oh, yes, this place has history that you won’t find in any books, or even on Google,” George went on. “The actor Shah Rukh Khan—our beloved SRK—is all set to make a movie about this. You know, he once said in an interview that he would never come to Kashmir because he promised his father he would visit only with him? But his father died early and so SRK never came here. But it’s said that once he heard this story, he changed his mind and decided to bring in his entire team—he’ll be here next week to shoot. The palace also offers ghost tours. They say that the princess roams the halls at night, calling out for the lover who could never be hers. Yep, they never got married, because the citizens of the kingdom banned her from marrying the man when it was discovered he was her half-brother.”

“Now, thatisa crazy story. What was the name of the king? Which year did all this happen?” Sharmila took some pictures of the palace.

“That really is a wacky story, all right,” Alina said. “This building doesn’t look like a real palace though. Perhaps it’s just old?”

“I have never heard aboutanyof this,” Sharmila said, frowning in concentration.

George could no longer hold back and began to laugh. “Well, you don’t know about it because it never really happened. I’m just trying to give you something your wedding planner couldn’t give you—some entertainment.”

Sharmila was stumped for a second but then looked at Alina, who was laughing too.

Perhaps this misadventure was just what the two of them needed.

Chapter 3

Dal Lake

Dal Lake sparkled in the autumn sun. Several wooden boats, shikaras, glided across the lake with ease. Tourists were back in droves here too and the shikara boatmen were calling out to them to come take a ride in paradise. Each boat was unique, decorated with brightly colored canopies, comfortable seating with large pillows, and an elegantly curved hull. Many of the shikaras had vendors selling flowers and vegetables.

“Be careful as you step in, these shikaras have a mind of their own.” George offered Sharmila a hand as he invited her into the boat chosen to take them across the lake. Sharmila accepted his hand, stepped into the boat, and then became self-conscious as she found herself still holding on to his fingers. She immediately let go and took a quick look at Alina. Usually nothing got past her daughter. Sharmila sighed, relieved that no one had noticed.

Alina had already found herself a comfortable spot on the cushions on the shikara. Surprising both her and Sharmila, George discussed details of the tour with the shikara boatman in a bizarre—but seemingly effective—combination of Urdu, Kashmiri, and Hindi.

“I admire your confidence in the languages,” Sharmila told George.

“Ah, well.” George blushed a bit. “I figured out that if I speak loudly and fast, most people think I know what the heck I’m saying. So now, based on my current knowledge of the Kashmiri language, we’re either going to end up at the most gorgeous floating garden in Kashmir, be offered leftovers for a meal, or the boatman is going to drop us at the Hyatt. Let’s see.”

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