Page 9 of A Kiss in Kashmir

She’d replied, “I don’t know about all that, but I do love the idea of painting the colors of my life… and soon, I hope, our life.”

“Vikram?” George asked, and when Sharmila, lost in thought, didn’t reply, he said, “I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“Ma, Ma? George is asking you something.”

“No, no, Iamsorry,” George said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

Sharmila’s voice quivered. “It’s okay. Vikram was Alina’s father. He was shot here in Kashmir during a rally of some sort, before she was born.”

Sharmila paused, overwhelmed by a rush of memories from the arguments and subsequent estrangement from her parents.

“When I first met him, Vikram often talked about his childhood here. Helovedthe raad on the lake. I try hard to remember all that he said. But it’s been decades now, and my memories are getting hazy.” Sharmila wiped away the tiny tear that had started to form.

George hastily offered a white handkerchief. “I didn’t mean to bring up any pain. I am so sorry to hear that about him. Kashmir has seen more than its share of senseless violence and so many lives have been lost. I am so sorry.”

Alina was staring at the handkerchief. “What century are you both from? George, who carries one ofthosestill? Come on, that is going to be the most ancient thing I’ll see on this trip. Ahandkerchief.”

The mood lightened. George smiled at Sharmila as she wiped her tears. She could smell his cologne on the fabric and hoped he wouldn’t ask for it back.

“Anyhow, the raad, you mentioned,” George said. “Yes, the raad are the floating gardens. There are still some lilies there, you see? We’re a bit late in the season. But in any case, I brought you both here to meet Mustafa.”

Just as George said this, a shikara pulled up near theirs. The boatman stood up and greeted George across the water as though they were old friends. His shikara was filled with bowls containing Kashmiri saffron, cinnamon, cloves, almonds, and rose petals, and he was holding a big pitcher of kahwa.

Alina squealed, “Oh my God. Wait, wait. I’ve heard of him. I’ve heard of this tea vendor selling tea in Kashmir from his shikara. Oh, he is so familiar… where did I see him… wait, I know.”

“He was featured onFood Stars of India,” Alina and George said at the same time. “Yes, I learned about him from Instagram,” George added.

“Wait,you’reon Instagram?” Alina asked George, incredulously.

“Why, of course. I’m not a Neanderthal. I mean, whoisn’ton Instagram?” George pushed his nose up in the air.

Alina looked at Sharmila, who blushed, and they all started laughing.

“I don’t need Instagram or any of those social media things. Look around. Who needs all that?” Sharmila said. “Anyway, do we get to be properly introduced to Mustafa?”

Before George could make up for his tardiness, the young man spoke up.

“Greetings and welcome to my home. I will serve you the best kahwa in Kashmir. It has special Kashmiri saffron and rose petals. I bring the tea to you. George here tells me you have a wedding coming up. I am happy to provide this service to all your guests. But first, you must taste the tea. Thank you, Mr. George. Give Wajid my regards. My wife tells me his ankle is hurt.”

“How does everyone here know everyone?” Alina said.

“That is the beauty of these small places, you know. Once you are here, you are family,” George said. “It’s one of the reasons I live here now. It makes me feel like I am always home—you know, a place where everyone knows my name. LikeCheers.”

Sharmila smiled at the reference to the TV show. Alina was clueless.

Mustafa poured the tea into tiny red paper cups and handed one to each of them. While Alina and George debated how exactly to sip the tea and whether the rose petals may or may not have added the purported magic, Sharmila put a hand over the side of the shikara, into the water.

“Vikram, I have done what I promised I would do,” she whispered. “I have brought our daughter home. Do you feel us here? Are you here?” A white lily became entangled in her fingers, and she pulled it out of the water.

“Pamposh, Ma. That’s a pamposh, right? Like the name of George’s pretend palace,” Alina said cheekily. “Don’t you love these? So pretty.”

“Yes, they are. I am so happy to see you smiling, Alina. And I must say that this tea is divine. So, the first task is done. We have tea. Now, what about all the other three hundred things we need for this wedding—we need a venue, a caterer, and…” Sharmila frowned as she began to count out loud all the things that needed to be done.

George put up a hand to stop her. “First rule of the valley is that you have to relax. All that you want will come to you. To us, in this case. Don’t worry. I actually have a list of things to go over with you. We’ll cover it all. For now, drink this tea, enjoy the lilies, and let me take you to the houseboats. Your guests can stay in houseboats here instead of typical run-of-the mill orbiscuits-cutterhotels, as your wedding planner would have said. I’ll show you the best ones here—they will accommodate your friendsandtake care of all their needs. Alina, you mentioned it will be a small wedding with just about thirty or so guests, right? The Sukoon is one of the best in the valley, in my opinion. It is a stunning houseboat.”

Alina nodded. “The idea of houseboats sounds awesome.”

“I will show you mine someday. I live on a small one,” George said.

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