Small Adventures In A Big World

His emerald eyes sparkled and his broad face creased into a smile as I stepped into the gloomy internet cafe. Cheap prints of Mecca and the Kashmiri countryside hung from the walls and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. The cafe was dark and the computers were off.
“Salaam aleikum, friend!” He introduced himself as Mustafa. “Powers out!”, he explained. “You wait a little while. You want some saffron tea?”
I soon forgot why I'd come in, as we sat on his carpet exchanging friendly conversation and sipping sweet, fragrant tea. After answering his questions (“where are you from? Are you married?”) I asked about Kashmir.
On the foothills of the Indian Himalayas, Kashmir is rich in history and famous for it's natural beauty. But it's lush valleys and snow capped mountains are in stark contrast with the everyday reality for the Kashmiri people. They have long been involved in a struggle for independence from their Indian occupiers, he told me, and the Indian army keeps a heavy presence in the area.

“Are you hungry?”, enquired Mustafa. I was indeed. He locked the cafe and we climbed into a rusted old Toyota held together with wire.
As we drove towards the centre of Srinigar we passed lovestruck couples and tourists posing for photos beside the graceful houseboats gently creaking on the oily green lake.
We raced over crumbling bridges, down narrow potholed alleys and over fetid canals, my friend singing along to the radio. A man pulling an overloaded cart, stuck in the middle of an intersection as the lights changed, shook his fist at us as we hurtled past. We burst into laughter, giggling like naughty boys.

Suddenly, we came around a corner straight into the waiting arms of an army checkpoint. Nervous Indian soldiers swelling with macho arrogance pointed their rifles at us. The car fell silent, and my friends face hardened like cold cement. We stopped and a young soldier came over to question us and check paperwork.
”Where are you going? Who is this tourist? Why are you driving so fast?”, he demanded, glaring at us. If looks could kill, I thought. As Mustafa answered the soldier strode away, not interested in the explanation. He mumbled to his colleagues for a few minutes.

Then the soldier waved us on dismissively. He'd wasted enough of our time. We drove on quietly.
“I've never seen anything like that anywhere else in India”, I said. Mustafa lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
“This isn't India”, he corrected me with a sigh. “This is Kashmir.”