Trucks, Trains and Taxis

Living in Kashmir 1979-80: People, Places and Memories

Trucks

These workhorses of the roads were dominating and colourful, dodging and weaving through the tightest of spaces. Their highly decorated bodies were covered in a wide variety of patterns and iconography. Their progress was noisy, horns blaring and loud music playing.

1979 - Hajira, Pakistan

The most alarming of all were the log-carriers, often perilously overloaded and sometimes seen with their front wheels bouncing clear of the road as the sheer weight of the cargo overcame the truck’s forward momentum.

Through Srinagar, the trucks would negotiate an ever-shifting obstacle course of bicycles, taxis, and sacred cows that wandered the streets quite unconstrained and entirely unbothered.

Navigating the streets

Trains

The Indian train network first established by the East India company, grew rapidly through colonial times. It is now one of the largest in the world, essential to the daily lives of millions. 

In 1979 we travelled by train from Delhi to Agra. The train journey nowadays is much quicker but our slower trip let us view the villages and activities in the fields at a more sedate pace. The Taj Express slower in those days, took about two and a half hours. 

As the train trundled past the track embankments, the absence of any public facilities for those living nearby was noted. Locals with their backs to the train, exposed rather more bare skin than one might ordinarily expect to encounter or indeed want to see!

Taxis

The small black and gold Morris Minor taxis were part and parcel of our everyday life. No matter where one wanted to go a taxi was always available. Many had no meters, or claimed theirs were broken. Negotiating a fare before setting off was always the sensible course. The larger Ambassador, based on the Morris Oxford, offered a rather more comfortable alternative for longer journeys.

Morris Minor in the bazaar

The Ambassador

The three-wheeled Lambros (tuk-tuks) were everywhere, their great virtue being an ability to squeeze through the narrowest of lanes where no four-wheeled vehicle could follow. We occasionally found this particular advantage somewhat alarming.

The 3 wheeler

The Tanga

These vehicles which had been popular in the past were fast disappearing amongst the motorised traffic.

The covered cart

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin

Supplies and Suffering Moses

Living in Kashmir: A Year of People, Places and Memories

Supplies

Before we packed for our year Kashmir, we were advised by previous Australian military observers about supplies we might need. 

As we would not be eating the local cheeses, we bought several large blocks of Kraft cheddar processed cheese. Yes, that reassuringly indestructible variety that needed no refrigeration, nestled in its blue box and wrapped within in silver alfoil. 

Australia had embraced metric measurements in 1974, so by the time we departed, all food products had been converted; I suspect the blocks we chose were the generous one-kilogram size.

Image from Australian Women's Weekly via Trove

What Australian could live without Vegemite?  Two large jars were added to our growing list, glass jars with metal lids, none of the plastic containers that came later. There was something comforting about those familiar labels, knowing they were tucked in among the luggage somewhere, ready to make even the most foreign of mornings feel a little like home.

Image from Australian Women's Weekly via Trove

Another recommendation was to take enough toilet paper for a full year. How does one even begin to calculate such a thing? Calculate it we did and a carton duly joined the pile. The advice, it turned out, had a rather colourful origin. A Chilean General who had previously commanded the mission had been notorious for appropriating the UN-supplied rolls and dispatching them back to Chile. Beyond the year's supply, we quickly learned the wisdom of tucking a small roll into any bag before venturing out, since this was decidedly not a commodity one could rely upon finding in Kashmiri public spaces.

We bought a short-wave radio so that we might keep a thread of connection to news from home. Our electric frypan proved its worth many times over, and a small toaster oven completed the more practical side of our domestic arrangements. We would rely on the UN PX (Post Exchange) store for other groceries and goods that were not available locally.

For daily provisions, we relied on whatever was available in the local market. Food shopping was best done accompanied by a local. The cherries displayed so enticingly on top of the box were plump, glossy, and perfect. They bore little resemblance to what actually found its way into one's paper bag. It was a lesson learned only once.

Suffering Moses

This merchant had one of the largest emporiums of Kashmiri crafts in Srinagar. Entering into his shop was a delight for the senses. There were four rooms and as one walked deeper into this treasure trove, older and more valuable items could be seen on display. We were surrounded by superb papier mâché, finely carved wooden boxes, exquisite embroidered shawls and so much more. His goods were excellent quality and over time this store on the Bund became a favourite.

The establishment had been founded in 1842, when his ancestor migrated from Persia, bringing with him skilled Persian craftspeople and settling them in the Kashmir Valley. That heritage was everywhere visible. The decorations on papier mâché bowls, and all sorts of small ornamental pieces reflected Persian motifs with a fidelity that spoke of an unbroken tradition. These patterns had travelled across mountain ranges and generations to arrive in Kashmir, and were still vivid in these quiet rooms. The same spirit showed in the walnut-carved boxes and small tables.

In one of many long discussions, he told the tale of being wooed by a large American store. The buyer wanted thousands of articles every month. At that time, every piece was still made entirely by hand, and no honest craftsman could fulfil such a demand without sacrificing the very quality that had prompted the approach in the first place. He had, one gathered, declined with dignity.

String Secured Parcels

This was before the polluting plastic bag had made its way into every corner of our lives. We had baskets and string bags. Purchases were often painstakingly wrapped in brown paper and then secured with endless white string. It was wrapped round and round creating a puzzle to unwind when unwrapping a purchase. Both string and paper served further purposes in an economy where sparse resources were carefully husbanded. 

A timely reminder that things have value beyond their first purpose.

---

1. From Persia with Love https://www.newindianexpress.com/magazine/2023/Nov/18/from-persia-with-love-2633500.html

2. The Shop around the corner https://www.livemint.com/Leisure/J91GKgs0QiQwfLDITKV12I/The-shop-around-the-corner.html

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin

Roads, Bridges and Tracks

Living in Kashmir: A Year of People, Places and Memories

Roads

Roads are the lifeblood of towns, cities and mountain communities and in 1979, we were fortunate to witness, at least in part, how they were made. On one of our travels together through the region, we came upon road workers doing precisely what had been done in these mountains for generations: chipping rocks into smaller rocks, then into stones, coaxing a passage through the terrain by hand and by will.

Equally memorable was the long-handled spade we watched being used. Unfortunately we have no photograph of it. One man pushed whilst a second pulled by means of a rope attached to the base of the handle, the two of them working as one against the stubborn, ancient rock. It was an ingenious adaptation, born of necessity, and quite unforgettable to witness.

These are the roads, bridges and tracks we travelled.

The photographs that follow from the more remote areas were taken by my husband, in the course of his duties as a United Nations military observer along the Line of Control between India and Pakistan. They show a world that few outsiders ever entered, roads carved from cliffsides, bridges thrown across rock falls, and tracks that wound through landscape of almost savage grandeur. I could not accompany him into those regions, but his camera brought something of that world back.

The Skardu–Kargil road was, by any measure, a journey that tested the nerves. There were stretches so precipitous that my husband chose to step out of the jeep and continue on foot a decision that speaks rather more eloquently about the road than any description could.

1979 Skardu Kargil road carved into the cliff

A world apart from that precarious road was the newly completed Karakoram Highway, finished in 1979 though not yet open to the public. A remarkable feat of engineering, it had been constructed through the combined efforts of Pakistani and Chinese workers, but at a devastating human cost. At least 1,000 lives were lost during its construction, claimed by falls and landslides along one of the most unforgiving routes on earth.

The photograph here, taken by my husband on the Pakistani side, shows the finished road lying smooth and broad against the wild terrain surrounding it.

1979 newly finished Karakorum Highway

Other roads wound their way upward with serpentine determination, scaling one side of a mountain only to plunge with equal steepness down the other. The Sonamarg Pass was one such road.

Sonamarg pass road curling around the mountainside 

Along the lesser tracks that my husband travelled on duty, delays were simply part of the journey. It could be mules being led by soldiers up to their station, rock falls or just the mis-adventure of meeting a truck that found itself in trouble on a on a narrow road.

Mule troop on a mountain road, UN jeep in the foreground

A rather large rock blocking the road

A truck in trouble blocking the road

In the towns, a roadside tea stall offered welcome respite, a place to pause, catch one's breath and watch the world go by over a warming brew.

1979 roadside tea stall in Hajira

Bridges

Some bridges, though built with vehicles in mind were altogether more sensibly crossed on foot. One remarkable structure, thrown across a rock fall on one of my husband's official routes, offered a passage that could only be described as hair-raising, particularly for the UN military observers who were required to use it in the course of their duties. The UN jeep is on the far left in the photo.

Bridge across a rock fall

Then there were the bridges intended solely for foot traffic, where a certain quiet bravado was required simply to set one foot in front of the other. Fortunately, neither of us was called upon to cross the one pictured here, the sight of it was quite sufficient.

Crossing a river

Tracks

Where even a rudimentary road would not reach, there were tracks. Tracks belonged to two things: human feet and mules. The mule, endlessly patient and sure-footed on terrain that would defeat most other forms of transport, was as essential to life in these mountains in 1979 as it had been for centuries before. 

In this photograph, taken by my husband along one of his official routes, soldiers make their way up the Deosai Pass on muleback, the animals picking their path with unhurried confidence through the boulder-strewn landscape.

Soldiers riding up the Deosai Pass

What strikes me looking back across all of it, the road gangs chipping stone by hand, the vertiginous jeep tracks and the bridges above white water, is that we travelled mostly safely, and while sometimes it was uncomfortable, we survived to tell the tales.

This post first appeared on earlieryears.blogspot.com by CRGalvin