Carpets, Chilli Chicken and Crossing the Line

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

Carpets

Kashmiri carpets ranged from the exquisite silk weaves in jewel-like colours that seemed almost too beautiful to walk on, to the sturdy, hand-knotted woollen rugs built for a lifetime of use. They were an ever-present temptation in the bazaars. There they were hung and layered in great drifts of colour and a multitude of patterns. Forty-seven years on, and after eleven more moves across the world, our two woollen rugs have served us well.

Corners of our carpets from original photos
added to Gemini to get the side by side view

Chilli Chicken

Chilli was a serious matter on the subcontinent. Issued in generous quantities to local soldiers every month, it was part of the fabric of daily life. In Rawalpindi, one could buy a freshly cooked chicken, a welcome convenience given our rather limited cooking arrangements. Chilli was never optional, no matter our request to have a chicken not smothered in the very hot spice. Every bird arrived a vivid, uncompromising red. 

The chilli was not optional. It never was.

Crossing the Line of Control

Our first crossing from Pakistan to India took place in May 1979. Since the departure of the Australian air force support in January of 1979, the Canadians supplied a C130 to facilitate the move. Goods and personnel were processed in this manner twice yearly. For crossings at other times, UN vehicles carried us by road to the line itself, the boundary where one world ended and another began. We were driven to the crossing point, bid farewell to the soldiers stationed there, then simply walked across to the other side. 

The soldiers on duty invariably offered hospitality, and their kindness was genuine. They lived in difficult circumstances, and their efforts were well-intentioned. We were offered a cup of chai, tea boiled together with condensed milk into a thick brew. It was just not the beverage that I found it undrinkable, but my distaste was heightened by seeing the visible black cracks in the cups in which it was served. Who knew what lurked therein? 

The problem, I knew well, was entirely mine and not theirs.

There was an occasional spill, purely accidental of course, behind a rock or a convenient plant.

1979 - A Pakistani observation post

Collecting my Mother-in-law

My husband's mother, Phyll, came to visit, and the plan was straightforward enough, I would collect her from Delhi when her flight landed. The difficulty lay in getting there. Srinagar at the time was in the grip of riots, and it was quite unsafe to be seen travelling in a UN vehicle. This meant a furtive journey by local taxi to the Srinagar airport, a small adventure in itself.

Phyll’s flight arrived in Delhi well after midnight. I had arranged a taxi from the hotel to the airport, with the driver agreeing to wait and take us back. The hotel porter had kindly negotiated a fair price on my behalf, and I confirmed the figure with the driver before we set off. On our return however, the driver attempted to extract a considerably larger sum than had been agreed. My mother-in-law was quite distressed that I refused to pay it.

Common sense, as it so often does, ruled the day.

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

Bazaars, Banks and Baramulla

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

Bazaars

Bazaars of all sorts were fascinating to browse. From beautifully carved wooden goods, embroidered treasures, silver work, gems and more, through to everyday household pots and pans. There was always something to catch the eye. Fine Indian cottons were a favourite for the summer months. The vendors were happy to pull out any materials requested as they were anxious for a sale. Bargaining was expected so one could always purchase for a fair price without being unfair to the seller. 

I had taken my Bernina 707 sewing machine with me in the allowed luggage shipment so I enjoyed spending time sewing when there was reliable power. Tailors were keen to make clothes too, so many took full advantage advantage of this skilled service.

Srinagar bazaar

Material shop, Kotli bazaar - Azad Kashmir

Banks and banking

These were the days before plastic cards. We left Australia with Traveller’s cheques to be cashed when needed. The Grindlays bank in Srinagar was where we visited to obtain cash for local spending and to pay wages to the house boy. It was close to six weeks before the UN made a first payment and we were issued with a Chemical Bank cheque book. Cheques were widely accepted for larger transactions but rupees preferred for small purchases.

Unbeknown to us the bank had “lost’ the money paid by the UN. While we went about cheerfully writing cheques for various purchases, it later emerged that the funds were being drawn from someone else's account entirely. The bank took three months to untangle the mess, and even after twelve months had passed, there were still outstanding matters that had not been fully resolved. The combination of the UN and bank bureaucracies both administered from afar was not a happy marriage.

Baramulla

Baramulla - via Open Map

On the Indian side, Baramulla is about 55 km from Srinagar. In our time, the valley had many fruit orchards. We were friendly with an Australian couple working there through the summer months for the UNDP (United Nation Development Project). Ray was sharing his expertise as an apple orchardist from Tasmania.  

The road to Baramulla was lined with trees, and a wide variety of vehicles, from lumbering trucks to nimble tongas, made their way along this busy thoroughfare.
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Travelling light

Heavy loads, cars, trucks and pedestrians in the distance

A winter visit

Some of the Indian drivers and guards working for the UN, were stationed in the military barracks at Baramulla. One driver was very keen for us to visit in mid-winter to see a popular Clint Eastwood movie showing at night. We rugged up for the journey in the jeep. The movie itself was forgettable as it appeared that most of the dialogue and many scenes had been cut out, just the action packed sequences were shown. It lasted for only 40 minutes. The audience, so it seems, were well satisfied.

It was a very cold night and at the conclusion of the movie snow was falling. We were offered a tot of the rum issued to the soldiers. This proof rum was issued to those serving at high altitude in cold or challenging conditions. It helped boost morale and maintain body warmth in harsh conditions. The rum appeared in a small glass, a generous serve. I was unaware of its potency and not liking rum, but not wishing to be impolite, I swallowed the lot rather quickly. 

The trip back to Srinagar passed me by in a warm and thoroughly cheerful blur. Yes, I was quite drunk having never previously consumed alcohol of such strength!  

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

Arrival and Accommodation

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

Arrival and all that followed

In late March 1979 we left Australia to spend a year in Kashmir. We were not travelling light, even if we tried to be practical. On our stopover in Singapore, we purchased two folding push-bikes, sensible things for navigating whatever streets awaited us, and had them sent ahead to meet us on arrival. It was the kind of optimistic planning that belongs to the beginning of adventures.

We touched down in Karachi after midnight, many hours after leaving Singapore. What followed was six long hours marooned on hard plastic chairs while armed personnel kept a steady, unsmiling watch. This was not a happy landing. Fortunately, we were befriended by two American men passing through. Their presence was reassuring. 

Early in the morning we flew onward to Rawalpindi where the United Nations Military Observer Group (UNMOGIP) was headquartered through the winter months. I was accompanying my husband. He would serve as one of Australia’s peacekeepers along the Line of Control.(1)

Compilation map of disputed territories - Wikimedia Commons
Green - Pakistan, Purple India, Yellow -China

The general practice, we quickly learnt, was that incoming military personnel were despatched to a field station along the Line of Control on their fourth day, gone for an initial six weeks before a five-day respite. Accompanying spouses remained in situ. This made me realise how necessary it would become to rely on the other wives and the UN observers as they rotated through postings. A welcome party the night of our arrival gave us a chance to meet other personnel and their wives.

Accommodation and its quirks

Our initial accommodation was in Flashmans Hotel in Rawalpindi, where I would stay for the six weeks before headquarters transferred across to Srinagar on the Indian side in early May. It was comfortable enough, but comfort is relative, and events were about to make even a hotel room feel precarious.

We had arrived near the end of March and it was just 10 days later that an event that would have far reaching consequences took place.

The Indian Express, published on April 5, 1979 reported it thus:

Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, 51, was hanged and buried this morning (April 4). The deposed prime minister was hanged in the Rawalpindi Central jail at 2 am, flown by a Pakistan Air Force plane to southern Pakistan and buried about 10.30 am in the family graveyard at Naudero (in Sind), the interior ministry announced.

The security guard outside the headquarters of the UN military observers’ team in Srinagar fired to disperse angry mourners for Bhutto. (2)

In Rawalpindi, I was confined to my room at Flashmans. Tensions were high. My husband, out on field station, tried repeatedly to reach me. Communication from those remote postings was unreliable at best, a crackling line, a wrong connection, silence. When he finally got through to what he hoped was Flashmans Hotel and asked, cautiously,
“Is that Flashmans Hotel?” the voice at the other end said simply, “Yes” and hung up. He tried again and again. When we finally managed to speak, I could at last assure him that I was safe and being looked after, and was not, despite appearances, in the midst of a revolution.

Srinigar with some hazards

In early May, headquarters moved across to Srinagar and we settled into an older, established house in the Raj Bagh neighbourhood, a spacious ground-floor apartment with the owners living quietly above us. It felt like the beginning of something more settled.

It was not.

House at Raj Bagh, Srinagar - water damaged photo, AI restored 

It is a sad fact that there are always those who will take advantage of others. One night while my husband was away on field station, I awoke to a noise in the second bedroom where all our clothes were stored. Two young men were helping themselves to our goods. My very loud screaming was enough to make them run away and bring the owners to my door. Later, in the bazaars, I always kept a lookout for any of our missing clothes. My pale pink skinny jeans, were never seen again. 

We moved. 

Our next accommodation was in a newer building, closer to UN headquarters, upstairs on the first floor, an elevation that felt, after recent events, like a reasonable precaution. One might think that misfortune followed. The bed had a wooden headboard and high baseboard, neither of which had been designed with a six-foot-two Australian in mind. My husband, when in from field station, slept curled like a letter C. 

More dramatically, the bedroom ceiling had been decorated with an ambitious arrangement of multi-coloured broken ceramic tiles, a mosaic of sorts, secured by whatever optimism had prevailed at the time of installation. Yes, a disaster waiting to happen. One day while out, whatever was securing those pieces of tile to the ceiling, failed. We returned home to find the ceiling on the bed. Luckily, we were not in it.

Later in the year we moved into Inglenook, the headquarters house within the UN compound itself. It was, by any measure, considerably more comfortable than the life lived on the houseboats moored along the water’s edge. When the water retreated along the Jhelum river, the muddy banks were exposed leaving the residents a slippery trek across that wasteland.

1979 -Houseboats at low tide, muddy banks

1. Australian peacekeepers in Kashmir from 1950 to 1985 https://anzacportal.dva.gov.au/wars-and-missions/peacekeeping/summaries/kashmir-1950-1985 

2. The Indian Express, April 5, 1979, Forty Years Ago 

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