A Kitchen and the Khyber Pass

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

A Kitchen

The central role that kitchens play in one’s life has me looking back with quiet amusement. This particular kitchen is as much a story of what was absent as what was present.

There was a tap, and a bench. Atop the bench sat a two-ring gas burner, fed by a large bottle stored directly beneath in the open cavity below. We had brought our electric frypan from Australia, and it earned its passage. The water cooler and steel thermos were ours too, practical companions in a setting where nothing could be taken for granted. Tucked between these familiar comforts sat a tin-box oven, modest enough to perch on one of the gas burners should the need arise.

The large kettle occupied the burner as a matter of permanence, always in some stage of being filled, brought to the boil, and set aside to cool. We then stored the water covered, until it cooled and was transferred to the water cooler to provide safe drinking water.

1979 Kitchen in Srinagar - restored from water damaged photo

The broken ceramic tiles that decorated the bench and the kitchen floor were the very same that had cascaded from the bedroom ceiling. They were a feature throughout the apartment.

Rounding the corner, one came to the open shelves and the small, lockable cupboard where dry goods were stored with careful intent. A power transformer sat on the shelf to my left; behind me, another import from home, our small toaster oven, familiar and slightly incongruous in its surroundings. We could use the electrical devices most of the time, but power supply was unreliable and could not always be guaranteed.

 Water damaged photo AI restored 2026

Acting on local advice we employed a houseboy who would help with a variety of tasks. He came recommended as a friend of a well-trained worker which gave us every confidence. What we did not realise was that this young fellow had no prior training. One day when I returned to the kitchen where he had been washing the floor, there he was wiping his wet feet on the curtains. 

He had little English and I only had a few basic local phrases. Yet we managed, through gestures and goodwill, and by the time the summer drew to a close and he left our employ, it seemed reasonable to hope he had gathered several skills that would serve him well.

1980 - Up the Khyber Pass

There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,

And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen 

Rudyard Kipling - The Ballad of the East and West, 1899

1980 - Khyber Pass road

One does not simply drive the Khyber Pass, one is absorbed by it. After a night in Peshawar, we set out for this long and winding road towards the Afghan border. The road climbs and coils through the Safed Koh range of the Hindu Kush, hemmed by walls of bare rock that shift in colour from pale ochre to deep rust. The Khyber Pass became part of Pakistan following the 1947 partition of India. The summit of the pass lies only 5 km within Pakistan.

A Khyber Pass fort

The landscape is layered in history. Ancient stone forts rise from ridgelines and valley walls, built and rebuilt by tribes and traders across centuries of commerce, conflict and survival. These were not romantic ruins but scars of many bloody wars fought along this historic pass. We saw unit badges etched into rocks along the way.

The Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan at the end of 1979. The border crossing was closed. 

We saw refugees, barred from entering Pakistan, sitting forlornly on the far side of the crossing, still figures against a turbulent world. They waited with the particular patience of those who have no other choice. 

History in the making witnessed, our descent back to Peshawar left us thoughtful.

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