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