Srinagar, Rewritten

I don't want to admit it. I would like to believe that everyone has good intentions, and that religion truly is the vehicle for peace and compassion. Before I came to Srinagar, I never had a Muslim friend. I marveled at the chance to prove all the American stereotypes wrong: not all Muslims are Al Quaeda-bombing extremists or women-tamers. Every family has a black sheep, and I wanted to meet the rest of the herd.

I don't think that the Dandoo family will serve as the exception. I idealistically bought into all of their curious hopsitalities and saccarine smiles. They invited me to their home for lunch, so that the guesthouse cook could have an afternoon off. The 26 year old son Ali offered me a blanket at night, only to snuggle up with me. He generously took me to see the Mughal gardens, and then put his hand on my thigh while he admired the scenery. Luckily, I have been cautious and prewarned about this kind of behavior. I handled it sternly, and with no problem. The other guests and I were constantly sharing stories, and we banded together against their dubious motives. I never felt unsafe or vulnerable. With the younger generation, my reflexes are trained to handle certain situations, but I never expected it with the elders.

Within a few days, I had become very close to the grandfather, Haji. He had taken me to the White Mosque for prayer and for a boatride around Dal Lake. I trusted him and we seemed to share a paternal bond. After a day's lunch, we headed back into the house to sit with tea. He offered to take me to Pir Baba, Srinagar's holy man. He asked if I had any health problems or any specific prayer to ask him. I said that I had irregular menstruation, and that I feared that I would not be able to have children: "Are you pregnant?" I laughed. Definitely not! "Well, if you need, I have bundles of rubber," he offered. I thought I had crossed the line when I mentioned my period, and now he was teaching me sex ed. The conversation continued on about Pir Baba and how he helped Haji with his heart troubles and occassional spiritual doubts. Again, I felt close to him, and we held hands like a granddaughter and grandfather. What I thought would be a kiss on the cheek, his lips aimed towards mine! Instinctively, I shuttered and quickly turned my head, motioning an adamant no. I hightailed it out of the family house to the guest houseboat, shaken and betrayed.

Luckily, the other travelers, friends Birgit, Mica, and Heinrich, were sitting on the front porch. Had I misperceived the whole thing? I thought he cared for me like one of the family. Could a kiss on the lips be acceptable for close family; after all, they do all sleep in the same room. No, this was definitely not right, especially by my rules. Just as soon as I calmed down, Haji sat down with the rest of us chatting tourists. He picked up the fashion magazine that lay on the bench, and started to page through the numerous advertisements of Indian models and actresses: "Ooh. This one is nice. Very pretty." Nope! I definitely didn't misinterpret anything. Gone: Muslim modesty and traditional values. The grandfather is a pervert, Ali is a skirt-chaser, and the uncle is a very clever business man. Latif, the seemingly dopey uncle who handles most of the business, just sold me a three-week tourist package for Rajastan and Varanasi. They charged me the "family rate" of course. How nice of them to let me stay for an extra five days, for free. No doubt, the cost of the trip well compensates for my time in Srinagar. It's hard to find non-travelers I can trust here. Everyone is money hungry or horny, and I am sick of being thick-skinned all the time for my own survival.

Finally, I am free of Srinagar! No more kitchen staff reminding me to tip them, and no more flirtacious family members. I had been asking Latif to organize a bus ticket for me for days, and I always got the non-conclusive, "Yes, no problem. Bus ticket. Later. Yes." The long-awaited ten hour jeep ride from Srinagar to Jammu, and then another 8 hours to Amritsar, had never been more enjoyable. Don't get me wrong, I really did enjoy my stay in Kashmir. Dal Lake and the Mughal gardens are beautiful, and my new friends and I could entertain each other until the wee hours of the night. BUT, I eventually had to choose my sanity or the tormenting Dandoo family. Free at last, free at last. God almighty I am free at last!