Hills Where My Story Begins

A few days back, I had the opportunity to visit my native land, Bhaderwah, a beautiful valley in the Doda district of J&K.

Though people also call it "Chota Kashmir", the locals do not want to associate it with Kashmir. Owing to its natural beauty, meadows, snow-capped mountain peaks, rivers, and peaceful surroundings, they prefer to keep it in seclusion away from the hustle and bustle of cities.

I'm lucky to be born in a small village in this valley.

After about 25 years, I was excited and thrilled to visit my birthplace. The best thing about visiting a native land is that one gets the chance to meet cousins, relatives, and childhood friends, and can relive the childhood days once again.

On my way, I felt that a lot has changed in the past many years. Where earlier it used to take around 9/10 hours for Jammu to reach, now it took hardly 5 hours. It was a delight to see the four-lane roads and Chennai- Nashri tunnel, also was a relief, now mountain roads had become quite comfortable.

All the way, I was waiting for when the road would end and I would relive my childhood memories.

Being a night journey, it was a pleasure to see the twinkling lights on almost all the mountains, which indicates electricity has now reached most of the places.

After crossing the serpentine mountain roads, we entered the valley.

The first shock came to me when, the lush green paddy fields, which I was expecting to see with enthusiasm, were nowhere, barely 10%. Now concrete houses were in their place. Many shops were built on both sides of the road, with no view of the valley from the road.

It took me a few moments to locate my Nani maa house, now there was not that big poplar tree(chinaar), which used to be there for years. Be it a doll's wedding or a game of hide-and-seek, a picnic or a fight, everything used to happen under the same tree.

Seeing a dry, half-dead poplar tree in its place brought tears to my eyes. While entering the house, it was as if I were a stranger entering someone's home.

While roaming the house, childhood memories refreshed in front of my eyes. 

That round room, the most beautiful room in the house, whose windows outspread towards the valley. It was usually kept reserved for a special person in the family or a guest. We, kids used to fight often to sleep in it.

This time was kept reserved for me, after all, now I was also a guest of this house.

In winter, when it was bitterly cold, many times one had to stay inside the house for several days. Most of the water pipelines were blocked due to the frozen water during snowfall, and keeping warm because of frequent power cuts was a big challenge.

In those days, the largest room of the house used to have a hearth, a wonderful corner of the house for the family to sit together.
One of the most pleasant and sweet sounds I have heard is the crackling of firewood.

Those were very pleasant days when in the biting cold all the members of the house used to sit around the fireplace telling stories or playing Antakshari or discussing some spiritual things.

Vivid memories of sitting around the fire, eating peanuts and roasting potatoes and scrambled eggs in the same fire.

Those were awesome days, those innocent mischiefs of childhood, fighting over petty issues, it seemed as if it was only yesterday. Sometimes stealing apples from someone's orchard, and sometimes running in the paddy fields with outstretched arms.

No doubt, now there were lots of apple orchards but in a closed area. The red ripe apple tempted me to steal at least one, could not do so, being inside the fence. I just stared at them with starving eyes.

At Nani maa house, after her death, there was no one to look after the garden on regular basis. Once there used to be many apple, peach, and cherry trees, thank God, at least one tree laden with apples had survived. My steps automatically pulled me towards it. Sitting in its shade felt as if I was sitting on my grandmother's lap.

It was exciting to meet all the cousins and friends. A few recognized me, and very few I.

One of my cousins suggested that first we should go and explore the "kotli ka pull" as it was associated with the oldest ghost stories and rumors. When we were kids, trust me there were creepy stories about that place, "Don't ever go there after sunset, otherwise, the spirits will catch you."

The bridge was at a secluded place, on the outskirt of the village.

It was surprising to see many houses and shops in that place, delight as well, now people no longer pay heed to those old rumors.

A rivulet, Neeru used to flow near our house. Felt nostalgic while revisiting it. I didn't resist, entering the ice-cold water. For a few moments, got lost in old memories.

A dip in the ice-cold water of the river Neeru was our favorite pastime, and later lying down on the hot stones and enjoying the sun, everything was fresh in my mind.

In the evening when Mami ji served a dish of dried vegetables for dinner, I went berserk.
I remembered that in summer, the women of the household often dried freshly cut vegetables and made garlands out of them. When fresh vegetables were not available in winter, due to heavy snowfall, dried vegetables formed an important part of people's diets.

Mostly these would be beans, eggplants, tomatoes, and many other local vegetables. Let me say one thing, dry vegetables are equally tasty and beneficial for health as fresh ones.

Despite everything has changed, including me, and my friends, I didn't know why, the valley looks exactly the same, as it was when I was a kid. The same ice-cold water of the river Neeru, the same snow-laden mountains, the same meadows, and the same lovely people.

Winters were still foggy and snowy and summers were still comfortable and pleasant.

After spending 4/5 days, capturing those beautiful moments in my heart and my camera, I bid farewell to everyone with heavy endurance and moist eyes, promising to be back next year.

During my stay, my soul indulges in a unique kind of booze.

Mountains fill my soul with lots of positive vibes and great thoughts.

Years after, I had a memorable trip.