The First Rule.

July 17, 2013

Having passed slightly more than a week in Kashmir, I left feeling somewhat defeated. I returned to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, and have had time extract what lessons I could from my time in Kashmir.

I made my way to Kashmir via the road from Ladakh, India’s high altitude desert state.The mountains which hem the horizon in Ladakh are barren; their snow-capped peaks give way to gently sloping fields of auburn rock. In the valleys lay oasis, which receive vital nourishment from the annual melt water. Scraggly shrubs and slender trees abide and endure alongside brave human beings. Most of the inhabitants of Ladakh are Buddhist; many of them refugees from neighboring Tibet.

The road which connects Leh to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir in India, spans about 450Km (about 300 miles). Given the strategic importance of the road to the Indian army – for Kashmir is a disputed territory – I thought I might have an easy ride the whole way. For the first few hours of the two day trip, I travelled on the best road I have seen since arriving in India.

As I left Leh behind the road gained some altitude, and all trace of human habitation disappeared. I rode on bone straight road which bisected a cold desert plane some 12,000 ft. in elevation. For the first time since New Delhi, I could cruise in top gear. The engine struggled a little, however, owing to the altitude.  Towards the horizon on either side were mountains; ahead of me lay empty road and broken rocks which glowed like rusty embers in the light of the rising sun behind me.

After some time the Indus River appeared on my left, and the road wound down to follow alongside it. I passed through a few small towns which were similar to Leh, though much smaller . Eventually, the quality of the road deteriorated to a point where I rarely made it out of 2nd gear.

There were two small passes to cross, but they presented no trouble at all. The passes were both around 13,500 ft. in elevation; a far cry away from the nearly 18,500 ft. passes I managed to get over on my way to Leh and Nubra Valley.

The boundary between Ladakh and Kashmir is inscribed on the Earth by Mother Nature.Environmental change is sudden and obvious. The ruddy and lifeless expanse of Ladakh is replaced by an endless carpet of green vegetation which binds the base of steep limestone mountains.

The people change too. The Llamas and Sino-Tibetan faces so common to Ladakh immediately give way to an all Islamic atmosphere. Old men showcase long white, or henna colored beards. The dress indicates their faith, and numerous Mosques replace the Buddhist Monasteries of Ladakh. The architecture makes a sudden and dramatic change as well. The short and squat mud-brick rectangles which house the residents of Ladakh are replaced by more European looking houses, which display pitched rooftops made of sheet metal.

Girish – my Indian friend and passenger since Manali – and I spent the first night in Drass, just over half-way to Srinagar; about 8 hours ride from Leh. We were quickly baptized in both versions of Kashmiri hospitality. Having come to a stop in order to scout for a guesthouse, we were bombarded by frenzied shouts and gesticulations. The loudest and most vivid of all won the day.

A man was flailing his arms and shouting “You need room? You want food? Take room! Take food! Come! Come!”

I was unsure whether we were being invited or ordered into his establishment, but such practices are commonplace the world over.However, there was a unique amount of gusto in his appeal, and he appeared to be on the verge of having an aneurism. We negotiated a price without dismounting from the motorcycle. The threat of our impending escape, coupled with Girish’s fluent Hindi, secured us a fantastic rate.

With daylight left to burn, Girish and I walked to a neighboring village. Our arrival was met expressions of playful surprise. The people were somewhat shy, but many delighted in having their picture taken – a fact which I surprised me. I’ve found that people unaccustomed to foreigners are generally camera shy, if not downright camera terrified.

We were approached by a man who spoke a bit of English, and introduced himself as Gulab Muhammad Teacher. He was in fact a teacher, and he quickly invited us into his house for tea. He was most pleased to have us as a guest in his home, and repeatedly said so. His family gathered in the kitchen area, while Girish and I enjoyed as much tea and biscuits as we could handle. Gulab offered us lodging for the night and was kind enough – and cognizant enough – to clarify that it would be free. Girish and I were touched, but explained that we had already purchased a room for the night.

We passed some time exchanging basic cultural information. Astonishment filled the room when it was revealed that I was 29, unmarried, and not engaged.

“So, you will not marry then?” asked Gulab.

“I don’t know. Maybe not, but in America getting married after 30 is okay.” I replied.

“Wooooooooow.” Said everyone.

We took some pictures of the family by request, which they found very entertaining. Gulab inquired about how he might get a copy of the photos. Girish instantly offered to mail then from New Delhi, but eventually it was decided that I’d simply deliver them on my way back to Leh – a task which I’ve since had the pleasure of completing.

The following day Girish and I made our way to Srinagar, which is the most populated city in Kashmir, although it is very spread out. The neighborhoods are more like cities within the city. The city limits extend nearly 25km in all directions, and few of the buildings are more than three stories high. We quickly found very reasonable accommodation on a riverside boathouse in a not so touristy neighborhood.

The owners took us in graciously, and told us that we were part of the family. I soon found out that they took this literally. After we had secured the motorcycle and unpacked our things, we got visits from the whole family. Without warning, the door would slide open and we’d be introduced to this sister, or that cousin, or so-and-so’s nephew. I’d be lying if I said that this didn’t bother me slightly as it continued for the duration of my stay. I enjoy solitude, and was exhausted from travel. I wanted to nap and read my book, not explain myself and my plans over and over again. However, as far as I could tell, it was a kind and curious gesture. For the first few days I never locked the door, and welcomed all visitors.

Girish flew back to New Delhi from Srinagar after one day. Due to tiredness, I declined to go sightseeing with Girish, which was fine. I spent the day napping, reading, and entertaining my many guests. After Girish left, I set about trying to get to know the Kashmiri culture, which included getting to know more about Islam. The people I met in the streets surrounding my neighborhood were generally kind, and very inquisitive. Many of them were literally awestruck to see a Westerner walking the streets, and delighted in a simple exchange of words and basic information.

I detected an innocence among the people that I was familiar with, and skin deep notions about Westerners were hard to shake, although I tried. I befuddled many by saying that I had not come to see the sights, but rather to get to know the people. Most didn’t understand what I meant, and instantly offered to accompany me to the sights, lest I miss them! There was always an uncle or brother who sold tours; we could always arrange it for the following day. The price was always fair, or could be negotiated to the going rate in an instant, but that required knowing what the going rate was.

In the touristy sections it was another story altogether. Nobody was shy, and even fewer understood what I meant when I spoke; probably because they never listened to a word I said, particularly if those words were ‘No thanks’ or ‘Not interested’. I couldn’t walk for long without acquiring a “passenger”: a person who simply must accompany the solitary traveler wherever he is going. In my neighborhood it was usually a genuine encounter. In the touristy sections, introductions were always the beginnings of a sales pitch, a fact made obvious when they announced that they didn’t want to sell me anything.

Some version of these events is true for travellers the world over. The only differences are degree and style. In some places, such importuning salesmen are the exception and not the rule, and in some places enterprise is savvy enough to get customers to happily consent to exploitation. Casinos come to mind. In other places people have to hustle, or at least they think they do. Thanks to travel, I’m quite accustomed to hustlers, smooth talkers, and snake charmers alike. I’ve learned to occasionally delight in the art of bobbing and weaving with such fast-talkers.

I’ve developed a few rules and protocols for such situations. Time and time again, I’ve found that by far the most important rule is this: Be kind. I know it sounds sappy and cliché, but it remains the most important rule. If you aren’t kind, you’ll lose, one way or another. Being genuinely kind feels far better harboring animosity. By being kind to another, you are being kind to yourself. 

Being kind by no means obligates one to willful exploitation, but rather it calls one to the duty of retaining their composure. Awareness and composure are the foundation of kindness. In my opinion, awareness, composure, and kindness are the three most important rules for interacting with other people. Skillful application of these precepts may not always lead to the most “victories”, but should produce the most happiness, and isn’t the greater victory?

When it comes to the charmers one inevitably encounters while travelling, I employ some more nuanced rules, such as: Never forget what it is you want to accomplish;politely redirect any conversations towards that end. Never feel embarrassed or awkward; retain the ability to state how you feel or what you think honestly , without the slightest trace animosity.Never be on someone else’s schedule; don’t make commitments to meet a salesmen later if you don’t actually want to. I have many, many, more, but they are all derived from a state of authentic kindness in some way.

During my solitary week in Kashmir, I lost sight of my central rule. I was able to dodge most cons, and other unsavory encounters. But gradually, my kindness waned and I began to harbor negative thoughts about the people around me. Unsurprisingly, people started to annoy me and I became irritable.

The final blow was dealt when I was invited to lunch at the house of my host family. Their son, Shanawaz, had told me that of course lunch would be free. We shared a friendly relationship, and I had taken him out for a big lunch the previous day so I thought perhaps my invitation was some sort of reciprocation, if not a genuine act of hospitality.

We passed the following afternoon at his parents’ house, and made small talk before lunch. At the end of a delicious meal, I stood to leave and the father asked me openly for some “baksheesh”, indicating a tip for his wife, the cook. I think if I brought my ‘A-game’, I might have simply smiled and politely refused, stating that it made me uncomfortable and sad to even be asked, which was the truth.However, I reluctantly gave what by Indian standards is a large tip ($2), and was promptly asked for five times that amount – enough to pay for the whole meal. That request I refused, but with feelings of spite and anger which festered at the core of my being.Ultimately I conquered myself, but in doing so opened up the opportunity to revisit one of the most important lessons travel has ever taught me: always be kind.

Difficult people and trying circumstances are not unknown to the traveler. It is precisely these challenges which make travel “fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness” as Mark Twain penned. It has been a long time since the trials and tribulations of life in a foreign culture have affected in a negative way. Still, I feel that the benefits far outweigh the cost. Life lessons of how to conduct myself in trying circumstances are worth a few petty annoyances and aggravations.

I should add that I’m fairly certain that, of all the numerous people in Kashmir who tried to persuade me out of a few dollars, I don't think anyone intended to do me any harm. Indeed, most of the harm done was self-inflicted, and came in the form negative thoughts and emotions which I foolishly held on to. I’m also certain that from their point of view, they were acting in a just manner; and perhaps they were. Perhaps the customs are simply that different. Although I was aware of all this as it was happening, I couldn’t maintain my composure. In violation of my first rule, I lost my grip on kindness for a few days. In the end, there was no harm done. I didn’t blow up on anyone, although I came close. As it was mere trivia in the grand scheme of things, I had an easy time letting the aggravation go. I learned the lesson, and left all angst in the past, where it belongs.