Naranag And A Faran

When we got back from the boat market, I showered and had breakfast. Then we set off for another mountain. This time, to Naranag.

I expressed a desire to have my own faran. I had grown fond of wearing the one lent to me and liked the way they hang on just about everyone I see. I am sure Dior and Givenchy had been to Kashmir and incorporated the flow of the Kashmiri faran into their designs.

Mohamed took me to his friend the tailor. I choose a light burgundy wool and the tailor quoted me 850 rupees to make the faran. I asked Mohamed if that was a good price. Mohamed said 800. So the tailor agreed and said, You are a guest, I give you good price. I almost laughed. I wanted to say, Okay give me the local price instead. But why not contribute to the Kashmiri economy? I am getting a custom-made wool faran for $20. It will be ready by evening.

Naranag is also a two-hour ride away by car, but in the opposite direction of Yousmarg, I think. Naranag is the most awe-inspiring mountain I have ever seen. It is what I've imagined the Himalayas to be.

There are also villages in this mountain. Mohamed asked if I wanted to buy sweets for the children. I agreed and purchased a bag of orange candies. I gave it to Mohamed to hand out so I could take pictures.

On Naranag, houses perch on mountain slopes with sculpted rice fields all around.







The narrow road up the mountain twisted, turned, and coiled, some parts with steep drops down the mountain face. Yet, drivers still make room for oncoming traffic as if it's no big deal. A few times I gasped as our driver pulled over to sit on a slant to let traffic pass. I think if I sneezed, our car would have plunged down the cliff.

But oh, the view was magnificent.





The car stopped in front of a Hindu temple ruin where we had lunch.





Mohamed and I then walked into the mountain for a few hours.

Some gypsy girls we met.



Mohamed giving candies to children.



Adults asked for candies too so Mohamed gave some to a brickmaker. He was making bricks by hand in the sun.



Mohamed nudged me each time we saw gypsies pass by. Most of them herded buffaloes and goats. We met women and girls carrying bundles of wood on their heads as they came out of the forests. They gather wood in preparation for winter. Here, some gypsy women accompanied us on our walk for a bit as they headed into the forest. They spoke a few words of English. The younger one kept saying, Come, come. I think she wanted me to gather wood with her. This is one of the few pictures that had me in it.



Some wood gatherers on the way back to their homes.





When we got back to the car in late afternoon, I thought the coat I had brought for the day had gone missing. I asked Mohamed if he noticed if I in fact had brought the coat. He said yes, here it is. He put the coat he was carrying in the back seat. He said, I took the coat because I thought you might get cold. I hadn't even noticed Mohamed carrying my coat on our walk. But there he is in that photograph giving candies to children, with my coat draped over his shoulders. I feel spoiled having someone anticipate my needs so.

Back at the boathouse, I had to pass up an invitation to another wedding feast. Ali had invited me to accompany him to his daughter's new home where her in-laws would host the dinner. After dinner, Ali would bring his daughter home for a few days. I was just too tired and achy all over to go.

After dinner, Mohamed went to his friend the tailor's to pick up my faran. It is beautiful. I have actually been writing from Kabul where I arrived two days ago. Douglas says the faran makes me look like a Buddhist monk. Good thing I didn't get one made for him! I feel more like one of Margaret Atwood's handmaids. I will even give that the faran is like a Kashmiri muumuu. It matters not what you've got under, you're just covered and comfortable with a faran on.

So I love my faran and it swooshes when I turn. At the airport out of Srinagar, one of the security women who searched me noticed my faran and commented that it fits me well. She made sure I knew it was called a faran and that it was native Kashmiri dress. How tent dresses make me happy.