Dal Lake’s floating tales

On a foggy morning in Srinagar, I met an elderly shikara (boat) rower named Bashir uncle. His hands, wrinkled and weathered by time, gripped the paddle with the ease of a man who’s spent a lifetime on water. As we glided over Dal Lake, the stillness was broken only by the soft splash of the oar and the distant call to prayer echoing through the hills.

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He told me how, during the harshest winters, when the lake freezes and tourists vanish, the people still gather to break the ice—literally and metaphorically. "We live with hope," he said, smiling. “That’s what makes a Kashmiri."

Srinagar is a city of contradictions — beauty and sorrow, resilience and routine. In the alleys of Downtown, where children play cricket among crumbling buildings, you sense the pulse of a place that refuses to fade. Even during curfews, people help neighbours, share bread, and find joy in small things like noon chai or the scent of blooming almond trees in spring.

What defines my city isn’t just the landscape, but the spirit of its people: quiet strength, deep hospitality, and a poetic soul hardened by time, yet soft with humanity.

In Srinagar, stories aren’t just told — they float, like shikaras on Dal Lake, carrying the essence of who we are.

Syeda Arkan Zehra, Srinagar