Night bus from Amritsar to Jammu arrived in Jammu at 4.30 in the morning. It was pitch black. The driver of the private bus told me it was the Jammu bus station but I doubt it was.
Rather, it seemed like I had been dropped from the bus to some wasteland over which a massive concrete bridge streched.
Still sleepy after the short rest I had managed to have on the bus I just stood there wondering, where the hell should I go. I wanted to continue straight to Srinagar but it looked like there was nowhere to go to ask for directions. Everything was closed.
Unsurprisingly it didn't take long for the ricksha drivers to spot me. First there was one.
"Where do you want to go?"
Then there was another. And a third.
"I'm looking for a bus to Srinagar."
"No bus, madam."
"No bus?" ("Madam?")
"Jeep, jeep here. 250 rupees to Srinagar"
By that time I was already surrounded by 20 men who were all staring at me. I looked around not knowing what to do. Being the rational woman I am, I started laughing.
The whole situation was absurd. At 4.30 in the morning a lonesome woman arrives somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Jammu and by 4.31 she is surrounded by 20 men balling there eyes out.
The guys started laughing too and I relaxed.
I said yes to the jeep ride without even bargaining. It was set to leave at 7. So I at sat down at a small bench, mentally preparing for a long wait. Then one of the guys emerged with a plastic bag of chai and I too got my cup. It looked like the wait too would be alright.
To my great surprise the jeep driver came to tell me we'd leave right then.
I sat in on my window seat ready to finally fall asleap.
"Are you a journalist?" said a voice from the front seat.
Puzzled at how the man had guessed, I replied yes.
"Journalists always travel alone", came rapid the answer.
"Journalists do a lot of good. But a lot of bad as well. On Palestine, on Pakistan and on Iran."
Great. I appeared to be surrounded by muslim militants on their way to Kashmir where only a week before a car bomb had gone off killing four people.
"Not all muslims are terrorists. You should write that."
The man on the front seat continued his sermon. Listening to him I realized that this was actually a very wise man. He seemed to know everything about the conflict in Kashmir and Kashmir's history, and made frequent reference to Urdu poetry. I started listening more carefully. We ended up discussing matters of religion, war, peace, and family for the next three hours while the sun slowly rose to shed light on the rolling hills which quickly turned into mountains.
It was time for breakfast. We stopped at a small road side eaterie. And from then on I was treated like a queen. The two other guys went to find the toilet for me, insisted on holding my bag while I was in and eventually payed the lady tending the toilet. For breakfast they ordered me a chili omelette and paneer sandwiches and insisted on paying again.
Back in the jeep I started falling asleep. Soon I woke up and realized I was leaning my head on one of the guy's shoulder. He patted my head reassuringly and I went back to sleep only to wake up again two hours later soundly asleep at this stranger's lap. (in the pic on the right)
The rest of the nine hour journey to Srinagar passed by quickly. We chatted and smiled a lot, and stopped again for lunch.
In Srinagar we exchanged numbers and said goodbyes. It had definitely been one of the best journeys ever.
Oh, and the wise man isn't a militant in the exact sense of the word. He (in the pic on the middle) is a Kashmiri muslim, working in the Indian army and serving at the Attari border, where I had watched the closing ceremony just the day before.
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