Soldiers, separatists and soggy houseboats

Kashmir feels like a place under siege.


The northern valley, which Jawaharlal Nehru famously described as " the face of the beloved that one sees in a dream and that fades away on awakening," is supposed to be known for its natural beauty and the trekking in nearby mountains.


But far more striking for any visitor are the hundreds of thousands of soldiers, police and paramilitaries patrolling every inch of the still-disputed territory.


A brief recap by someone who knows precious little about, um, anything: Both India and Pakistan lay claim to all of Kashmir, which was divided along a Line of Control in 1972 following decades of conflict after partition in 1947. Over and above bilateral hostility and violence, a local insurgency (fuelled, so India says, by money, arms and militants from Pakistan) has been continuing since 1989. Tens of thousands of people have died in the past 20 years.


But Kashmir is supposed to be approaching normalcy as militant activity has died down. Foreigners walking through Delhi's Paharganj are accosted by people enticing them to visit Srinagar houseboats. Everything's fine now, they say; the place is quiet.


It doesn't quite feel that way. Despite largely successful local elections earlier this year that boasted high voter turnout and put a relatively moderate "pro-Kashmiri" party in power, there's still widespread anger over what locals see as a militarization of their home. There's one security forces officer for every seven Kashiris, and the forces in Kashmir are granted almost total immunity under Indian law. As the civilian death toll mounts, so does the anger and tension underlying what have become weekly (if not daily) protests in Srinagar and surrounding villages.


Not one of the Kashmiris I spoke with wants to join Pakistan. Frankly, given what's going on there right now, can you blame them? But they all--even those not actively advocating independence--were furious at the Indian government, felt alienated from the rest of the country and defended the actions of protesters and separatists as necessary in fighting for freedom and their civil rights.


As one angry student put it, the army isn't there to protect the people--it's there to fight them. So why not fight back?


The soldiers I spoke with, of course, saw the situation differently. They laughed when I asked what would happen if they left. The militants would run amok, they said. And angry citizens? They're just stirred up by local separatist groups.


A Kashmiri soldier said people who advocate independence are kidding themselves.

"Have you seen Kashmir?" he asked, laughing and spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire valley.

"We couldn't exist on our own."

That doesn't make people any less angry, however.


So how does this translate for a clued-out gori (white woman)? Think barbed wire and soldiers decked out in camo everywhere, and frisking checkpoints every time you want to enter pretty much any public building. People are eager to air their grievances with the lost-looking foreigner. If only she could speak Kashmiri.