"I don't do parents very well", I said, fibbing nervously to Manzoor while shifting my weight from foot to foot.Manzoor looks at me exasperated, not really understanding what he was hearing. He was suggesting that I stay with his family who owns a bed and breakfast in Shrinagar. But it was my birthday week and I was tired of the ordinary hotels I had been staying at in Delhi and parts of Rajasthan. I was ready to splurge on myself, take in a room at a five star hotel and enjoy lakeside peace and tranquility,
"You can stay at my parents bed and breakfast one day and then change to a hotel in the morning if you like". When Manzoor put it that way, it didn't feel right to protest. We drive up a long winding hill into the Himalayas, and I am still in awe of the city that is unlike any place I have yet to have seen in India. The roads are narrow and people are walking in pairs -- men in long Kashmiri ponchos, the women in Muslim dresses, hair and face covered.
We arrive at the Asif Bed and Breakfast, a quaint two storey home, set high in the foothills of Shrinagar. The weather is brisk, and the soft colors dreamily paint the canvas of the small town. Cows are mooing loudly, their bells clanging to their song as they walk up the roads alongside out car. White and yellow and blue butterflies were everywhere, as if a butterfly explosion had just happened, and they fluttered and danced around me, as if welcoming me to Kashmir. Endless green pastures stretched into the infinite mountains of the Himalayas and I couldn't help but to hold my breath, afraid to exhale and everything might disappear. We stop at the top of the long road and the car door opens as Manzoor grabbed my bags from the backseat. Hearing the car pull up, Asif, Manzoor's brother comes out, helping us with our luggage. He is good looking, but a bit too young for me - he is 18 years old. But incredibly sweet (Pictured right-below).
His father comes out first to greet us. Another strikingly handsome man, who looked as if he found the fountain of youth. His jawline is beautifully defined with smooth dark skin, and it was clear where Manzoor inherited his enchanting good looks. His father's English was perfect, "Welcome to Kashmir! I am Mohammed." He was warm and with a large smile, full of bright teeth. His hair was shiny and jet black, curly and cut short.I was introduced to his mother as well, a sweet obliging woman who waited on us hand and foot. She prepared us Kashmiri sweet breads and saffron tea. We sat out in the garden and ate as we talked about his family and Shrinagar and all the things to do in Kashmir. I felt as if I were on a studio backlot, and a director was going to yell cut any minute. Manzoor's mom would take off her Muslim headwrap and introduce herself as Shirley and ask for a soy latte. But this was realer than real, kinder than kind and I was overwhelmed with the warmth of Manzoor's family. I felt safe, comfortable, and at peace.
I went upstairs and Manzoor showed me to my room and bathroom. It was very cozy and I suddenly felt ashamed for saying the thing about not doing well with parents. It's just that at the time I said that, I just wanted to be in a nice hotel and full of free will to come and go, not shuck and jive with parents. But I was wrong to think that way.
I realized something about myself on this trip. I don't know everything and I am not always right, and it was a beautiful wake up call. Because I listened to the advice of others, I was exposed to such magnificent experiences in India. Had I not taken the road less traveled by going with Manzoor to Kashmir, I would not be experiencing this spiritual mecca. Had Manzoor let me stay in a 5 star hotel, I would never have formed the great relationship I did with his family. India humbled me from the minute I got off the plane with Rajiv in New Delhi when I had to use the restroom by squatting into a pit at the airport. I was continuously humbled and this moment was one of them as I looked at the surrounding beauty of Manzoor's home and the mountains that protect it. Sometimes I think that I know so much and that my way is the right way, but it is such a fantastic feeling to be wrong and have things turn out for the better, because then life becomes a wonderful surprise.
