Page 27 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“Well, actually the fish lady just came by on her shikara and sold it to me, but that doesn’t sound as good, does it?” He laughed at his own joke.

It was the first time she had seen him laugh like that. He seemed so comfortable in his quiet home here. His guard was down. His steps firmer. He was humming as he moved to the small cooker that served as the kitchen on the boat.

“I smell saffron and cardamom and… something else?” she said, walking up to him at the stove.

“Yes, keep trying to guess what the third smell is,” he said as his hands moved, skillfully blending the aromatic ingredients into a paste that he then added to a pot already on the stove. The mixture in the pot sizzled, and George continued to work. She watched him expertly fillet the trout before adding it to the pot. Watching him cook with such passion and care stirred something deep within Sharmila, awakening feelings she had suppressed for so long.His hands move so gracefully.

She found a quiet corner from where she could observe him without being in the way. In her heart, she worried he could sense her longing.That’s impossible. He isn’t a mind reader.

She continued looking around the houseboat. A few lines from Rumi’s poetry echoed in her mind:

Let yourself be silently drawn

By the strange pull of what you really love

It will not lead you astray

These words resonated deeply with her as she watched George, feeling so drawn to him. She looked away, embarrassed. And yet thewhat if?rang in her head.

She shook her head to clear it and looked outside. The usually calm lake wasn’t so calm this evening. A storm was brewing and there were unseemly ripples all over.They are mirroring my heart, Sharmila thought.

She turned around to look at him again. Sharmila noticed the delicacy with which he handled each ingredient, the passion in his eyes as he went about cooking. Her fears began to dissolve, and she felt an urge to bridge the gap between them, to break free from the barriers she’d built around her heart.I want to hug him and place my head on his shoulder. Just once.

As he stirred the pot, he talked about the rice he was making. “You know, I always thought fish curry and rice complete each other. Like soul mates. But now I don’t think that’s it. I think they awaken something in each other that’s dormant without the other.”

Sharmila stood still. He wasn’t talking about the food. Or was he? She couldn’t tell anymore.

“Are you ready to eat?” George said as he tasted the curry. “It’s ready.”

They sat down at the small dinner table and began to eat. George began to tell her colorful tales of his experiences in Srinagar. Sharmila couldn’t help but laugh at his gentle, self-deprecating manner.

“I get the feeling that Alina is finally warming up to getting married here?” he asked Sharmila as they finished the meal.

“Yes, and I am so grateful. And, well, there is one other thing that I haven’t told her yet and I don’t know how she will react…”

George began to clear the table and added casually, “Is this something to do with the police inspector you were speaking with earlier?”

“Oh, how did you know? Did you see him at the hotel? You saw?” She took a deep breath. “I’m trying to find Vikram’s family. They used to live in Lal Mandi, but now I don’t know where they are. He was helping, but he couldn’t find any leads. They moved a while ago and I don’t know. I thought maybe I could meet them. I don’t actually know what I thought would happen. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be.” Sharmila couldn’t sit anymore, so she got up to help clear the table and the two found themselves close to each other at the small kitchen sink.

“Maybe I can help. Could you share the details with me and Wajid? Only if you’re comfortable doing that, of course.”

Sharmila nodded. “I have an old address and their names. I’ll text them to you. Please don’t mention it to Alina yet. I don’t want her to be disappointed if I can’t find them.”

“They were Kashmiri Pandits, right? This would have been in the early to mid-nineties? That was the time the unrest started in Kashmir—many Kashmiri Pandits left Srinagar and settled in Jammu. Some even moved to the outside areas of Pahalgam. Not all voluntarily,” George added as he tried to recall that time. It was the same time he and Daneen got married. They had had a civil marriage, as his religion was different.

“Yes, it was. I only know that his name was Vikram Pandit and that his family was in Lal Mandi. I tried to reach out to the person who had hired him for his painting studio, but everything was so hard back then, and I lost touch with them.”

“Painting studio?”

“Yes, that’s how I met him. He was a painting instructor who had come into town, and he inspired me to start painting seriously. Then, well, things went terribly wrong when he returned here.” Sharmila’s voice began to quiver as the dark memories came back.

“Would you like to dance?” George changed the topic in an instant, moving away from the sink and putting on some music. Now he was standing in front of her.

“Wait. What?”

He held out his hand.

“It is my birthday, so I thought a dance would be fun. Let’s change the mood, shall we? I’ll help you find his family. Don’t worry. Now, let’s dance.”

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