Page 16 of A Kiss in Kashmir

“No, I meant to tell you yesterday. Daneen, my wife, passed away a few years ago,” George said, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

Sharmila was startled. “I’m so sorry. I was only concerned. I was, I am… I mean, I am so sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s been a few years now. That’s why I came to stay here with Wajid.”

“I truly am sorry. I did not know. Oh, and speaking of Wajid, how is he doing?” she asked, eager to change the topic. She placed one hand gently on her heart.

“He’s learning to get around on crutches. He said he would try to join us for the wazwan. I can check with him.”

“Oh, no worries, I was just wondering. Do you know how long the meal will take? I have an appointment this evening that I can’t miss.”

Alina asked from the back seat, “Who are we meeting, Ma?”

Sharmila turned around. “Wearen’t meeting anyone. I’m meeting the hotel manager I met earlier today in regards to holding a possible exhibition here for my paintings.”

George wondered why Sharmila had just lied to her daughter. Earlier today, when she was late, he had in fact peeked into the hotel and seen Sharmila talking not to the hotel manager as she had told them, but to a uniformed police officer.

Something wasn’t quite right.

Chapter 7

“Here we are. I hope Raahat is here.” George parked the Jeep and jumped out like an excited child.

Sharmila and Alina looked around in anticipation. So far George had delivered on every promise he had made. They were in the heart of the downtown of Srinagar. The afternoon sun warmed the air, and the market was buzzing. Street food vendors selling everything from deep-fried bread topped with semolina halwa to walnut fudge filled the air with sweet, salty, delicious aromas.

“Who is Raahat?” Alina asked. “And where are we going for this meal? Everything here looks like street food. I mean… are you actually thinking street food for the wedding, George? Maybe that could be awesome—my friends would love it. But Emilio’s Italian nonna may not like that idea.”

“Follow me. You’re going to be stunned when you see what I am going to show you,” George said sweetly.

The lanes were tight with dusty pathways, bicycles parked at random spots, clothes hanging out on clothes lines to dry, mothers wearing traditional Indian outfits and chasing their tiny children, vendors on bicycles selling everything from knife-sharpening services to vegetables to footwear.

George was now already walking way ahead of them, rushing deep into one of the lanes. Alina and Sharmila followed, calling his name. He just raised his hand and signaled to them to keep following.

A few young children now ran alongside Alina and Sharmila, singing a local nursery rhyme, “Kokro Kokro,” and making sounds like a chicken. Sharmila stopped for a moment and opened her purse.

“Ma, they’re not begging, you can’t give them money.” Alina looked horrified.

“Is this how well you know me, Alina?” Sharmila’s eyes twinkled as she pulled some pieces of chocolates from her purse, bent down, and handed them to the kids, who clapped and danced. One little boy gave Sharmila a kiss on her cheek. “The hotel staff was kind enough to find me some bars of my favorite chocolate. But now I guess I will need more.”

Alina smiled. It had been a long time since she had seen her mother this happy.

Earlier in the morning, when she’d called her fiancé, she said, “Emilio, I’m telling you, it’s like she’s blossoming into a new person. She’s always seemed content enough—steady, you know? But now she seems… well, she seemshappy.”

Alina had also found herself feeling better and better about her Kashmiri wedding.

Emilio was understanding and delighted. He loved Sharmila and wanted to see her happy. “Focus your energy on enjoying the time with your mom and taking in the stories George is sharing about Kashmir. We don’t really know why the universe is putting our wedding there. Let’s focus on learning, on gaining a new perspective.”

They walked faster to keep up with George. “Alina, I feel so bad that I asked about his wife. It’s so sad that he’s a widower,” Sharmila said. Alina just nodded as she looked at the shops, the people, and the food vendors all around her.

“Do you think Dad grew up in this area?” she said suddenly.

“I think so. This was a part of where his family was from.” Sharmila was a bit taken aback. This was the first time since they had arrived that Alina had shown any real interest in her father’s birthplace.

“This area, it has a really warm vibe, Ma. Isn’t that what you always say when a place feels friendly? This sort of has that, or maybe the sun is getting to me. In any case, where is our fearless guide? Do you see him?” Alina looked in the distance trying to see where George had gone.

Within a few moments they found George outside a small restaurant called RS Foods. He was waiting for them at the entrance.

“We take off our footwear outside as a sign of respect before we enter,” he said, kicking off his shoes. He waited for the ladies to do the same, then showed them in.

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