SRINAGAR, INDIA // A sign outside the airport welcomes visitors to "Paradise on Earth". But behind it, the barbed wire and bunkers of a city under siege tell the real story. In the wake of massive public protests and violent police clampdowns, the capital of India's part of the disputed Kashmir region has become an armed fortress.
While the streets surge with Kashmiris defying a military curfew to demand independence from India, the picturesque valley's economic dependence on tourism may be its biggest casualty. "Let's hope for the best," said Farooq Shah, director of tourism for Jammu and Kashmir, India's only Muslim-majority state. "This year, we had a very good target, but because of the circumstances, we cannot meet that."
On Dal Lake, some 1,400 houseboats crowd the lush shoreline bearing names like Prince of Bombay, Montreal, Garden of Eden, and, not to be outdone, Garden of Heaven. Only the black flag fluttering faintly from atop some of the houseboats offers a clue as to why the lake has gone silent. The flags, like those waving from cars, scooters and traffic lights throughout the city, have come to symbolise Kashmir's struggle for independence.
Amid almost daily street protests for the last two months, which have killed at least 42 people and injured hundreds more, it is easy to overlook the silent denizens of Dal Lake. Bereft of visitors, the much-vaunted houseboats of Dal Lake are sinking. Once bustling with tourists, dawdling along on tiny cushioned boats, called shikaras, the lake has become the stateliest of cemeteries. A police garrison is still manned. But aside from the black flags, the boisterous spirit of protest that has wracked the streets is virtually absent here.
So too are the tourists. Should a visitor appear, it does not take long for boatmen to emerge from the lotus patches, trying to hawk their goods. "Boss? Boss?" shouted one merchant. "Buy something?" "Hello! Postcard? Whisky?" The doors of the Handicraft Bazaar, once filled with tourists looking for souvenirs, are swung wide open, its owners sitting outside. "Sir?" called another buccaneer on a skinny shikara. "Change money? Bank notes?"
Derelict shops still display carved tigers, elephants and chests of drawers, all handcrafted from a rich, dark wood. Then there are the silks, woollen carpets, and, the world's most expensive spice, saffron. The latter is sold by the gram, packaged in ornate yellow boxes, for the equivalent of Dh13. There is a reason why the houseboats seem especially vivid, boasting elaborate wooden verandas, meticulously manicured decks and bright coats of fresh paint. Anticipating more tourists this year, many owners invested heavily in upgrades and renovations.
"We spent a lot of money on our houseboats," sighed Ghulam Nabi, 49, owner of the houseboat Mashal. In recent years, things were looking golden for lakeside guesthouses, along with the local economy of fruit, vegetables, and handicrafts. "I was expecting more and more business," Mr Nabi said. He was, in fact, so sure that the valley's natural charms - the network of rivers, floating gardens and sprawling mountains - would only lure more tourists that he invested more than Dh3,400 in upgrading his boat.
For a hotel with only two rooms, ranging in price from Dh40 to Dh80 a night, it was a bold vote of confidence. But Mr Nabi was not the only one. Many of his neighbours followed suit, their eyes fixed on a seemingly unsinkable future. The recent violent protests that have reignited the independence fight here have put paid to that dream. While he supports independence for Kashmir, Mr Nabi wishes the protests could have come in winter, when tourism hibernates beneath blankets of ice and snow.
"Now, we have nothing," he said. "Tourism is finished." What is worse, political uncertainty and shuttered shops have vaulted food prices in the capital, at the very time when few are earning any income. "They don't see how they are cutting our throats," he said. "They really are killing us." That feeling of desperation carries over to the shore, where shop owners share the same painful attrition. Displays that once dangled Kashmir scarves, carpets and handicrafts, are frequently sealed behind metal doors with soldiers bristling from nearly every alcove.
Behind one of those doors, K Salama bides his time, wondering how long he can endure. "The protest has affected me very badly," said the grey-haired tailor, whose great, great grandfather established the shop in 1842. Since then, the business has catered to the likes of Ronald Michener, a former governor-general of Canada, and Chester Bowles, a US ambassador to India. Mr Salama keeps their testimonials in a dusty album.
The letters are like museum exhibits, the once-vibrant bustling atmosphere now replaced with stagnant uncertainty. "I am under siege," Mr Salama said. That siege mentality applies even to major hotels, where entranceways are girded with barbed wire and sentries. "Since 2006, tourism was picking up," said Sameer Dewan, manager at the Broadway Hotel. "In 2008, it was in bloom. All the hotels, all the lodges, all the houseboats were packed until about July 15.
"After the protests started, tourists left Kashmir. Now, no one will jump into the fire." Mr Dewan blames the politicians for the recent upswing in violence. Nationalist parties such as the Bharatiya Janata Party and People's Democratic Party are stirring the sectarian pot, he said, seeking to gain Hindu votes on a national level. In fact, Mr Dewan still sees a future with Muslims and Hindus living alongside each other.
"We are Kashmiris," he said. "But we are part of India." ccotroneo@thenational.ae