It started last night, around midnight, when we went out on a whim looking quite hopelessly for three cigarettes. We took the car and drove through the deserted city: the two of us, four cows and a bunch of scrawny stray dogs.
Rain mixed with snow started to fall – slowly, while the street dotted with potholes became a blurry mirror for the occasional lamp post.
Four men clad in their pheran drunk tea around the gas stove in the little kiosk by the hospital.
Without getting out of the car, we pulled the window down and asked: “Do you have cigarettes?”
One of the men shook his head without uttering a word.
We kept going, looking for another possible place.
“The snow will never stay”, I said almost thinking out loud. “The ground is too wet…”
“Let’s see”, he replied, concerned more with the lack of cigarettes than with the weather forecast.
When we woke up this morning, we were greeted by a city covered by more than twenty centimeters of soft snow.
“It is so peaceful”, I said with a smile.
“Let’s hope it lasts”, he replied without adding anything else.
Meanwhile, the snow kept falling.
Fat flakes, too heavy to swirl in the wind. Flakes that fall with determination and stay in the exact place where they landed. Purposeful flakes that have no intention to stop.
In the garden, there is a twitchy tree that seems to carry with extreme patience the burden of time and of the temporary white cloak that covers it. On the streets, the ancient chinar trees resemble dervishes with tired arms lifted to the sky, made heavy by the weight of the snow and by the little birds that rest in the cold, perked at their edges.
Sounds are muffled, shape smoothened; the snow-clad landscape offers an unexpected sense of tranquillity. A silent inner comfort. And awe for this perfect yet transitory beauty.
I had not been back in Srinagar for more than a year and had started to miss it. I could not have wished for a better welcome.
Here, as much as in Kabul, these moments of beauty surprise me.
It is, however, a beauty that is as profound as it is deceiving.
Snow offers the momentary gift of relief and lightness even if it does not make tanks, coils of concertina wire and check-point barriers less frightening.