By Karan Thapar

It is the colours of Srinagar that first strike you. After the drab green of the plains – or dirty brown, if the rains have failed – the autumn splendour of the Valley is spectacular. It’s like being in the middle of a mellow rainbow.

I don’t know which is the best view but there can’t be many to beat the gardens of the Grand Palace Hotel. Last week, as I stood in front of its daunting chinars, their leaves rust and golden, looking past the red salvia and yellow dahlias, with the tall auburn poplars in the distance and Dal Lake covered in a thin white mist, I had to blink and rub my eyes before I could believe the beauty I was beholding. Behind me was the deep green wooded escarpment of the mountains resplendent in its coverage of pine and cedar. Above the sky was crisp blue spangled with the pale yellow rays of the struggling early morning sun. A Constable landscape could not have been more beautiful.

It was cold and it was windy. But it was the noise of falling leaves, often like a torrent of crackles and crunches, that filled my ears. It’s not a sound you are accustomed to hear in Delhi. Our year ends – as perhaps it begins – uneventfully. Up in Srinagar the Gods herald each change of season with a fanfare of colours and onomatopoeia.

Ashok Upadhyay, my producer, who was visiting the Valley for the first time, could only shake his head in silent dismay. Words seemed to escape him. The shock of what he was seeing was impossible to translate into simple language. But twenty four hours later, when we headed back to the airport on our return journey, he clearly knew what he felt. And he expressed it pithily.

“The Kashmiri people must hate this” he said softly, staring all the while at the check posts with their evil-looking panels of metal spikes. “I can’t believe there aren’t better ways of doing this.”

He’s right. No doubt security is important but so too is the message it sends out. Perhaps in some ways that’s more important. And one must not forget that although an army needs to be effective it must never appear offensive. In Srinagar, I think, this line of distinction has been breached.

I’m told Srinagar is almost completely free of crime. And believe me I was stunned to hear this just as you must be right now. Our image of the Valley is one of recurring violence, bloodshed, insecurity and danger. In fact our most popular television news channel calls it “The Violent Valley”. Crime therefore, one assumes, is commonplace. Where there’s terrorism there must surely be theft, robbery and even rape.

Well, that’s simply not so. And none other than the police testify to this amazing fact.

Ashok met an old college chum, Alok Kumar, now posted as the Commandant of the Jammu & Kashmir Armed Police. Alok told him there is no need for regular policing in Srinagar. And not just in the capital. Even in the countryside civil law and order is voluntarily and willingly maintained.

“The Kashmiris are perhaps the most honest people I know” Alok added. Which, of course, makes the tragedy of their politics and insurgency even more poignant. But how many of us south of the Banihal recognise this?

I hope N. Ram takes this as a compliment because that’s certainly how it was meant. It may have been delivered with a wink and a smile and the comment certainly had the feel of a carefully constructed witticism but, nonetheless, it was sincere and heartfelt. Often the best jokes carry a large measure of truth.

I was talking to a group of Kashmiris in the coffeeshop of the Grand Palace when the subject turned to Indian newspapers. They devour them for news of the State and then argue and debate over the coverage.

“Which is best?” I asked.

The answer was unanimous. It was also instantaneous. The Hindu.

“Why?” I queried. I wasn’t doubting their judgement. I only wanted a fuller explanation.

“The Hindu is only hindu in name” came the answer. “It actually should be called The Indian. It’s probably the only truly Indian newspaper we have.”

I’ll say Amen to that!