In the five days since I started living in Srinagar, my landlord's family has successfully achieved my initiation into the Kashmiri way of life.

For starters, they cultivated in me a healthy respect for the firan, the loose overcoat that locals wear in winter. I now own one.

Initially it had amused me to watch them moving around in it. You see, they extricate their arms out of the loose sleeves to hold their kangri (a small, coal-burning fire-pot made of willow) underneath. So what you get to see are streams of armless, pregnant people walking slowly by.

I have now learnt to use the kangri, which is the first thing you are offered when you enter a house, in the approved fashion, too:

You cup your hands around the handle, stir the coal with the small spoon tied thereon, and place it beneath your firan so that you become one small warm tent in no time.

Now I can drink endless cups of namkeen chai (no self-respecting Kashmiri will let you go with just one cup) and sit on the floor for a decent length of time without getting cramps.

I have also become a wizard at removing my shoes in a jiffy, which is mandatory if you want to enter the beautifully carpeted living areas here.

After luxuriating in rediff.com's Bombay office, you find it quite painful basing yourself in Srinagar.

You feel very alone. No support staff, no electricity... why, not even the freedom to work as long as/ when you want!

Your working day is curtailed to about seven hours. The roads are deserted by
6.30 pm. By seven, all but the mentally deranged and the security personnel are home, sitting around their bukharis.

For me, the tragedy is more severe because I have not been able to secure a telephone connection till now.

I met the general manager of the telecommunications department about it twice. A nice, soft-spoken gentleman, he assured me that my problem would be sorted out as soon as possible.

But unfortunately, words like 'immediately,' 'today' etc have lost their meaning in Kashmir.

"Will you be able to provide me a phone in a couple of days?" I asked the GM after agreeing to the necessary paper work.

"Two days? I think it will take one week or 10 days," he replied. I could almost hear him add, "This is Kashmir, bhai!"

Anyway, I have done my bit. The GM, I am sure he will help me.

This might take some believing, but Kashmiris have a lot in common with Keralites. As true-blue Mallu, I'll will vouch for that.

Both are remarkably hospitable (the Kashmiris are a step ahead in this, I must admit), belong to two of India's most beautiful states and are male-oriented societies.

I even find -- don't laugh -- linguistic similarities between Malayalam and Kashmiri: Both languages, to the alien, sound worse than a cross between Greek and Latin.

It doesn't stop there. Both the common Mallu and Kashmiri are heavy rice-eaters. Both prefer eating with their hands. Both like to slurp their tea and burp in appreciation of a meal.

The youth in both states are attached to beards. And, before I forget, both the Kashmiri and the Mallu speak English with such pronounced accents that they stand a mile out.

Did I say a while ago that I was lucky? I take it back.

Darn this load shedding. It is 3 am and I am up cradling my laptop because of it.

I haven't worked last night: no power, no UPS. So here I am, trying to finish this diary before the next spell of darkness.

And, man, is it cold!! My Rs 8,000 heater has suddenly decided the oxygen level in here is dangerously low and switched off by itself.

I have my firan on, but no kangri. Chillai Kalan, the 40-day spell considered the toughest in the Kashmiri winter, is over, but an unheated room is no fun in the middle of the night.

It is okay, I guess. In a few hours Subhan Lone will start plying me with steaming cups of kahwa (a sweet brew of spices, saffron and almonds) followed by harisa (a preparation of rice and meat).

For lunch, I hope there will be tabak maaz (a fried mutton dish) and lotus root pickle...

I am a lucky devil. I guess.

Chindu Sreedharan may return from Kashmir weighing 20 stone.

Illustration: Lynette Menezes

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