Syed Majid Gilani
A simple family outing on Dal and Nigeen Lake becomes a memory that shines like sunlight on water — full of laughter, love, and joy.
I was almost eleven years old when that joyous day came into my life — a day so bright and warm that even now, at the age of 49, thinking of it makes my heart smile.
Families in Kashmir were large then. Picnics were for everyone — grandparents, parents, children, cousins, aunts, and uncles — moments to be enjoyed together, laughing and sharing memories. Life was simple and full of love. In those times, the hearts and intentions of people were clean and unadulterated. Food was home-cooked, clean, and made with care. There was no hurry, no showing off — just laughter, chatter, and togetherness.
That morning, Gilan House, our home in Botshah Colony, Lalbazar, was full of excitement. Papa had invited Naani and some of our cousins the day before so that we could leave early and enjoy the day to the fullest. My younger sister Yasmeen ran around me, laughing. Little Sabiyah, the youngest, sat in our mother’s lap, holding her shawl. Both grandmothers gave gentle instructions. Cousins shouted and giggled. We carried utensils, plates, cups, and a kerosene stove — simple picnic things, yet treasures for the day.
Private cars were rare, so we walked. From our home to the western banks of Nigeen Lake, Lalbazar side, our footsteps echoed on quiet lanes. The morning air was cool and pleasant. Every child held someone’s hand. Every laugh, every tug of a sleeve added to the excitement. That walk itself felt like the start of the adventure.
A super deluxe shikara waited at the shore. Papa — Syed Iftikhar Gilani — helped each child and elder board safely. Bags were arranged so nothing would fall into the water. I remember looking at him and feeling safe and loved.
The shikara moved slowly over Nigeen. Willows leaned over, touching the water. The breeze brushed our faces.
We made hot kehwa on the kerosene stove right there in the boat. Saffron and almond kernels gave it a warm, sweet smell that filled the air. We also had freshly brought sweet kulchas, which tasted even better with the hot kehwa. The soft splash of water against the boat made everything feel calm and peaceful. Sunlight danced on the lake, and for a while, it felt like the world had stopped just for us. That moment was so perfect and bright that even today it seems almost like a dream.
As we entered Dal Lake through the narrow channel, life on the water came alive. Boats selling Kashmiri shawls and crafts floated by. Vegetable boats carried nadru, haakh, and other fresh produce. Colourful tourist shikaras passed, their laughter mixing with the gentle sound of water.
Many people carried fishing rods in their boats, catching fish. A few sat along the shore, trying their luck. I stared wide-eyed, feeling happy to be part of this moving, living world.
We visited Silver Island, Golden Island, and the serene Nehru Park, where we rested briefly, moving from place to place throughout the day.
In the floating markets of Buchwara and Moti Mohalla, Papa bought mutton and onions. My mother and Daadi cooked lunch inside the shikara. By noon, the boat smelled of boiling rice, frying onions, and spices. The elders offered Zuhr namaz on the wooden steps of a houseboat. Then we ate — simple, hot food that tasted like happiness.
We got down from the shikara at the Shikara Ghat near Nishat Garden. The shikara waited as we explored the sprawling terraced garden. The fountains sparkled, chinars swayed gently, and the breeze carried the scent of flowers. We children splashed and played in the shallow flowing water inside the garden, enjoying ourselves completely.
Then we went towards Hazratbal. The white dome of the shrine shone over the water. We bought milk and warm halwa-paratha, made noon-chai, and drank it under the big chinar tree. Pigeons flew above us, cooing softly. The elders offered Asar namaz while we children watched quietly, hearts full of calm wonder.
All day we tried to pluck lotus flowers near Char Chinar and the open lotus fields, but Papa did not allow it. We were disappointed then, but today I understand — it was his love keeping us safe, and our laughter alive.
I don’t remember where we got water for drinking and cooking, but one thing is certain — the lake water was clear, pure, and fresh, just like the world around us that day.
By evening, the shikara brought us back to the western Nigeen shore, Lalbazar side. Papa gave the shikarawala a crisp 100-rupee note with a gentle smile. Even now, I don’t know whether it was payment or a tip — but the memory of that moment shines in my heart.
And then, with tired legs but happy hearts, we walked back home. The evening breeze carried the laughter of children, the gentle voices of elders — Daadi and Naani — and the warm embrace of family. Every step through the lanes of Lalbazar felt magical. That simple walk — every laugh, every hand held, every glance shared — was as precious as the day itself.
That day was not just a picnic — it was a piece of heaven, filled with simple life, pure love, and unconditional care. Looking back, it seems like a bright, fleeting dream that still warms my heart.
(Syed Majid Gilani is a Government Officer by profession and a reflective writer-storyteller by passion. He can be reached at syedmajid6676@gmail.com)
