No sooner did the 'P' hit the Sikh, than every indian eye was cast our
direction. The man in charge motioned to us to step out of the truck and
approach him. As our feet hit the ground, we were met by a couple of gun toting
escorts. Approaching the head officer we could now see the damage that was
wrought upon our drivers. Their eyes were already beginning to swell and blood
formed a slow ripple down their jowls. Amazingly though, through the terror on
their faces, one could still see a bit of pride. Once we reached the officer,
he tried his best to be cordial. "Hello", he says "where are you from?"....
~Mornings on Dal Lake were at times a bit mystical. With the whisperings of mist rising up from the surface of the water, one couldn't help but feel what it's been like forever. The floating markets here were an unaffected dance that had been coreographed centuries ago. Trading and bartering of goods is part of the cycle of life~