A despatch from the white heights of Kashmir
It was around this time exactly a year ago that I was sitting at a café in Zermatt, Switzerland, busy with my usual intellectual pursuits on Facebook while my kids went up and down the ski slopes. It was a gorgeous day: the slopes were perfectly groomed, the sun shone bright, and the Matterhorn sparkled from a distance. This was the kind of winter’s day that makes the Swiss go mad with joy, a phenomenon rarer than the blue moon.
Against such a backdrop, I spotted a photo of snow-clad mountains and bent over pine trees on my timeline, clicked from within a glass walled room from what I could tell, and one that looked far more enticing and beautiful than the view the glistening Alps were affording me.