I started early from Jammu at 5:30 a.m., skipping breakfast to make the most of the daylight. The hotel staff had warned me — the stretch near Udhampur was badly damaged and traffic could be chaotic. They weren’t wrong.
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| Road Conditions |
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| Heavy Bpoulders |
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| Rocks |
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| Massive Stones |
Just getting out of Jammu took two hours of crawling through snarls. Then came the real test. At Udhampur, landslides had ripped through the hills, tossing boulders the size of cars onto the road. Teams were clearing one patch while another collapsed nearby. For nearly five hours, I moved inch by inch. Officials and workers were doing their best, but the scale of damage was beyond imagination.
Heavy trucks were parked for kilometres, waiting for days. Only small vehicles were being let through in controlled batches. Later I learned that traffic was being allowed one way on alternate days — incoming one day, outgoing the next. I had arrived on a rare day when both directions were open. Sheer luck.
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| Shaya Mukherjee Tunnel |
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| Inside the tunnel |
Beyond Udhampur, the drive stayed tense — sharp hairpin bends, no guard walls, and stretches where Google Maps simply gave up. At one point it showed a road where none existed. Light drizzle, fog, and falling rocks didn’t help. Then came the new tunnel — I entered, only to have the lights fail halfway through.
Pitch darkness. My headlights felt useless, scattering light into nothingness. For a few minutes, I crawled forward, guessing the curve, praying I wasn’t heading into a dead end. Finally, a faint glow appeared ahead — daylight. Relief washed over me as I emerged safely on the other side.
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| Thakur, the owner of the Dhabha |
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| Chai |
By mid-afternoon, the terrain eased out. I stopped at a roadside dhaba run by a cheerful Thakur with a magnificent moustache. Over chai and roasted corn, he showed me cracks in the ground where his dhaba had almost slipped into the valley during earlier landslides. Using jacks and concrete, he had propped it back into place — and here he was, smiling and serving travellers as if nothing had happened. We clicked a photo together — one of those small moments that stay with you longer than the destination itself.
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| Dal Lake Road |
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| Dal Lake Road |
By 6 p.m., I finally rolled into Srinagar. I checked into a small hotel opposite Dal Lake, the city’s sparkling heart. That evening I took a shikara ride, the lake glowing under the reflection of lights and laughter from the houseboats. The air smelled of woodsmoke and calm. Srinagar, with all its scars and resilience, still held its charm.
And in my heart, one thought stayed strong — tomorrow I would stand at Lal Chowk, the place I had promised myself to touch.
“From fear in dark tunnels to peace on Dal Lake — Srinagar was worth every risk.”
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