Abstract

Last summer, during an overnight bus trip from New Delhi to Srinagar—the summer capital of the Indian-controlled state of Jammu and Kashmir—I met a young man, with non-branded aviator sunglasses perched on his head, accompanied by two Canadian male backpackers about his age. He responded to the questions of his traveling companions in English with a mix of British and American accents. “You’ll love this journey,” he assured them. “You are going to heaven.” He gave them two bottles of mineral water and some biscuits before retiring on a seat beside me. The bus was crammed with people from across North India: Punjabis, Biharis, and a handful of Kashmiris. As we drove out of Delhi, the man with the aviators tapped me on my shoulder. He asked me in Hindi if I was interested in trading my window seat for his aisle seat. I declined curtly.

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