It was a cold January morning in 2018, and I felt a little hesitation at the thought of driving into the hills. “We’ll go in our own car,” my wife said with a smile. “It will be more comfortable.” I agreed. I never imagined that this simple family trip from Srinagar to Jammu — meant for a few days of sunshine — would turn into an unforgettable adventure, testing patience, alertness, and the quick wit of my six-year-old son.
Traveling with me were my mother, my wife, and my two little children: Arshad, six, and his younger sister Sarah.
“Papa, are we going to see monkeys?” Arshad asked, bouncing in his seat. “Yes, beta,” I replied, smiling at their excitement. Their laughter filled the car, innocent and carefree.
The Srinagar–Jammu highway is long, winding, and full of surprises. Mountains, gorges, and sharp curves demand full attention. I had never driven this stretch before, and a small part of me worried. “Papa, will we reach safely?” Sarah asked softly. “Inshallah, beta, we will,” I reassured her.
By 7 a.m., our little Alto 800 was ready. The rooftop carrier was packed with luggage, tied tightly with ropes. Inside, a flask of steaming noon chai promised warmth. I had checked the oil, brakes, and tires, yet a quiet worry stayed with me. Everything seemed fine, but the heavily loaded rooftop made me uneasy.
As we crossed the Lower Munda Check Post, colleagues recognized me. “Majid saab! Traveling with family?” one called, smiling. “Yes, today we’re on a little winter trip,” I replied. I showed my family the office where I had worked and the small government quarter where I had briefly stayed. Memories passed quietly between us as the car moved forward.
We drove through the mighty Jawahar Tunnel, leaving Srinagar behind. Entering Jammu Province, I pointed out the old Banihal Toll Post and a government quarter where I had once stayed. At Ramban, we stopped at a small patch of roadside greenery. Stepping out, we stretched our legs and enjoyed hot, crispy parathas with steaming noon chai from our own kettle. The warmth in our hands and the smell of the parathas under the crisp winter sky felt comforting — yet a faint worry lingered, as if the road itself was quietly testing us.
The day seemed perfect. Arshad and Sarah laughed as they fed biscuits to monkeys. “Catch it, Sarah!” Arshad shouted as a monkey snatched a biscuit. Every waterfall became a photo spot. “Stop here, Papa! Look at the water!” Sarah insisted at one turn. Everything felt calm — yet I could not shake a quiet worry about our heavily loaded rooftop carrier.
Then, near Nashri, that calm vanished.
“Papa… Papa! Our rooftop… it’s fallen!” Arshad screamed.
My heart stopped. Time seemed to slow. I slammed the brakes and jumped out. There it was — the rooftop carrier, heavy with all our belongings, had collapsed onto the highway. Clothes, blankets, and bags were still tied, but the structure had failed. Just one small mistake could have caused a disaster.
“Alhamdulillah, no vehicle was hit,” I breathed, trying to calm myself.
Then, as if by fate, help appeared. A group of Kashmiri truck drivers, having lunch nearby, rushed over. “Don’t worry, brother, we will help!” one shouted. They untied the ropes, lifted the carrier back onto the roof, tightened the bolts, and rearranged the luggage. “Keep some bags inside the car,” another said. “Tie the rest firmly on top.” Their timely help felt almost like a miracle — a kindness I will never forget. Yet the true hero was small and unexpected: my son Arshad. “Papa, I saw it wobble!” he said, eyes wide. His sharp cry had saved our journey from disaster. In that moment, his innocence became our shield, and I realized how close we had come to misfortune.
With the luggage secured, we continued our drive. At Udhampur, we paused for paneer pakoras and tea. “Papa, that was scary!” Sarah whispered. “Yes, beta, but all is safe now,” I reassured her. By 2.30 p.m., we reached Jammu, our winter capital. Hunger and fatigue disappeared as we explored the city’s streets, bazaars, and flyovers. “Papa, look at the big monkeys here!” Arshad exclaimed, and their laughter turned every corner into a memory.
That journey remains unforgettable — not just for Jammu’s sunshine, playful monkeys, or waterfalls, but for that one defining moment on the highway. It reminds us that even a simple trip can hold hidden trials, and that attention, wit, and a little luck can turn them into lasting memories.
Every time I recall that trip, I feel the fear, the relief, and the joy all at once — the kind of emotions only a family journey can bring, reminding me of life’s surprises and the love that binds us.
Author is a government officer and a storyteller. He can be reached at [email protected]
