Wednesday 22nd October

“I know you writers,” says the man in the government travel agency. He has spent the last ten minutes trying to persuade me he is Italian. I have barely seen anyone look more Indian. “You are not honest.” He chuckles. “John Simpson,” he says, “he came to my house many times. I told him, ‘you are not honest.’ Michael Palin too. He came to my house many times. Not honest.”

This from a man who, last time we came into his office, charged us double for a car to Jaipur. I tell him this and he chortles.

On the way out, one of the other workers in the office opens the door for me. “Where are you going?” he smiles. I explain to him that I am going to a coffee shop around the corner to wait for a friend who's driving me out of town to a recording session. He walks alongside me. “I know you,” he says. I’m not sure he does, though to locals here one blonde white girl looks much like another, and I’m also sure that he’s not walking me down the road just to see if I get safely to my destination. Next thing I know he’s in the café, sat at the table beside me, ordering a cappuccino. I’m beginning to latch onto the fact that Connaught Place’s plethora of coffee shops only stay in business because of Indian men who cajole female tourists to come inside and keep them company over a latte.

One of the best things about India is that with time to spare, there is always someone who wants to talk to you. When all you want to do is sit and be alone with a book, it can seem like one of the worst. But Rajesh is friendly, and only slips the odd innuendo into conversation. He is also keen to tell me about his adventures in Australia, and does the accent too. He twists his mouth like a yawning lion as he attempts it. “We wid gaw for a bi-a at the bich, mayte” he says. He also tells me (quite rightly) that English people are only friendly after a few drinks. He went to Britain once: to Manchester, he says. I console him accordingly.

“You must come home to Kashmir with me next month,” he says. “It is the most beautiful place. It is cold,” he chuckles. “But I will keep you warm.” He gets out a photo album and shows me pictures of Srinigar: snow-capped mountains, people fishing in clear blue lakes, and women making pashminas out of mounds of soft wool. There's a snap of the inside of his houseboat, adorned with red paisley throws and gold patterned chairs. It reminds me of a seventies brochure for luxury caravan holidays.

“Kashmir is so beautiful.” He stirs his coffee and stares into the distance. “And everyone wants a piece of you,” I say.

“We just want a piece of ourselves,” he answers.

Kashmir has been pulled apart by adjoining powers since 1947. China, India and Pakistan all claim a piece of it, and neither recognise the other’s possession. It’s been the site of wars and violence for over sixty years. The last threatened war between India and Pakistan was in 2002. Kashmir has been the subject of a conflict that has brought the world to the edge of nuclear war, taking the earth as close to its destruction as the Cuban Missile crisis. The Indian army patrolling the region possesses the right to kill, arbitrarily arrest, or confiscate and destroy property. India claims Pakistan is funding mujahadeen. While the powers wrangle over territory, or otherwise agree to disagree, Kashmiris remain the forgotten subjects of occupying forces, the sufferers of disappearances, torture, and all kinds of extrajudicial treatment. Altogether, an estimated 70,000 Kashmiris have died, and another 10,000 are missing.

But Kashmir is the last thing on the world’s mind at the moment. Other hotspots just over it’s border cause a more prescient threat to Washington and London. Today, the world’s media celebrated the fact that a trade route has just reopened there between India and Pakistan. It puts a sticking plaster on the conflict, but in reality the world is still ignoring a gaping wound. Trade is still only permitted one day a week, telephone lines are still barred, and the movement of people across borders is still severely restricted. Drivers delivering goods are expected to drive a few miles into the country, drop their load, and come straight back again. It’s a gesture that is easily taken back. And free trade cannot atone for lives that are still being broken.

The Christian Science Monitor today reported that the number of orphanages in Kashmir is growing because between 60,000 and 100,000 of its children have been left parentless by the conflict. Though violence has abated recently, the country’s young scars have still to heal. And it looks as though they may remain open for at least another generation.

“We are a peaceful people,” Rajesh says, and suddenly all promises of whipping me off for a romantic weekend lie at the wayside of his mind. It’s a phrase so often used by inhabitants in areas of conflict. This time, looking at his pictures of local crafters, families and fishermen, I realise that for the vast majority, it really is true.

Back at the government travel agency, Rajesh’s ‘Italian’ friend is still persuading tourists to visit this “paradise on earth.” What’s there not to like after all? In the summer, you can trek the mountains or swim in the lakes. In the winter you can ski in one of the region’s resorts, or go snowboarding. Just mind you don’t bump into one of the Pakistani-funded Mujahadeen, or the 600,000 Indian troops that have license from the government. They shoot to kill.