I Went to a Secret Ski Party in Gulmarg. It Changed How I Think About Luxury

There are trips you take, and then there are places that stay with you. Travel today can feel transactional. Destinations consumed, views captured, itineraries exhausted. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, you step into something slower. Something that replaces observation with belonging.

That is what I experienced at the Secret Ski Party in Gulmarg, a highly curated winter gathering imagined by Jammu-based entrepreneur Krishan Anand. This isn’t an event you stumble upon. It’s intentionally small, deliberately private, and built on a simple but rare idea: luxury should feel lived, not displayed.

“Luxury cannot be created at mass,” Anand tells me early into the trip. “You lose the detail.” And detail, I realise quickly, is the entire point. Every February, he hosts just two editions with around 40 guests each. Not for exclusivity as theatre, but for intimacy as design.

His larger ambition is to make people feel Kashmir rather than simply visit it. From the moment I landed, that intent was unmistakable.

At Srinagar airport, nothing felt chaotic. Someone was already there before I had to look. A shared playlist set the mood for the drive into the mountains. Luggage moved without effort. The transitions were seamless but never showy. It felt less like hospitality and more like anticipation.

By the time we reached the resort, the mountains felt almost intrusive. Vast and immediate, filling every window. Inside the room, small gestures did the heavy lifting. Chocolates. Skincare. Thoughtful touches that didn’t try too hard. Even altitude sickness, that inevitable mountain equaliser, had been anticipated. A medical kit arrived before I could regret not packing one. That’s when it hit me. Nothing here was accidental.

If the mountains were the setting, the curation was the story.

The first evening began with a traditional Wazwan, a multi-course Kashmiri feast slow-cooked over days. It had the finesse of fine dining but the warmth of a family table. Courses arrived unhurried. Conversations unfolded naturally. Dinner slipped into a Sufi evening where music carried farther than language and time stretched quietly in the background.

Mornings had their own rhythm. Breathwork in sub-zero air. Coffee against a canvas of white. That rare stillness where you can actually hear yourself think. And then the shift from calm to adrenaline.

We skied across Gulmarg’s slopes in the mornings. Some first-timers, some seasoned, all equally humbled by the mountains. Snowmobiles cut through silence. The cold sharpened everything. We felt present in a way cities rarely allow.'

One evening, almost casually, Anand tells me, “People think luxury is access. For me, it’s alignment. The right place, the right people, the right energy.”

I understood that more with each passing day.

Because what makes the Secret Ski Party memorable isn’t just where you are, but who you’re with. The room is full of people who have built things, lost things, rebuilt again. Founders, collectors, operators, creators. People who don’t need to prove much anymore. Conversations move easily between ambition and honesty. Wins and the weight behind them. In a setting this intimate, posturing fades fast.

My most surreal moment came during the ride up to Phase 2, nearly 14,000 feet above sea level. Endless white. Silence so complete it almost feels staged. And then, unexpectedly, lunch appears. World-class sushi flown in for the occasion.

“We’ve got Mizu here,” Anand says, smiling. Sushi at that altitude should feel excessive. But somehow, it doesn’t. It feels playful. Thoughtful. Almost philosophical. Luxury reimagined for context, not copied into it.

And that’s the thing. Nothing feels loud.

The final evening arrives without announcement. The mountains darken. The air sharpens. Guests step out in black tie against snow and shadow. A long table appears where you least expect it. Cinematic, but never contrived. 

But what stayed with me wasn’t the visual. It was the awareness in the room. Everyone knew this was fleeting.

A bonfire followed. Laughter softened everything. People who met days ago spoke like old friends. Someone wandered away just to stand alone with the mountains. And somewhere in that blur of warmth and cold, I realised what the gathering had been quietly building towards all along.

Not indulgence. Pause.

Even the scale of the operation, and it is extensive, never announces itself. Safety briefings happen gently. Guides move with quiet confidence. Everything works, but nothing performs. The machinery of luxury stays invisible. And maybe that is the highest form of it.

Before leaving, I asked Anand what he really wanted people to take back with them.

“I want people to feel connected to Kashmir,” he said. “Not like visitors looking in, but like they belonged, even if just for a few days.”

And that’s exactly how it stays with me.

The Secret Ski Party resists neat definitions. It isn’t just about skiing, or food, or exclusivity. It’s about stepping out of noise, out of the constant pressure to capture and share.

For a few days in Gulmarg, time loosens its grip. You stop checking. Stop scrolling. Stop measuring. And when you leave, you don’t carry a highlight reel. You carry a feeling that is harder to explain but extremely personal.

In a world that keeps getting louder, experiences like this don’t just stand out, they stay with you.

The Secret Ski Party returns every February. If you’re someone who loves mountains, culture or simply experiences that make you feel more present in your own life, this is one that deserves a place not just on your list, but in your memory.