Inside a Secret Ski Party in Gulmarg, Where Luxury Came Without a Label

The drive from Srinagar began quietly. I left the bustle behind and slipped into undulating hills capped with snow, the road curling through a white expanse so cinematic, it felt more like a European winter escape in a Netflix limited series. Pines dusted in snow powder. Frozen streams caught pale sunlight. Army bunkers faded into fog.

By the time I reached Gulmarg, I had forgotten I was still in India. Heevens Retreat in Gulmarg appeared like a mirage — a wooden chalet rising from snowbanks, all sloping roofs and large glass windows framing the Himalayas like living art. Inside, timber beams, Kashmiri carpets, and low lamps. As I settled in, Krishan Anand, the founder of the Secret Ski Party, warmly greeted me and asked, “A glass of champagne?” “Kahwa,” I replied.

That exchange set the tone for what would unfold over four nights and five days — an experience that doesn’t advertise itself as luxury but quietly redefines it. This was the Secret Ski Party — a gathering so whispered-about that if you were here, you experienced it. If you weren’t, you simply never would.

And as I stood there, I realised I was in the middle of something India doesn’t quite know how to define yet: a private, invitation-only winter salon where celebrities paid their way in — not to be seen, but to disappear.

The Host Who Was Born to Do This

Krishan Anand doesn’t look like someone trying to build an empire. He looks like someone who already owns the room — quietly.

“My family’s been in Jammu and Kashmir for over a hundred years,” he told me, as staff drifted in and out. “Sixth generation. My great-great-grandfather was among the first to be given state subject status by the Maharaja.”

Hospitality, for him, isn’t a pivot. It is lineage. His great-grandfather once hosted John D. Rockefeller at their home in Ram Munshi Bagh in the 1950s and ’60s. “Whoever came to Kashmir,” he shrugged, “the Anand household was a customary stop.”

He grew up watching his grandfather handwrite menus before dinner parties, selecting cutlery collected from Uzbekistan, Russia, Pondicherry, and Rajasthan. “This wasn’t business,” he said. “This was passion.”

The Secret Ski Party feels less like an event and more like an heirloom — reimagined.

Skiing, But Make It Personal

The next morning, I understood what he meant by “seeing Kashmir through my lens.”

For every one person learning to ski, there were two attendants. One existed solely to strap on your boots and carry your skis, and the other to instruct you. There was a private ski shop installed just for guests — Equipment, neatly arranged, no trudging to a rickety rental shack in town.

For the first two days, it was all about skiing — the rhythm of ascent and descent, the quiet discipline of the slopes. And then, just as the experience began to settle into something familiar, Krishan Anand shifted the script.

On the third day, he gathered his guests into a slow-moving procession of snowmobiles, gliding across an endless white expanse, before bringing them to a pause at 14,000 feet for a session of sound healing.

And then — sushi. Chef Lakhan Jethani of Mizu had been flown in to serve Japanese precision at Himalayan altitude. I watched a box of sushi travel up the mountain to meet a skier mid-run. “You all love your sushi,” Anand had joked. “But have you imagined it at 14,000 feet?” I hadn’t.

The Famous, Unfiltered

Evenings were as interesting as the days. On the first evening, a rapper I’d seen on TV and YouTube videos leaned against the bar, casually discussing skiing techniques. An actress, usually flanked by stylists, made profound conversation about happiness and manifestation. No one was paid to attend. Everyone was vetted. Out of 700 applications, about 40 make it.

The room, Anand insists, is everything. “You can be rich, famous — and still have no personality,” one of the collaborators, a lawyer-turned-immersive-theatre creator, told me later by the fire. She had designed a four-day murder mystery around the guests, inspired by Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery. Each attendee received a character card based on their LinkedIn, Instagram, and personality analysis. Over eight courses and five cocktails, alliances formed. Suspects emerged. Alibis were defended.

It was networking, yes. But weaponised with wit. I watched heiresses, entrepreneurs, and venture capitalists accuse each other of fictional homicide over saffron Negronis made with Pampur saffron.

Wazwan, Sufi, Snow

Dinner that night was a sit-down wazwan — the 16-course ceremonial feast of Kashmir. Before the meal began, Anand made a quiet announcement: “Please leave your shoes and your egos outside.”

We sat on the floor. Copper platters gleamed. Before the first bite, a waza’s assistant knelt to wash our hands where we sat. Rista, Rogan Josh, Yakhni--every dish was slow, deliberate, and delicious.

Later, the room transformed.

The bar told its own story. Cocktails were orchestrated by ZLB 23, counted among Asia’s 50 Best, while a gin from Cambridge, a five-times distilled British vodka called Snob, and an additive-free tequila, El Cristiano, moved quietly through the room. A visiting skier-sommelier poured Swiss wines. Somewhere between the music and the mountains, Anand had achieved something improbable: he had taken a sleepy ski village — where evenings usually end with a book and an early bed — and recast it as a private alpine salon.

What Changed in the Second Edition

If the first edition established the mood, the second refined it into something more deliberate. This time, mornings began with a curated coffee, tea, and matcha.

A programme by Billy Hu turned something as simple as a cup into a ritual. Valentine’s Day was marked by a collaboration with the dating platform, League. This introduced another subtle layer — not overt romance, but engineered interaction. “It’s not about forcing anything. It’s about creating the right environment for a meaningful connection,” said Anand.

Food, as ever, was not an afterthought but a quiet axis around which the second edition turned. For the finale, Inja, known to expertly fuse the culinary worlds of Japan and India, joined the party to create a memorable finale meal.

Secret Ski Party, The Next Chapter

What happens when something so rooted in place begins to travel?

Anand is already planning the next chapter — taking the Secret Ski Party international through a collaboration with Club Med. The format, he insists, will remain unchanged.

“We still curate for the people. We still curate the experience. From the moment you land to the moment you take off — you don’t have to think about anything,” he said. Even abroad, the philosophy holds: local elements, Indian community, seamless hosting. But what stands out most is not the expansion — it’s his insistence on presence.

“For me, it’s important to be there — welcoming people, hosting them, and seeing them off. That’s what makes it personal,” he concludes.