Musings of a Person Far Away from the Action in Kashmir

It was raining, so we moved from the college ground to an empty classroom. The year was 2013, it was my first year in Delhi away from the place I grew up in, Sambalpur. On that rainy afternoon, we were asked to close our eyes and describe the images that we see when certain words were said. I closed my eyes and waited for a list of words hoping it won’t be as bad as improvisation sessions during theatre practice. I was trying my best but I just couldn’t understand the things that people kept saying about character building, setting, dialogues etc. I had clearly drawn lines between reality and imagination simply because imagination and I were sworn enemies. So, I held on to reality in the most stubborn way possible. I know what’s real, I don't know what's beyond. Words like imaginative or creative weren’t something I could use even while writing a facebook bio.

A few people in the group were playing guitar and singing along. How much I loved the songs that our seniors composed within a few minutes. They saw the requirement of the scene, went a few steps away from us, smoked a little and returned with lyrics and tune that we, the freshers, would instantly love. Now that I think about it, we were just too awed by the entire act – something that we were convinced we will never be able to do. After a while, I heard the term Pakistan. I heard some answers on the likes of black clouds and terrorism. When it was my turn to answer, I said nothing. When we were asked to open our eyes, I was terrified. When I was asked in particular about my silence, I said, I saw nothing, just the black screen that comes up when we shut the eyes. I saw nothing.

The person who had initiated the activity, my senior, he smiled at my answer. I remember distinctly. He said, ‘Why can we not see a group of college students sitting in a classroom? Why can we not see people living like we do?’ Again, many possible answers followed – impact of media, films, etc. I was silent because for the first time I had been made aware of something that I had paid no attention to – a presence of reality beyond my privileged personal life. I had spent my childhood disliking India-Pakistan cricket match because of the madness I saw around me. I absolutely hated the fact that it was an understood rule that nobody is wanted in workplaces on those afternoons. I had always prayed for Pakistan to win so that at least people around me will feel guilty about giving up work for a cricket match. In my head, this madness was a replication of how Indians feel about Pakistan -- the joy in defeating what was once a part of the subcontinent, an assertion of being better than ‘them’. Without any idea about Pakistan, I had just wanted people around me to do better. Now, I have no idea what that better was in the head of the kid that I was.

Having said it all, Kashmir is different. If I close my eyes, I see the Dal Lake and Shammi Kapoor doing his head bob as his character sings 'Yeh Chaand Sa Roshan Chehra'. I see Preeti Zinta dancing on 'Bhumro Bhumro'. I see ice clad mountains, houseboats, different colours that have come together to form a beautiful Kashmir, heaven on earth. My memory of Kashmir? My earliest memory is that of drawing the India map in school. It is often followed by my friends or perhaps teacher or someone saying that India map hasn’t been updated. India has lost its crown. It’s now called Pakistan occupied Kashmir. For a few days, I used to this information as a tool to feel superior. I knew something that isn’t usually known. I had absolutely no idea how India’s Kashmir became PoK or what it meant. I had no idea about the implication that came with saying India’s Kashmir. Every time Kashmir would pop up in social gatherings, all I could think was, ‘Can India stop hating Pakistan?’ Kashmir had felt like a kid in divorce who isn’t asked about its preference, visible yet voiceless.

A still from Haider

Yet, I had no image of the so-talked about terrorism in Kashmir. Talked about, where were the images? We talked about Kashmir’s beauty because we had the images. Where were the images of terrorism? It was supposed to be from outside, right? When Vishal Bharadwaj showed Haider, I was left surfing on the internet for a while, trying to understand the concept of half-widows and military events in Kashmir. I saw stories of Kashmiri Pandits being used to justify the violence in Kashmir by many on my social media timelines. I used to get stuck at the fact that people are justifying violence. I felt like an abnormality in the world I was living in.

I said nothing because I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t feel the need to say anything because for all I could understand, I had absolutely no idea about what was happening in Kashmir and I had little or no trust in the news that showed up in my timelines. I didn't care about the mushrooming opinions everywhere. The only people I could believe were the ones who had visited parts of Kashmir. Yet, they could comment very little on the daily life in Kashmir. However, they clearly stated one thing – Kashmir isn’t harmful to tourists in any way, it’s harmful to the ones living there. 

This morning I woke up to many red display pictures in Instagram. Unlike Facebook profile filters, I believe that people who change their Instagram display picture are aware of the issue at hand. My instant reaction to these red pictures was fear and panic. I had to shut Instagram to pep talk myself to calm down. If I am afraid, then the fear being spread through media wins. I googled ‘Kashmir’. The news articles that followed had me asking one thing, ‘Why? I don’t understand? Where is the reason for this?’ Trusting my ignorance more than my awareness, I googled ‘Section 144 CrPC’, ‘Article 35a’, ‘Article 370’. I tried to convince myself that I don’t have a nuanced understanding of the history of Kashmir yet the severity of the situation didn't go away while the key phrase continued to haunt me, ‘I don’t understand.’

Is it a conscious attempt at being naive? Fear. Panic. Despair. Helplessness. Anger. I see the citizens of India divided now as the ones who voted for the ruling party and the ones who made numerous attempts at spreading awareness about the present that we are being constantly distracted from. I see people trying to speak up in million ways. I see them trying to tackle the hatred that has been watered and manured in last few years, I see them hating even more. There’s a right and a wrong. The lines are drawn. Things are not up for debate. There’s humane and inhumane. There’s xenophobia, bigotry and genocide in every post up.

And here I am, a person far away from the action in Kashmir, far away from the place that decides these actions, thinking – Did the absence of mention of 'people in/of' Kashmir in this post bother the readers? Did they notice that I didn't give any visibility to the people? I took away the humans and presented it as a land? If not, then what hope do we have for most of the India that's far from Kashmir, perhaps talking about Kashmir as a commodity of India being stolen by Pakistan in small social gatherings before returning to their mundane lives and watching a certain perception disguised as news that's being served in voices so loud that the mind is put in a state of coma. Thinking is no longer an action. 

How do we make comatose minds in alive people ask themselves - Did we ever look at Kashmir beyond the images of the land that we have been culturally historically fed? Did we ever begin to think about the people living in Kashmir? Why don't people in Kashmir have visibility and whatever limited voice they had, why has it been taken away?

If you found a belonging here, I hope you're as uncomfortable as I am.