Irritating. Disgusting. Cheap. Whenever my friends and I come across a situation that befits these words, the three of us each say one, right after the other, to add emphasis. I have found no affair better deserving of these declarations than the ongoing mess in Kashmir.
Irritating-- People fight amongst themselves over trivial matters, and call it politics.
Disgusting-- Our politicians lie to us year after year.
Cheap-- The masses grovel at feet of aforementioned politicians regardless.
And we allow it to continue, the sole reasons being our own lack of education, the ever-growing apathy towards our faith, or just the opposite: a decisive shift towards the extreme. Naturally this gets us nowhere fast, leaving us no freer than we were some sixty years back. Quite frankly, I’m fed up. I absolutely hate the atmosphere in Kashmir, and on more than one occasion, want nothing more than to bang my head against the concrete out of pure frustration.
Whenever I get some time off from school, and the question arises as to whether or not I’d like to spend my holiday back home, it used to be that without a second breath I’d pack my bags and hop onto the plane. But year after year of unending boredom due to constant hartals, nights spent listening to the resolute pops of oppressive guns, and days passing with nothing ever getting done, I began to hesitate. Did I really want to go back? For what? After a hard semester in college, all I wanted to do was relax, spend time with my family, have a little fun. Were these things possible in my Srinagar? I’ve never known them to be in my lifetime, but somewhere deep inside of me, I yearned for that mirage to become a reality, for me to be able to enjoy the valley as it once was.
I grew up hearing stories of how things used to be, when people lived without fear, when death was due to old age, when all anyone ever cared about was how long the weather would stay perfect. But from the moment of my birth to the two decades following it, all I’ve ever known was to never look the occupational forces in the eye, never to stare too long at them, to come back inside when it got dark, answer all questions to the point, to not get angry when unofficial raids were conducted. To be scared. To live in fear. To die subjugated. And it’s all our fault.
No, I lay no blame with the Indian government. Instead, I point the finger at our community. I find fault with the administration that we’ve ‘elected’, the individuals we call our ‘leaders’, who give their standard commentary from the sidelines as sacrificial offerings of our youth are given to the wrathful gods. I condemn the so-called religious heads that, in the place of promoting faith and unity, sow discord and enmity. And I reprehend our society, our corrupted ideals, and our half-hearted attempts at progress.
On one side we have the molvis with beards to their knees, niqabis with slogans tied to their foreheads, and enough fatwas to starts a new religious movement. On the other we have the ‘progressive’ voice, calling for a revolution amongst the masses, which turn out to be thinly veiled actions of self-promotion. Thanks to our ignorance, the same spiel is spat at us day after day, year after year, and we thirstily lap it up. And the very heads of various movements know this and rejoice, for in it lays their wealth. They twist and turn the simplest matter into a matter of national security, ensure the lot of us remain in the dark about their true motives, and greedily take our donations toward their personal fund (that is to say, the promotion of peace, which requires most of the money to be in their pockets).
The youth of Kashmir are the source of my disillusionment. Plugged into the picture box that defines their generation, glued to their mobiles, constantly updating their online statuses, and not a single clue as to what is going on just outside their windows. Sure, this isn’t the case for all of them, but more so of the majority. No idea about the actual state of affairs, but as soon as there’s a call to arms, suddenly chants of ‘azaadi’ reverberate. Any chance to shirk studying is an opportunity well had to instead lob stones at armed targets.
And then there are the adults. Be it in Kashmir itself or abroad, any get-together will have on its menu the same topics: azaadi, hartals, CRPF, India, Pakistan. The conversation will take the same typical route of how things once were, and how ruined the nation is now, and ends along the lines of leaving it all in God’s hands. Trite, to say the least. And hardly making progress in the direction of the dreams waiting to be answered.
Watching the news in Srinagar is like listening to Charlie Brown’s teacher-- all I ever hear is wahn wahn wahn. No one’s getting any real reporting done. Every story seems clipped, hastily put together, and reflects that either the press knows very little, or is being told to hold back a lot. In either scenario, kudos to the government in charge for a job well done, as it’s an established fact that they do their best work when we haven’t the slightest idea as to what they’re really doing.
Have a score to settle? Used to be a person would step outside and resolve it with their fists. Naturally, Kashmir has a more civilized method. Send the issue off to the courts, where at the behest of the agitator, the verdict can be delayed time and again due to numerous flimsy reasons, ranging from the judge having a stomach ache to the defendant/plaintiff not appearing at a hearing. It would be that in most other parts of the world, the case would be thrown out of court or perhaps be declared a mistrial. But here it’s the norm. Trials can go on for months to years, with no resolution in sight.
Now this far into an article, I suppose it’s customary to offer some sort of a solution, draw up a plan to fix all of the problems I’ve stated, and all that good stuff. But you know what, I’m not in primary school anymore, and I’ve no rules to follow as to what should be written when and how, or what format has to be addressed in order to put forth a coherent and cohesive argument. Because what’s the use in my taking time out of my life, typing out these words, when all anyone is going to do is read them, muse over their understanding of what was written, perhaps make a comment regarding it, and then with maybe a sigh of despair as to the truths before them, will toss it from their mind and continue in their nescient ways. Hardly worth my while.
Misanthropic outlook aside, it’s a sad fact that nothing will ever change because it’s been ground into our mind from day one that the way we’re living is the way to live, the suffocating atmosphere we’ve be subjugated to these years past requires personal adjustment, and to not rock the boat in any sort of way that hasn’t already been tried and tested. And the best part is our ruling party knows just that, and they’ve figured the longer it takes for us to figure it out, the better it is for their wallets and agendas. And their most powerful weapon, aside from our lackadaisical mindset towards knowledge and education, is the irate neighbor, jealous that the house next door has put in a new terrace, or numerous frenimies out for revenge over oft imagined slights. Members of our own community, selling us out in hopes of a little extra cash, or a boost in life, line up with hands outstretched to tear down the fabric of our society and ensure that we remain under the heel of the so-called largest democracy in the world for another few centuries. And what’s best is that we let them.
It’s hardly as though I’ve been the only one to notice the folds of this populace crumble under the weight of innumerous Benedict Arnolds. I would go so far as to say each and every one of us knows at least two people who fit the descriptions given above. And what’s done to hamper their progress in setting the Valley ablaze? Absolutely, positively, nothing. Is it because we’re cowards? We fear that we may be the targets of their next attacks, so we shy away? I’d like to see us all in a better light than that. Then what is it? Do me a favor, reader. Take a good, long look at yourself in the mirror and try and give a reason. If you can’t give one short of being yellow (which is hardly a justification), then either your blood isn’t tinged with the memories of oppressions past (effectively rendering you an outsider), or you simply don’t care because you’re not directly being affected. If you are the latter, kudos. You are the essence of the true Kashmiri nature: shrewd, calculating, and cold. This observation is not mine alone. It has been made decades before by the British who once lived amongst us, written about in length in their books and commentary on the Valley. It may very well be that this attitude and approach has come from the unending years of suffocation dealt by the Mughals, Afghans, Sikhs, and then the British to our current plight. And naturally it would be too far a step towards improvement if this mentality were to change.
It may be in your best interest for me to end this rant right about now. Heavens knows that you, dear reader, have much better things to do than to waste time over words written by a mere child of this world (and a girl child at that!). So what’s to be learned from all this? What should one take from it? I feel as though I’d give away too much if I were to spell it out for the masses. I’d rather try some innovative. Here’s an idea: attempt to utilize what’s between your ears (I’m sure it misses the exercise), and come to a conclusion of your own as to what’s to be done, what should be done, and what will be the best route to take in regards to cutting the strings of the current puppet show to ensure that a repeat will not simply keep us dragging the yoke of our tyrant masters in an unending circle, forever frightened by the crack of their whips.
(This article was published in the Kashmir Walla on the 7th of November, 2012, and can be found here.)
Irritating-- People fight amongst themselves over trivial matters, and call it politics.
Disgusting-- Our politicians lie to us year after year.
Cheap-- The masses grovel at feet of aforementioned politicians regardless.
And we allow it to continue, the sole reasons being our own lack of education, the ever-growing apathy towards our faith, or just the opposite: a decisive shift towards the extreme. Naturally this gets us nowhere fast, leaving us no freer than we were some sixty years back. Quite frankly, I’m fed up. I absolutely hate the atmosphere in Kashmir, and on more than one occasion, want nothing more than to bang my head against the concrete out of pure frustration.
Whenever I get some time off from school, and the question arises as to whether or not I’d like to spend my holiday back home, it used to be that without a second breath I’d pack my bags and hop onto the plane. But year after year of unending boredom due to constant hartals, nights spent listening to the resolute pops of oppressive guns, and days passing with nothing ever getting done, I began to hesitate. Did I really want to go back? For what? After a hard semester in college, all I wanted to do was relax, spend time with my family, have a little fun. Were these things possible in my Srinagar? I’ve never known them to be in my lifetime, but somewhere deep inside of me, I yearned for that mirage to become a reality, for me to be able to enjoy the valley as it once was.
I grew up hearing stories of how things used to be, when people lived without fear, when death was due to old age, when all anyone ever cared about was how long the weather would stay perfect. But from the moment of my birth to the two decades following it, all I’ve ever known was to never look the occupational forces in the eye, never to stare too long at them, to come back inside when it got dark, answer all questions to the point, to not get angry when unofficial raids were conducted. To be scared. To live in fear. To die subjugated. And it’s all our fault.
No, I lay no blame with the Indian government. Instead, I point the finger at our community. I find fault with the administration that we’ve ‘elected’, the individuals we call our ‘leaders’, who give their standard commentary from the sidelines as sacrificial offerings of our youth are given to the wrathful gods. I condemn the so-called religious heads that, in the place of promoting faith and unity, sow discord and enmity. And I reprehend our society, our corrupted ideals, and our half-hearted attempts at progress.
On one side we have the molvis with beards to their knees, niqabis with slogans tied to their foreheads, and enough fatwas to starts a new religious movement. On the other we have the ‘progressive’ voice, calling for a revolution amongst the masses, which turn out to be thinly veiled actions of self-promotion. Thanks to our ignorance, the same spiel is spat at us day after day, year after year, and we thirstily lap it up. And the very heads of various movements know this and rejoice, for in it lays their wealth. They twist and turn the simplest matter into a matter of national security, ensure the lot of us remain in the dark about their true motives, and greedily take our donations toward their personal fund (that is to say, the promotion of peace, which requires most of the money to be in their pockets).
The youth of Kashmir are the source of my disillusionment. Plugged into the picture box that defines their generation, glued to their mobiles, constantly updating their online statuses, and not a single clue as to what is going on just outside their windows. Sure, this isn’t the case for all of them, but more so of the majority. No idea about the actual state of affairs, but as soon as there’s a call to arms, suddenly chants of ‘azaadi’ reverberate. Any chance to shirk studying is an opportunity well had to instead lob stones at armed targets.
And then there are the adults. Be it in Kashmir itself or abroad, any get-together will have on its menu the same topics: azaadi, hartals, CRPF, India, Pakistan. The conversation will take the same typical route of how things once were, and how ruined the nation is now, and ends along the lines of leaving it all in God’s hands. Trite, to say the least. And hardly making progress in the direction of the dreams waiting to be answered.
Watching the news in Srinagar is like listening to Charlie Brown’s teacher-- all I ever hear is wahn wahn wahn. No one’s getting any real reporting done. Every story seems clipped, hastily put together, and reflects that either the press knows very little, or is being told to hold back a lot. In either scenario, kudos to the government in charge for a job well done, as it’s an established fact that they do their best work when we haven’t the slightest idea as to what they’re really doing.
Have a score to settle? Used to be a person would step outside and resolve it with their fists. Naturally, Kashmir has a more civilized method. Send the issue off to the courts, where at the behest of the agitator, the verdict can be delayed time and again due to numerous flimsy reasons, ranging from the judge having a stomach ache to the defendant/plaintiff not appearing at a hearing. It would be that in most other parts of the world, the case would be thrown out of court or perhaps be declared a mistrial. But here it’s the norm. Trials can go on for months to years, with no resolution in sight.
Now this far into an article, I suppose it’s customary to offer some sort of a solution, draw up a plan to fix all of the problems I’ve stated, and all that good stuff. But you know what, I’m not in primary school anymore, and I’ve no rules to follow as to what should be written when and how, or what format has to be addressed in order to put forth a coherent and cohesive argument. Because what’s the use in my taking time out of my life, typing out these words, when all anyone is going to do is read them, muse over their understanding of what was written, perhaps make a comment regarding it, and then with maybe a sigh of despair as to the truths before them, will toss it from their mind and continue in their nescient ways. Hardly worth my while.
Misanthropic outlook aside, it’s a sad fact that nothing will ever change because it’s been ground into our mind from day one that the way we’re living is the way to live, the suffocating atmosphere we’ve be subjugated to these years past requires personal adjustment, and to not rock the boat in any sort of way that hasn’t already been tried and tested. And the best part is our ruling party knows just that, and they’ve figured the longer it takes for us to figure it out, the better it is for their wallets and agendas. And their most powerful weapon, aside from our lackadaisical mindset towards knowledge and education, is the irate neighbor, jealous that the house next door has put in a new terrace, or numerous frenimies out for revenge over oft imagined slights. Members of our own community, selling us out in hopes of a little extra cash, or a boost in life, line up with hands outstretched to tear down the fabric of our society and ensure that we remain under the heel of the so-called largest democracy in the world for another few centuries. And what’s best is that we let them.
It’s hardly as though I’ve been the only one to notice the folds of this populace crumble under the weight of innumerous Benedict Arnolds. I would go so far as to say each and every one of us knows at least two people who fit the descriptions given above. And what’s done to hamper their progress in setting the Valley ablaze? Absolutely, positively, nothing. Is it because we’re cowards? We fear that we may be the targets of their next attacks, so we shy away? I’d like to see us all in a better light than that. Then what is it? Do me a favor, reader. Take a good, long look at yourself in the mirror and try and give a reason. If you can’t give one short of being yellow (which is hardly a justification), then either your blood isn’t tinged with the memories of oppressions past (effectively rendering you an outsider), or you simply don’t care because you’re not directly being affected. If you are the latter, kudos. You are the essence of the true Kashmiri nature: shrewd, calculating, and cold. This observation is not mine alone. It has been made decades before by the British who once lived amongst us, written about in length in their books and commentary on the Valley. It may very well be that this attitude and approach has come from the unending years of suffocation dealt by the Mughals, Afghans, Sikhs, and then the British to our current plight. And naturally it would be too far a step towards improvement if this mentality were to change.
It may be in your best interest for me to end this rant right about now. Heavens knows that you, dear reader, have much better things to do than to waste time over words written by a mere child of this world (and a girl child at that!). So what’s to be learned from all this? What should one take from it? I feel as though I’d give away too much if I were to spell it out for the masses. I’d rather try some innovative. Here’s an idea: attempt to utilize what’s between your ears (I’m sure it misses the exercise), and come to a conclusion of your own as to what’s to be done, what should be done, and what will be the best route to take in regards to cutting the strings of the current puppet show to ensure that a repeat will not simply keep us dragging the yoke of our tyrant masters in an unending circle, forever frightened by the crack of their whips.
(This article was published in the Kashmir Walla on the 7th of November, 2012, and can be found here.)