We are Kashmiris. I am a Kashmiri, who longs to live in peace and die with dignity. I yearn to sit by the banks of Dal-lake and cry my heart out and ask people, why us? Always us. Aren’t we humans, may be a little fragile, yet one of your parts?
For us, Kashmir is home, a feeling of love, an essence of true beauty and spirituality. I worship Kashmir. Kashmir is the metaphor of all my poems. We aren’t pro-Pakistanis or anti-nationalists. Sometimes I feel that I do have a home, but what about my homeland? Sometimes I wake up in the midnight with a jolt, I feel I am shot; and my chest in pieces.
Children of Kashmir
War, stone pelting, firing, shelling are the words that I have grown up hearing. Kashmir has always been a hotbed of conflict and we Kashmiri children are called, “Children of the conflict”. I have seen bloodbath, deaths of nears and dears, military raping women, killings of civilians and what not. Life has been a little harsh on me. I haven’t had a blossomy childhood, for I know how many encounters I have heard about, crackdowns by military forces and abduction of political leaders. All these things have been lingering up in my mind. I remember how my grandmother used to tell me tales about the happy Kashmir. How it was named as a paradise on earth; and why people are after Kashmir. I mostly feel that people are not interested in Kashmiris, but are after Kashmir; want to exploit the unexplored resources of Kashmir. It is merely a beautiful piece of land to Non-Kashmiris. But for us, it is home, a feeling of love, an essence of true beauty and spirituality. I worship Kashmir. Kashmir is the metaphor of all my poems.
Caught in between
Pondering on my teenage years gives me a spine chilling feeling. How Kashmiris have become puppets in the hands of government and militants! In the midst of the cease-fire common people suffer the most. On 5 August, 2019, article 370 was abrogated. It wasn’t anything less than a shock for us. It was a murder of the statehood of Kashmir. Kashmir was declared as a union territory at midnight. In the name of development the whole of Kashmir was reduced to an overpowered land. Our news channels were banned, Internet was snapped, and still remains snapped in many areas. Curfew was imposed and every movement was curtailed. I must say if this is how the development looks like, we were better off as an underdeveloped state.
Growing up and living as a Kashmiri isn’t an easy thing. Each day, when we go out, we have to face the army, who is right outside our houses. When we move about in our own valleys and towns we have to prove our identity to strangers in war uniform and wearing war ammunitions; we have to prove our identity to visitors. It slowly kills my proud idea of my Motherland whose anthem I sing and whose flag I salute as a proud Indian. What I told you about is the happenings of ordinary day; there are extraordinary, unfortunate days too. Army has got the power to abuse us, manhandle us, and accuse us of anything and everything. On the one side, we are victims of visible and invisible militancy; on the other side, people in war uniforms and with ammunitions. Caught in between, the Dal Lake and the inhabitants around are frozen in silence, fear and shame.
An outsider in our own motherland
I remember, when I moved out of Kashmir for my studies to cultured and educated Indian cities, people encountered me with weird and odd questions, questions even as suggestive as, “Have you ever held a gun? Are you by any chance related to any terrorist groups?” In other words, the questions imply to probe, are you not a militant? Are you not one of them? It wasn’t something I liked. It hit hard and shook me from inside. I used to sit quiet and say nothing, for I had nothing to say. I know I can’t change their prejudiced and stereotypical opinion. No one possesses or holds out a gun like one possesses or holds out umbrellas on a rainy day. We are as petrified by guns and gunshots as everybody else. We too are ordinary people struggling to live. Those questions were not just slaps on my face, but slaps on the face of democracy. Every Kashmiri, who steps out into the other parts of Mother India faces similar queries. At times, the trial ends in questions and questioning; at other times, people are not interested in our answers, they proceed with the verdict and punishment. Yet other times, it is still worse, no questions are asked, people just do to us what our country and the neighbouring country collectively do to our homeland – physically overpower.
Mental health issues are on the rise
Here in Kashmir its common to hear stories like, Mr. so and so went to buy bread and milk for his family, and what came back was his body, his bullet-ridden body. That is how cheap and inexpensive the life of a Kashmiri is. Statistics and numbers say that millions of people in Kashmir suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Kashmir has the highest number of mental illnesses. The answer to the question why is obvious. Continued conflicts and war make people stressed and anxious. I myself suffer from anxiety. And this anxiety is not a normal one. On hearing about innocent people dying, my anxiety turns out to be a panic attack. I don’t know how much more we Kashmiris would have to see. Mental health issues are rising day by day; and all I can see is a black hole, which sucks all the energy out of us. It gets very exhausting to try to get up and act normal every day.
The nightmare and the dream
Conflict is another name for Kashmir. This conflict is a nightmare, an unending nightmare. Young, old, middle aged and infants, all see it every day. Sometimes I feel sick about people, like, why aren’t they helping us out? What is wrong in asking for freedom? Freedom to live, freedom to walk without fear, freedom to breathe, freedom to feel free on our own land, freedom from shackles of slavery, freedom to live with dignity and peace. Peace, well if asking for peace is too much, then I don’t know what is less? I keep wondering, isn’t it our basic right? Hatred for Kashmiris and calling them Pro-Pakistanis isn’t just and fair. We too are humans like any other person. We aren’t pro-Pakistanis or anti-nationalists. We are Kashmiris. I am a Kashmiri, who longs to live in peace and die with dignity. I yearn to sit by the banks of Dal-lake and cry my heart out and ask people, why us? Always us. Aren’t we humans, may be a little fragile, yet your part? Then why our rights are being denied each time we decide to become your part. When will this binary between you/us and them end? I don’t want to take never for an answer. All I can say is, I wish I could rip open my heart and show everyone that Kashmir and Kashmiris need to be heard, and we all long to live in peace and die with dignity. Peace is our dream.∎
Nashafa Firdous Mir is from Srinagar, Kashmir. She loves to write, recite poetry, read books and enjoy chai.
