kashmir: farzana's tale

have been to kashmir for a while and wrote my experience.

When I perched on the most tumultuous land, I never thought that it would be the longest night of my life. Driver, almost puffing a new cigarette every minute, stopped at rajbagh. A man from jammu told me that I would get a guest house for 100 bucks a night in rajbagh. I jettisoned and looked around at 9.30 pm, carrying 20 kilos of stuff on my back, to get a place to stay.

A man from rajbagh was into the bus and crying if someone needed a place to stay. I tapped on his back to find dark brown eyes and a pink tint across his face with aaho followed by every sentence. We argued and settled for 400 night. I knew I would be out by tomorrow morning and look for a room on rent. As soon as we started strolling on zero bridge, my phone popped and and a news update from an app appeared before my eyes. Masaraat aalam had hoisted Pakistan flag on lal chowk. I smirked, looked around and muttered: - what timing! I hadn’t even  covered few yards and spotted a CRPF canopy hung on the edge of zero bridge. The air across the city had a tinge of heaviness, a slight suffocation.

I walked with him through cascaded walls of rajbagh and found out that the walls of that place were higher than usual. The whole place was swept by a few centimeters of dust. High enough to stuff your lungs and cause illness. I entered into  a gothic building which was seething with algaeic smell and three sofas were waiting for me to immerse and spend the night. Stench of algae, patches of mud on wall and moistened sofas were blaring the rhyme of flood that hit them in 2014. Flurry of updates about kashmir stuffed my phone that night. I talked to one of my kashmiri pundit friend, who was so keen to know about my well being. His experience were more than harsh. While talking to him, I could smell danger around me. I could sense as if I was in an alien place where anyone could be shot or kidnapped. He called me thrice and asked me to buy a muslim topi and keeping beard like a young muslim guy. I incessantly denied his request but he was adamant that I should  contact gopinath temple( it is a place in down town where kashmiri pundits stays during their festivals or other procession) first in the morning. I took bath and asked the guest house caretaker about day’s happenings. He briefed and assured me that I was safe there. Sleep engulfed me and I didn’t even move a bit on that greased sofa.

Next morning he alarmed me about the situation and asked me not to leave the guest house, since it was turmoiling there. I took notice of houses. They were all double storeyed, having a sense of covertness around them. It seemed as if they were trying to conceal something behind those four walls. Women catching a glimpse of mine from upper storey while doing household chores. I didn’t catch their eye.

I couldn’t afford another 400 bucks for a day. I was not on a picnic or holiday. I had to stay long. Long enough so that I could collect some concrete matter to write. I moved out of that shrunk lane to join main road. Mussaib’s father runs a tea shop and I thought they could be of use. While having tea and samosa at their shop, I asked him if I could find a place for rent. Mussaib followed after me into the shop. His father mumbled something in kashmiri. Mussaib asked me general questions. Not the kind of interrogation you were supposed to have while watching any bollywood flick on television. He looked at me with amazement that I write for a living.

Two kids came after and were slurping tea and having t’sot (kashmiri roti). Mussaib asked them for a place to stay for me. The kids asked me to ride their bicycle. I carried them on cycle and chilly wind were titillating my lungs during that small visit. He took me there to show a room having nothing, not even a bed and they weren’t willing to add food in 4000 rs. I said no and turned my back upstairs, jumped a few steps to land on alley. Their house was slightly low from the surface level and  it could be assumed that floods would have hit them first.

My phone buzzed again as I was looking for room. My brother asked me if I was okay or not. I assured him that I was safe. Until then, I wasn’t abducted, my throat wasn’t slited in front of camera and I hadn’t smelled gun powder yet.

Mr manzoor ahanger, a medium height gentleman, nicely trimed beard, was standing outside his house. I asked him for room. He contemplated for a second and then escorted me to a gate made of iron sheet hooked to a nail. He asked Mr manzoor ahmad dendru ( owner of the family) to vacate a room for me. He asked me how much time I need to stay.what kind of profession I was in? I detailed everything. He went in and tried to convince his daughter to vacate her room for me.

FARZANA: Mr Manzoor’s daughter farzana was quite reluctant to give her room to me. She was yelling. I could hear she wasn’t pleased with my arrival. well! Mr dendru and his wife promised her to get a suit.

What I had in mind is a Kashmir where people were killing non muslims. My family and friends suggested me to stay with hindu family, no matter how much it costs. It wasn’t like that. I sensed that people there were generous. They had their opinions about politics and religion. But a common man has to earn his living. He has to go everyday to earn bread for his family. He cannot swamped into the filth of hurriyat, pdp or NC.

They allowed me before they knew me properly. Mr dendru didn’t specify any rules. He looked like a man in his late forties with an agility of a youngster. He ordered me that that was my house and I could ask for anything, anytime I wanted. Mrs dendru nagged in kashmiri but managed a smile to me.

I was home. I never felt for a second that the place was alien to me. They provided me with bedding, hot water, separate bathroom and utensils(cause I am a vegetarian) and the most soothing place to write. From a corner of my room prayers from masjid could be heard easily, from next corner I could get the view of Jhelum. I unpacked my books and clothes and sat there for a while, trying to condense in environment, trying to epitomize everything I had seen so far. But before I could go so far Mr. dendru asked me to have lunch.

It was raining heavily outside and Mr dendru, mrs dendru, young ahanger and farzana had a face of floods. The walls of that room were outlined by water. One could imagine through the height of crease; how much water had hit the city?

They made a very delicious meal of rice and saag. A dastarkhan was put before we eat. It was kind of bed sheet which has urdu scribbled over it. We had a long chat over meal. Mr dendru had told me how he had brought tourists at the time of militancy. How he was so stubborn to bring tourists in town. How he had given suggestions to different government about tourists. Me dendru and I agreed on a deal that he would make me visit the interiors of valley. The places no one would like to visit.

On 17 april, my phone beeped millionth time. Media were flashing the news of a boy killed in Srinagar. I read greater Kashmir and came to know that it happened in tral. Tral is a place about 8 hours away from Srinagar.there was no turbulence in Srinagar. It was standing quiet on the edge of Jhelum. A bandh was observed in Srinagar. I moved out to see bandh, but it wasn’t like bandh. There was a sense serenity in environment, yet shops were open, people were walking with their pheran on. There wasn’t any unusualness in the city.

It was raining heavily during those days. I scribbled pages, sitting in my room and heard the morning prayer of auntyji. She hummed beautifully. I even heard farzana huming bollywood song. Mr dendru had bought her nokia lumia. She was more into music. She wanted to purchase a guitar. She showed me videos of people playing guitar. When I told this to one of my friend back in jaipur, he was amazed. He thought that girls aren’t allowed to pursue their dreams there. He thought that they are kept hidden in houses. There was a complete misconception about the people. People of other regions think that militancy is a part of their day to day life. There might be some cases but not every person is the same. They think that safety is an issue in j and k. let me assure you, if you are new to them or a tourist, you will find the best hospitable environment there.

On one such day, I visited a village with brother in law of mr dendru. He took me to a friend’s house where they escorted us into an embellished seating room with cushions resting on the wall. Few moments later they served us with rice and freshly prepare vegetables and meat. tashnar ( a handled jar) was used to wash our hands. Their son made us wash our hands. The other thing that striked me was when we  were leaving, the hosts asked their son to polish our shoes as a gesture of respect. I was overwhelmed with joy.

In an another incident mr dendru made me visit the entire city. He took me to the depth of downtown. He was so eloquent and people were so cooperative. He talked to them and they were ready to show me their houses, art of handicraft, paper mache. They were ready to share their stories of past. I dissected to the level of infinity to get a story out of them and they shared every bit they knew.

We went to gopinath temple and met a kashmiri pandit family. The man of the house was four times MA. He was a learned man. He had lost his land during floods.The words that still echoed my mind is: IN KASHMIR, EVEN IF A HEN MET WITH AN ACCIDENT. WE USED TO MOURN. These were the same words mr dendru had told me before embarking on that journey. Mr dendru never spoke a word during that meeting. He made sure that interview didn’t get influence by his presence. He remained calm and it ended with three of us hugging each other. I was fighting back tears.

Days gone by and I observed how devoted they are to their religion. They can talk about quran for hours. They didn’t disturb me when I was chanting in my room. Mr dendru of farzana tours and travels (rajbagh) and people of Srinagar didn’t let me put my foot in danger. They were like lost brothers to me in this friendly hostile land.

Reviews

[sushant]

thank u ekta.your words mean a lot.

[Ekta Saigal Pandit]

Lovely. A new yet realistic perspective. I always believe that there is no real story. They are all Points of View. We all have ours and those seem right to us. Yet, they are only our perspectives. Loved reading your story. Thanks for sharing :)