Digger: Kashmir in 1990.

Digger: Kashmir in 1990.: It was January 1990 and we used to live in the government accommodation provided to my mother in Jammu by state secretariat. We (Me, my sis...

Kashmir in 1990.

It was January 1990 and we used to live in the government accommodation provided to my mother in Jammu by state secretariat. We (Me, my sister & my mother) were blessed enough not to have witnessed the inhospitable, combative and acrimonious scenes that erupted on the streets of Srinagar and entire Kashmir on 19th January 1990 when belligerent & fundamentalist crowd from the back of their throats were shouting, "Ase gatchey panun Pakistan, Batav rosah teh batniav saan". My dad who was not as fortunate as us witnessed the entire cavalcade of these ultraist gangs with utter disbelief, dismay and discomfort. Kalashinkov and AK 47 brandishing men could be seen meandering freely on the streets of Srinagar. It was total bankruptcy of law and order situation in Kashmir. Kashmir on that doomful day lost its Kashmiriyat & KP's forever. After 27 years of our forced exile, We the aboriginals of Kashmir are still in search of our ever elusive homeland. Without any doubt our exodus was one of the most buttoned up ethnic cleansing ever witnessed on earth. International community, our national fraternity, the Government in charge at the centre at that time & our own state government watched the entire episode with utmost crassness and contempt. They were and they still continue to be the muffled bystanders to the predicament of one of the most peace loving community on mother earth. It is the biggest travesty of justice that we are referred to as migrants in our own country. Sometimes I feel that we ended up paying a very high price for upholding the idea of INDIA in Kashmir whereas our own INDIA chose to look in other direction.

For around 6 months after Jan 1990, we were without school, proper clothing, proper footwear and above all any capital to survive. As the summers approached in Jammu, things got abominable. From cool breeze of Kashmir to harsh summers of Jammu, from regular students to second shift students, from a palatial house to a grimy and run down two room set, the journey wasn't easy and with each passing day our miseries and anguish began to rise. The elders of our community who were in the autumn of their life paid a striking price for this mentally oppressive situation. The derivative of these circumstances were widespread deaths of these elders. I still remember the summer of June 1992 when my grandfather couldn't bear the rising temperatures and he evanesced gradually to cross the great divide and meet his maker forever.

Going back to 1990, I comprehensibly remember how hoards of trucks with KP's and their paraphernalia would enter Jammu. I still remember those saddened, sombre and melanoid faces with nowhere to go. For a very brief period Geeta Bhawan in Jammu became the adopted chalet of lot of KP's coming from Srinagar. After a while migrant KP settlements like Muthi Camp & Nagrota camp came into existence. During one such visit to Geeta Bhawan I almost lost my sanctity of being a 11 year old kid when I stood in the line to collect bedraggled clothes being distributed by some volunteers. From being a HARA Jeans fan to a kid who would stockpile remnants of others, I had to see it all. I wish no kid in this world has to go through this graceless and gawky situation. I pray for this world to be a better place. To conclude, I would here like to give a small message to those people who belittle our tragedy.Being a migrant or a refugee is opposite to insult;it is rather a badge of strength, courage and victory. In the end I salute KP community to have weathered the adversity of migration gallantly and defeating the malevolent and mischievous designs of the Pak sponsored terrorists who threw us out in the most incognizant and gratuitous manner.