KP Balidan Divas

KP Balidan Divas-Significance

“It is the cause, not the death that makes the martyr.” – Napoleon Bonaparte

14^th September will always remain etched in memory of every KP purely because of the fact that on that day in 1989 one of our tallest leader, Sh Tika Lal Taploo fell to the bullets of Islamic zealots in the heart of Srinagar. He was a revered KP leader who always stood up for the interest of the community. Islamic terrorists knew that his killing will silence the most dynamic and formidable KP leader thus triggering a sense of meekness and nervousness among the tiny KP community living in Kashmir. Through this killing these terrorists intended to elicit one of the worst exoduses and genocides in the history of mankind. The killings did not stop here. One after the other, KP leaders and activists were targeted by these cussed fundamentalists throughout the length and breadth of Kashmir. Soon after this, on Novemebr 4, 1989, Sh Neelkanth Ganjoo, a High court judge, was killed in the broad day light in the heart of Srinagar. He was assassinated to avenge the death sentence he had pronounced on the hijacker Maqbool Bhat. Between September 1989 to January 1990 around 400 KPs (Including women) were killed. Notable among them were Sh Lassa Kaul, Sh B K Ganjoo, Sh Sarwanand Premi, Satish Tikoo and others. As I write this, I feel as a community we have been hoodwinked and deceived by not only Kashmiri Muslims but by successive Governments who have been at the helm of affairs since 1990. Passing on the buck is the best phrasing that I can attribute to this dastardly and genocidal saga. Sometimes I feel that we have paid an elephantine price for upholding the Idea of India in Kashmir whereas our Government at the centre has conveniently chosen to look in the other direction.

There have been umpteen attempts made by these Islamic terrorists to colour our exodus as a conspiracy of Indian government to malign their so called freedom struggle. They are quite vociferous in propagating that it was Mr Jagmohan, erstwhile governor of J&K, who facilitated our exit from Kashmir in January 1990. However killing of Girja Tikoo, Prana Ganjoo and Sarla Bhat (In 1990) in cold blood by these Islamic fundamentalists exposes them beyond any reasonable doubt and brings out the insidious psyche and ethos of majority community of Kashmir at that time. Liberals who talk about human right violations in Kashmir and elsewhere in India must hang their heads in shame on these three dastardly rapes and murders. Girja Tikoo, a poor lab technician was kidnapped on June 26, 1990 and then brutalized and violated for next three days only to be found cut into two halves by the band saw. Even to imagine the kind of agony she must have gone through sends shivers down my spine. Similarly on 04.06.1990, Mrs Prana Ganjoo alongwith her husband, Prof K L Ganjoo was abducted and Gang raped for several days and then her mortal remains were thrown into the river Jhelum. Her husband too was killed and her poor children were orphaned forever. Sarla Bhat who was a staff nurse at SKIMS, Soura, was kidnapped by JKLF terrorists on April 14, 1990. Her dead body was later found with bullet wounds on April 19 from downtown area of Srinagar. Her post mortem report revealed the horrific trauma she had undergone. Another KP girl raped before she was killed. Her body was tagged as a police informant by these terrorist with the sole intention of creating hysteria amongst the KP community and denying her a dignified funeral as her father was refused firewood and other necessary items required for her last rites by the majority community. Kofi Anan has aptly said that, “Genocide begins with the killing of one man-not for what he has done, but because of who he is”. Creation of false narrative by majority community of Kashmir is a juvenile attempt to paint their misdemeanor and transgression in different shade and show to the world that their cause is justified. However they forget that you can run with a lie but you can’t hide from the truth. It will catch you.

Almost thirty years have gone by since we left Kashmir. Nobody thought that our exile will be so long. When I look into the past and think about the hardships that we faced in 1990’s I sometimes wonder, are we sons of the lesser God that nobody came to our rescue. Our exodus from Kashmir is reminiscent of the fact that before this, we have been forced out of Kashmir six times by Pathans and Muslim fundamentalists and each time we have gone back to claim our motherland. Our struggle in Kashmir in the modern history began in 1931 with Kanikoot massacre where nine family members of Zana Bhat were axed to death by majority community of nearby wattakul village. Hence our exodus in 1990 should not be seen in isolation. For us Balidan divas is not just another day. It is that day which reminds us of the excesses that have been committed on us by the Islamist zealots from times immemorial. It is that day which brings to fore the question of our existence. Without any doubt we are a dwindling lot now. It is that day which reminds us of our looted and battered temples lacerated by the hatred of these fundamentalists. Almost all our places of worship have been turned into ruins. But l must tell our tormentors that although we come from ruins, we are not ruined. We will come back to claim our land and that will be the biggest tribute to our martyrs. I would like to conclude with the following lines from Jagdamba Prasad Hiteshi’s famous poem,

" Shahedoon ke chitaon per judeghey har baras meley, Watan per marney walon ka yehi baki       nishaan hoga”

                 

 “ Kabhi Woh din bhi aayega jab apna raj dekhengey, Jab apni hi Zami aur apna aasma hoga”

                                                                                               

By – Sachin Raina

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. 

Visiting my school after 16 years in 2005

During one of my visits to Srinagar in 2005, I decided to visit my erstwhile school. Our school, which was in the midst of Srinagar city continued to run unabated even during the peak of the militancy and still continues to run with a new name. It was surprising because most of the schools run by KP's were either shutdown or razed to ground by Muslim fundamentalists. There was a feeling among a certain section of the Muslim society that these schools endorsed Jan Sangh and Hindu ideology.

They considered singing “ Vandey Matram” and “ Jana Gana Mana” as unislamic. Many schools like Vishwa Bharti, M DASS, National Public School and Kamla memorial school were either burnt or shutdown. As I reached the school gates, I got nervous. I had spent my childhood here playing cricket in the vast and enormous ground in the school premises. The school was run in the premises of the famous Bhairav temple in Narsinghgarh. As I was walking towards the school building, there was an adrenaline rush in my body. All those scenes of my childhood suddenly started to unfold in front of my eyes. As I looked up into the sky, I suddenly realised that I was looking for Eagles. I loved the sight of flying eagles over Bhairav Mandir. I could remember my father waving at these eagles with “SOOSH NAUR” (Lungs of sheep or goat) in his hands and enticing them to snatch the same from his hands. I could remember how these eagles one after another would come down in their majestic flights to snatch the same from him.  Feeding eagles with soosh naur used to be an age old custom within Kashmiri Pundits as it was considered auspicious and a way to ward off all evils with the blessing of Bhairava. This ritual like other Kashmiri rituals lost its importance and relevance during the years of our exile from Kashmir. 

As I was approaching the school, I could hear the noise of children. It was a very special moment for me. But all the faces were unfamiliar. My eyes were looking for Pinky Madam, Kiran Madam, Sarla Madam, Neelofer madam and last but not the least Nusrat Madam. Nusrat madam was so beautiful that all of us used to look at her with great perplexity. Every boy in my class had a crush on her. As I approached the principal’s room, a boy came up to me and asked, “Aapko Kis sey Milna Hain”. I said, “ Principal Sahab”. He gestured and asked me to knock on the Principals door. As I knocked I said, “May I come in Sir”. A voice replied back, “YES”. I knew it was Mr.Sathu (Name Changed). I was entering my principal’s office after around 16 long and painful years. I was shivering and my heart was palpitating. It took me a little while to realise that I was taking too much of time to walk inside. He again said, “Please come in”. Next moment I was inside his cabin. He asked me, “Who are you”. I said, I am Sachin Raina. Next moment he was up from his chair and in front of me. I did not know what to do. Such was his aura that I was compelled to do what I used to do everyday in our early days in school. I stood in attention like a soldier does at the sight of his commander. I froze at one place. He then said,” Stand at ease” in his usual style and baritone voice. He hugged me and I could see through his eyes what he was feeling. I used to look up to him as a kid. As we were talking to each other, I could see the kind of pain he had gone through. Although the school was running but its name had to be changed to suit the whims and fancies of Kashmiri fundamentalists. Suddenly he asked me, “So what do you do to earn a living“. I said, “Sir I could not become a pilot”. He obviously had forgotten about that during all these years. As we were talking, I asked him the reason for not leaving Kashmir all these years and why he went through all these hardships and unfriendly moments. He chose not to answer. He had made this school into a big institution with his sheer grit and determination. Although one of his partners chose to leave Srinagar for good, he continued to nurture the academy and impart education to the wards of the people who were responsible for the ouster of his own brothers and sisters. However there were people from the Muslim community in the vicinity of the school who stood by him during tough times and did not allow him to leave valley and desert his school. Later during floods in 2014, when one of the old buildings of the school collapsed, locals and ex students from the Muslim community came forward to help him both monetarily and emotionally. Without any doubt he enjoys lot of popularity among locals. Lot of young girls and guys doing well in their lives owe their success to Mr. Sathu and his school. I must here mention his wife, Gauri(Name changed) who stood by him like a rock and backed his decision of not leaving Srinagar. She used to teach us Hindi. God knows whether she still teaches the so called HINDU subject or not. Probably NO.

After spending good odd 2 hours with him, I asked for his permission to leave and left for my hotel. I was happy to see my school and Mr. Sathu again. As I was puffing my cigarette, I became nostalgic. Next day while going to the airport, I felt very bad to leave Srinagar once again. This feeling of again being robbed of my home and hearth by some gun wielding religious freaks working and delivering deaths and devastation at the behest of their masters across the border crossed my mind. Even after 27 years of our exile, we have nowhere to go. As time is running out, I feel this feeling will be laid to rest only with my death. Till then I will live with my worst fear and nightmare.

Faith

Once there was a baba who with his dance would impress rain Gods and hence rains would come. During one harsh summer there was a village which faced drought and hence people started to leave that village along with their cattle and livestock in search for better pastures. However some 50 odd families decided to stay put and call the dancing Baba from nearby village to impress rain Gods. Baba came and he was welcomed with huge fanfare and was given best place in the village to stay. Next morning people woke up to see Baba ji dancing relentlessly, chanting various mantras. Several days passed by, but there was not even a drop of rain. Villagers felt cheated and got into a verbal exchange with Baba ji. Baba ji pacified them and started dancing again unabated that day. While baba was dancing throughout the night, whole village was covered with dark clouds in the morning. People started offering prayers, sang Bhajans, the whole village reverberated with slogans of Baba ji key Jai HO. And finally it started raining. Rains continued for several days and people who had left started to come back and started living in their village happily again. After sometime Baba ji decided to leave the village. However villagers did not want Baba ji to leave. But he insisted and the villagers had to relent. While he was leaving, one of the followers asked baba ji, what if drought hits us once again next year. What are we going to do? And therefore can you teach one or two of us the mantra and the so called dance to impress rain Gods. Baba ji took a deep breath and told that man, "Its not about how you dance and what mantra you chant, Its only and only about till when you can dance. Your belief has to be unwavering. You have to persevere in the most difficult times, probably when even your family and friends start doubting you. The name of the game is Faith".

Who Am I

WHO AM I – A migrant or an IDP

Since Last 26 years KP’s have been demanding the status of internally displaced persons and shun the tag of Migrants given to them after their exodus from Kashmir in 1990’s. However like our resettlement and separate homeland demand this demand has also faced the gallows and has died prematurely. However lately a surge in this demand has been witnessed and lot of KP groups and voluntary organisations have come forward to support this cause. IDP becomes all the more important in the wake of rising demand from KP groups for separate homeland or township in Kashmir whereas the Hurriyat and the separatists are strongly opposing the proposal fearing that a Palestine like situation will arise in Kashmir with this move. However the fact remains that both Govt. Of India and the Hurriyat have been putting this proposal to halt for their own selfish reasons. Some information regarding IDP that I have sourced from net and other sources has been put together for your ready reference below. 

Q. Who is an internally displaced Person?

A. An internally displaced person (IDP) is a person who has been forced to flee his or her home for similar reasons as a refugee, but remains in his or her own country and has not crossed an international border. As the nature of conflict has changed in the last few decades, the number of IDPs has increased globally.

Q. Who is an internal Migrant?

A. An internal migrant is a person who migrates within one country, primarily for economic reasons. It has become immensely important for our community to shed the tag of a migrant as it is an ambiguous term which hurts our rights laid down in UNHCR charter.

Q. Global IDP figures?

A. The growing number of refugees around the world is overshadowed by the even greater numbers of internally displaced people, or IDPs, who have not crossed an international border in search of shelter and safety.

As of the end of 2014, a record-breaking 38 million people were forcibly displaced within their own country by violence, up from 33.3 million for 2013. A massive 11 million of these internally displaced people (IDPs) were newly uprooted during 2014, equal to 30,000 people a day, according to annual figures from the Norwegian Refugee Council's Geneva-based Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (IDMC).

In mid-2014, the UN refugee agency was caring for around 26 million of the world's IDP population at that time. Like refugees, they were forcibly displaced by conflict, generalized violence and human rights violations. UNHCR helps IDPs as part of a wider intervention by the international community.

The IDMC's Global Overview 2015 reported that the majority of the increase in new displacement during 2014 was the result of protracted crises in Democratic Republic of the Congo, Iraq, Nigeria, South Sudan and Syria. These five countries accounted for 60 per cent of new displacement worldwide.

Iraqi civilians suffered the most new displacement, with at least 2.2 million displaced in 2014, while at least 40 per cent of Syria's population, or 7.6 million people, have been displaced - the highest number in the world. And Europe, for the first time in more than a decade, suffered massive enforced displacement. This was caused by war in eastern Ukraine, where more than 640,000 people fled their homes in 2014.

Q. Which organisation is the leading source of information on IDP’s worldwide?

A.  The growing number of refugees around the world is overshadowed by the even greater numbers of internally displaced people, or IDPs, who have not crossed an international border in search of shelter and safety.

As of the end of 2014, a record-breaking 38 million people were forcibly displaced within their own country by violence, up from 33.3 million for 2013. A massive 11 million of these internally displaced people (IDPs) were newly uprooted during 2014, equal to 30,000 people a day, according to annual figures from the Norwegian Refugee Council's Geneva-based Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (IDMC).

In mid-2014, the UN refugee agency was caring for around 26 million of the world's IDP population at that time. Like refugees, they were forcibly displaced by conflict, generalized violence and human rights violations. UNHCR helps IDPs as part of a wider intervention by the international community.

The IDMC's Global Overview 2015 reported that the majority of the increase in new displacement during 2014 was the result of protracted crises in Democratic Republic of the Congo, Iraq, Nigeria, South Sudan and Syria. These five countries accounted for 60 per cent of new displacement worldwide.

Iraqi civilians suffered the most new displacement, with at least 2.2 million displaced in 2014, while at least 40 per cent of Syria's population, or 7.6 million people, have been displaced - the highest number in the world. And Europe, for the first time in more than a decade, suffered massive enforced displacement. This was caused by war in eastern Ukraine, where more than 640,000 people fled their homes in 2014.

 Q. Do KP’s find a mention on the IDMC’s website?

A. You will be glad to know that IDMC website treats all KP’s as IDP’s in its analysis of figures for India. The statement goes as follows:

“There are 60,500 Kashmiri families registered as displaced since 1990(Ministry of Home Affairs, India, 15 July 2014).This amounts to 350,600 people as calculated by national family size average of 5.8 people according to the 2011 National Census.  Of this total, 38,100 families reside in Jammu, 19,300 families reside in Delhi and the remaining are in other states.  In addition, cross border tensions with Pakistan displaced an additional 20,000 in October 2014 (Reuters, 10 October 2014) and a further 10,000 in December 2014/January 2015 (BBC, 6 January 2015)”

However ministry of home affairs categorically refers KP community as “Migrants” which is not only disconcerting but at the same time it takes away our rights laid down in the “Guiding principles” on internal displacement.

Q. What is the scope and purpose of these guiding principles?

A.  These guiding principles address the specific needs of IDP’s worldwide. Essentially there are around 30 principles laid down in the document made by United Nations. However Section V consisting of principles 28, 29 & 30 are of paramount importance as they talk about the principles related to return, resettlement and reintegration of the IDP’s in their place of origin from where they have been displaced. They specifically lay emphasis on the role of various organizations in the resettlement of IDP’s. You can access these guiding principles on the following link, http://www.brookings.edu/fp/projects/idp/resources/GPsEnglish.pdf

Q. Why doesn’t India want to give IDP status to KP’s?

A. The migrant tag attached to the displaced KP’s since their ouster from valley was a deliberate attempt by Govt. of India to avoid international scrutiny in this issue. India is avoiding any third party intervention in Kashmir dispute and from day one; India wants to settle this issue bilaterally with Pakistan. Giving an IDP status to KP’s will adversely affect this strategy. If at all Govt. decides to give IDP status to KP’s, India will have to give access to United Nations High commissioner for refugees to camps and temporary dwellings of KP’s in Delhi, Jammu and other places. 

IDP’s are part of the broader section of civil population and thus according to the UNHCR need protection and assistance because of the conflict, human rights abuses or natural disasters that they face. Therefore it becomes mandatory for the govt. of India to provide the necessary assistance and support to KP community who were forcibly ousted from their original abode by gun wielding fundamentalists and terrorists in 1990 and work towards their resettlement and rehabilitation in Kashmir. Situation is real and the time is running out.

Sachin Raina

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Meeting Jaya

Meeting Jaya after 28 years, 24.1.16

The biggest tragedy that has hit our community in last 30 years is perhaps the debacle of migration. It has not only robbed us off our home and hearth but has also affected our identity as a community. One of the pit falls of migration were the immediate snapping of ties with our neighbours and relatives as KP’s moved to different parts of the country. Similarly our family also moved to Jammu as my mother was working with state secretariat and therefore it was convenient for us to re-settle in Jammu as we already had a government accommodation in place. In late 1990’s my father who was working with Accountant General’s office was sent to Gwalior in his first posting post migration. Those days were tough, really tough. I don’t even like to recall those days as they were horrendous. KP community which was used to Kashmir’s cool and mystic climate was suddenly exposed to hot and humid climate of Jammu. I still remember how people suffered with skin infections and strokes in those days. Our old generation bore the maximum brunt. You could everyday hear a story or two about the death of our community member by heat stroke or snake bites. People were putting up in tents and make shift houses. I remember how 4 families were living in our 4 bedroom under construction house in Jammu. Each family occupied a single room with all the kitchens being operated in the common lobby on the make shift tables. It was a difficult time for majority of the people from our community. Unlike others we were fortunate enough to have a government accommodation to live. As the days went by, relatives and friends started moving to different parts of the country in search of better living and opportunities for themselves and their families. All would remember that in 1990’s; India was far away from internet and mobile communication. People were dependent on landline phone and letters for communication. These days it is relatively easy to be in touch with anybody throughout the globe. It was an era of pre liberalisation and India was reeling under economic backwardness. Therefore people who were used to live in closed community in villages and mohalla’s were suddenly thrown open to entirely different style of living. The worst affected were elderly and particularly our old womenfolk. Imagine a 60 year old lady, who had spent all her life in a village in Kashmir, working in fields, raring cattle in her backyard, washing clothes and utensils on the banks of a crystal clear stream flowing just outside her house, living in a palatial 40 room house, is suddenly exposed to harsh reality of having lost everything and now she is living in a two room apartment with an immediate Dogra or Punjabi neighbour. It was a cultural shock for them. From neighbour to language everything was alien. This resulted in psychological breakdown and depression for many. I still remember how my grandmother would start wailing whenever she recalled her days in Kashmir. In Jammu everything was different. It was her wish to go back to Kashmir one day. But alas that was not to happen. She breathed her last in 2003 and I curse myself for not fulfilling her wish. At least I could have taken her there one last time for a day or two. She probably would have died at peace. As the days and years have passed, it seems a distant reality now. Just a reminder that 26 years of our exodus have passed and nothing has been done as of now about our resettlement in Kashmir. Lots of proposals have been made by subsequent governments, but all these schemes and proposals are utopian in nature and have fallen flat on their faces.

For last several years like any other migrant I am living in Chandigarh (Zirakhpur) and finally have decided to make this my third home. First was Kashmir, after that Jammu and now Chandigarh. I prefer to live here because it is very near to Jammu (6 Hour drive) and there are around 200 KP families living here. In my immediate locality alone there would be around 50-60 families. We enjoy a lot together and have therefore created a parallel system where we come together and interact. This not only gives comfort to us but also acts as a safety mechanism. For our older generation it means a lot. And we also have kind of got used to this. During one such interaction I and my mother came to know about one of our relative from my maternal side who lives very close to us here in panchkula. My mother was always fond of this lady and I also remember visiting her lots of times in Srinagar as a kid with my mom and grandmother. Her name is Jaya. She used to live on the opposite bank of the river where my maternal home was located. Incidentally her grandson, Pran kumar, is known to me as we play for the same cricket club. Therefore one Sunday morning we decided to visit and surprise her. My mother was not sure whether she would be able to recognise her or not. After all these years in the wilderness Jaya had grown old.  My mother would talk about how witty and resilient she used to be and her sharp presence of mind. Her husband died at a very early age and she brought up her 4 children all alone. She had seen lots of hardships and when everything seemed to be settling down, Kashmir was struck by pro Pakistan movement and terrorism in which KP's were targeted sytmatically. She initially resisted migrating from Kashmir, but her brother in law, Pt. Jankinath was killed in cold blood by terrorists in Kangan while on duty.  Hence the inevitable was witnessed and she moved out with her family.

As we reached her apartment, we rang the bell. My mother was very excited and at the same time very apprehensive also. We heard crinkling sound on the door and both of us were thinking whether Jaya herself will open the door. But that was not to be the case. The door was opened by my friend Pran kumar’s mother. I must tell you that at a single glance, both she and my mom recognized each other and immediately hugged. We went inside and asked for Jaya. She was in the washroom. As soon as she came out, she saw us. But she couldn’t recognize my mother at first. My mother had to introduce herself and immediately she hugged her and tears started rolling down her eyes. By then she could make out who I was? She hugged me as well in a typical kashmiri style. She had seen me grow in their neighborhood. She then started telling me about the funny incidences from my childhood days which she still remembered. Although our families were not in touch all these years, she had all the vital information about us and about our well being. She vividly remembered my dad (Who is no more) and how he would spend long vacations with me in my maternal home. She knew about his demise and was very sad about that. I could see all three ladies in that house that day living the best time of their lives in a long- long time. I could see a fresh lease of life in their eyes after meeting each other after almost three decades. Jaya had also gone through some troubles in all these years. She was very sad about the fact that her daughter and granddaughter passed away some time back prematurely. It is of course very sad for lady in mid 80’s to have gone through such hardships. She also had a narrow escape when she had a brain hemorrhage three years back. But with the grace of almighty she bounced back to lead a normal life. However despite that her spirit was quite high and in between she was cracking a joke or two. I was sitting immediately next to her and my eyes were glued at her. I was mesmerized with the way she was talking. She was dressed in the traditional kashmiri attire. I must say that the dress (Tharga & Pootch) she was wearing has been long abandoned by our womenfolk. But she looked beautiful in that dress. After spending 2 hours with her we finally bid farewell to her. It was heart warming and a memorable meeting with Jaya and once we left we promised to visit her regularly. My mother was extremely happy after meeting her and I could feel the same for the other two ladies. As we left it made me go down the memory lane I again felt like a child playing in my maternal home. I could re live those days spent there with my grandparents, parents and friends.

My maternal home was in a nondescript village of Manigam in Kashmir. Manigam was home to the famous Kashmiri saint, Roop Bhawani and Kash Kak . Its only claim to fame was the annual Roop Bhawani and Kash Kak fair in which people from all walks of life would come to pay their obeisance to these two local deities. Manigam was en route Sonmarg and was just 20 kms away from Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. The total KP population of the village could be counted on fingers and would not amount to more than 200. I still remember how picturesque and serene Manigam was in those days. I have no idea how it looks like now. It was in the winters of 1988 that I last visited my maternal home in Kashmir.  Even after nearly three decades of separation from my roots I am still looking for a reason why we were cleansed out permanently from the valley. However one thing is very sure, we have a reached a point of no return and homeland seems to be a distant and an unrealistic dream.  The only thing that has kept our community going is the spirit of resilience and courage that our community has shown in these years of despair and adversity. We as a community have not only come a long way but have also made a huge impact in the current socio-economic scene of India. I salute the spirit of Jaya and her ilk who have proved Darwin’s theory,” Survival of the fittest” true by their sheer grit and determination.