If only I could go back
Back to my roots
If only I could have
My land's sweet fruits
If only I could enjoy
The winter snowfall
With kangri in pheran
Head covered with a shawl
If only I could relax
In the lap of Shalimar
Row myself
Upto the Char chinar
If I could also feel
The warmth of sun in summer
Have in the evening
Katlam and kehwa in supper
If I could also own
A big wooden home
With garden full of flowers
A beauty's epitome
If only I could make
My dream come true
Throw away hatred
Let happiness grew
If only there were
No more wars
Let love blossom
Healing all scars
If only there would be
Peace all around
We all could go back
And live safe and sound.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
MEs IN MYSELF
Yes! I am happy, yet sad today.
Today I am filled, yet not content.
I'd just joined Facebook on my cousin's persistent requests, when I came across a "Kashmir" network. While going through it, I found it had some 150 photographs posted. I immediately jumped on to check them out, and then…
Every picture had its own glory, its own gleam. Every picture was breath taking. The serenity, the beauty, the nature at its best. Be it the snow covered peaks touching the clear blue sky or the fluorescent spread beneath, be it the 'Dal lake' with unending houseboats or the hump shaped submerged bridge in between, be it the "Chashmashai" or the "Parimahal", be it the famous "Mughal gardens" or the picnic spots, the list is just endless. Never had I seen the flowers in such beautiful combination and never could I imagine the temple in the middle of a light blue colored spring. So was I amazed to know about another temple on a dead volcano!
Oh! Every word mentioned here to praise the beauty of the pictures is just insufficient. I was in this awe after looking at them, I was speechless.
Yes, I am a kashmiri , yet not! Yes, I am a kashmiri yet much unfortunate like the ones reading this article. For I have been born there, yet not brought up. For I have seen it through pictures, yet not in real. For I have known it through my parents, yet not felt…. But today I am proud I belong to it. Yes, I am happy, am associated to such a beautiful place. Today I am excited for I saw, what I'd heard. It was like a trip going through those 150 pictures. I silently thanked the people who posted those pictures on the network.
…And then… it started paining, I felt hurt. My heart was crying. For every frame had a barrack or a bunker, for the picnic spots were deserted, for the temples stood waiting for devotees, for those pictures seemed paintings. For those houses were burnt, those 'shikaras' were alone and the houseboats had lost their grace. For the snow had turned grey. I, along with lacs, had to leave, never to return. I feared death for I had to live. I was a toddler yet had to run. I left my home, my motherland, my roots.
…And then... I was so angry, how could we? How could we be so weak to leave our home and hearth without even fighting for it? How could we give up so easily without even trying? How could we leave our own motherland when she herself was in an hour of peril? 7 lac Kashmiri Hindus left the valley, in the hope that they will all return, once the situation is under control. They were put up in tents and it has been 18 years since then, still they haven't lost their hope!! Still i am thinking, how could we?
…And then... I got the answer!
What are you supposed to do if your neighbors are threatening to kill you? What are you supposed to do when your only son is killed in front of your eyes and you don't get even four shoulders to take his dead body and finally have to cremate him in your own porch? What are you supposed to do when your pregnant daughter-in-law is raped in front of your eyes? What are you supposed to do when your son-in-law is kidnapped and killed and your newly married daughter turns a widow. What are you supposed to do when your father is killed in front of your mother's eyes and she herself had to cremate him, as against the tradition. What are you supposed to do if this is the scene in every nook and corner of the valley? I sighed, it was difficult to breath. I was amazed at His masterwork, yet amused at the irony. At the end of it, I felt lonely, yet felt many MEs in my self.
Today I saw my roots, yet missed the smell.
I saw the beauty, yet painted in blood.
Today I am filled, yet not content.
I'd just joined Facebook on my cousin's persistent requests, when I came across a "Kashmir" network. While going through it, I found it had some 150 photographs posted. I immediately jumped on to check them out, and then…
Every picture had its own glory, its own gleam. Every picture was breath taking. The serenity, the beauty, the nature at its best. Be it the snow covered peaks touching the clear blue sky or the fluorescent spread beneath, be it the 'Dal lake' with unending houseboats or the hump shaped submerged bridge in between, be it the "Chashmashai" or the "Parimahal", be it the famous "Mughal gardens" or the picnic spots, the list is just endless. Never had I seen the flowers in such beautiful combination and never could I imagine the temple in the middle of a light blue colored spring. So was I amazed to know about another temple on a dead volcano!
Oh! Every word mentioned here to praise the beauty of the pictures is just insufficient. I was in this awe after looking at them, I was speechless.
Yes, I am a kashmiri , yet not! Yes, I am a kashmiri yet much unfortunate like the ones reading this article. For I have been born there, yet not brought up. For I have seen it through pictures, yet not in real. For I have known it through my parents, yet not felt…. But today I am proud I belong to it. Yes, I am happy, am associated to such a beautiful place. Today I am excited for I saw, what I'd heard. It was like a trip going through those 150 pictures. I silently thanked the people who posted those pictures on the network.
…And then… it started paining, I felt hurt. My heart was crying. For every frame had a barrack or a bunker, for the picnic spots were deserted, for the temples stood waiting for devotees, for those pictures seemed paintings. For those houses were burnt, those 'shikaras' were alone and the houseboats had lost their grace. For the snow had turned grey. I, along with lacs, had to leave, never to return. I feared death for I had to live. I was a toddler yet had to run. I left my home, my motherland, my roots.
…And then... I was so angry, how could we? How could we be so weak to leave our home and hearth without even fighting for it? How could we give up so easily without even trying? How could we leave our own motherland when she herself was in an hour of peril? 7 lac Kashmiri Hindus left the valley, in the hope that they will all return, once the situation is under control. They were put up in tents and it has been 18 years since then, still they haven't lost their hope!! Still i am thinking, how could we?
…And then... I got the answer!
What are you supposed to do if your neighbors are threatening to kill you? What are you supposed to do when your only son is killed in front of your eyes and you don't get even four shoulders to take his dead body and finally have to cremate him in your own porch? What are you supposed to do when your pregnant daughter-in-law is raped in front of your eyes? What are you supposed to do when your son-in-law is kidnapped and killed and your newly married daughter turns a widow. What are you supposed to do when your father is killed in front of your mother's eyes and she herself had to cremate him, as against the tradition. What are you supposed to do if this is the scene in every nook and corner of the valley? I sighed, it was difficult to breath. I was amazed at His masterwork, yet amused at the irony. At the end of it, I felt lonely, yet felt many MEs in my self.
Today I saw my roots, yet missed the smell.
I saw the beauty, yet painted in blood.
Monday, September 29, 2008
CAN YOU DEFINE MY "GAON"
[My first article written for my school magazine when I was 13]
"All of us wait eagerly for our vacations just because of two major reasons.Firstly we get a little relief from studies, secondly we get time to visit our village.
I came to Chandigarh ten years before and joined my school when vacations were very near.My friends inquired from me where my Gaon was.I was speechless just because I never knew what the word Gaon meant?But as they told me the definition of Gaon meant where all your relatives live and where you go to spend your holidays.That very night i asked my parents and they told me, we don't have a Gaon,we hail from a city.On asking,they told me it is in Kashmir known as Srinagar,"Shall we go there?"was my instant reaction.They said nothing as they thought I would forget after some days but I didn't.
Whenever my father used to listen to any news about Kashmir, I used to be dragged happily, towards the news as my Gaon's name came on TV.
But as the days passed, months and years went by, I grew up and understood the real ground situation of my Gaon. I felt sad and helpless. My Gaon had become a place of massacres,firings and bomb explosions killing thousands of innocent people including old,young and small babies whose actual crime is still unknown to me..
Many left their homes and hearths for good,and never looked back.I am one of the children of those uprooted people who have become displaced in their own country. Like me their children don't know their roots and the motherland of their parents/grandparents. So the Gaon for me is just my imagination.
Today, I'm mature enough to define many things but I still don't know the definition of my Gaon.
Can you define my "Gaon"?
"All of us wait eagerly for our vacations just because of two major reasons.Firstly we get a little relief from studies, secondly we get time to visit our village.
I came to Chandigarh ten years before and joined my school when vacations were very near.My friends inquired from me where my Gaon was.I was speechless just because I never knew what the word Gaon meant?But as they told me the definition of Gaon meant where all your relatives live and where you go to spend your holidays.That very night i asked my parents and they told me, we don't have a Gaon,we hail from a city.On asking,they told me it is in Kashmir known as Srinagar,"Shall we go there?"was my instant reaction.They said nothing as they thought I would forget after some days but I didn't.
Whenever my father used to listen to any news about Kashmir, I used to be dragged happily, towards the news as my Gaon's name came on TV.
But as the days passed, months and years went by, I grew up and understood the real ground situation of my Gaon. I felt sad and helpless. My Gaon had become a place of massacres,firings and bomb explosions killing thousands of innocent people including old,young and small babies whose actual crime is still unknown to me..
Many left their homes and hearths for good,and never looked back.I am one of the children of those uprooted people who have become displaced in their own country. Like me their children don't know their roots and the motherland of their parents/grandparents. So the Gaon for me is just my imagination.
Today, I'm mature enough to define many things but I still don't know the definition of my Gaon.
Can you define my "Gaon"?
"Ahh Kasheer"
Well my appearance has always revealed my roots, and for those who have not seen me, I am a Kashmiri Pandit girl. Since my childhood Kashmir has always fascinated me in some way or the other. So here is something which is closest to my heart, my homeland "KASHMIR".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)