Sunday, October 04, 2009

Zakham : A Scar of Exile



Is shaher ka har bashindah Zakhmi hai !
Fir bhi, har koi , khudh sehh poochtah hai !!
Kiska zakham aajh kitna gehra hai !
Kiska zakham khronch aur kiska nasoor hai !!
Is shaher ka har bashindah Zakhmi hai !

Koi marham nahi na koi dawah hai !
Kuredneh ko hi yahah kehteh ilaajh hai !!
Khoon nikleh toh kehteh yeh zindah hai !
Lahu tham jayeh toh kehte useh shaheed hai !!
Is shaher ka har bashindah Zakhmi hai !

Kis mazaar per abh kiski kabar hai !
Kis ghar ke dhar par, kis ki laash hai !!
Kis awhhrin par kis ki sajti chitah hai !
Yahan har jalsah, abh ek shav yatra hai !!
Is shaher ka har bashindah Zakhmi hai !

Na pooch khaqsaar sehh, uske zakhm kaha hai !!
Woh beposh vyeth mai nahan chukaah hai !!
Jism par ek nishaan , na abh raha uskeh hai !
Par jigar mai behra khoon hi , abh uska zakham hai !!
Is shaher ka har bashindah Zakhmi hai !!!

Thursday, October 01, 2009

Unsolicited Memories



Sunny yet a bit dry morning , old and cold wind was blowing from nearby garden and my vyeth in front of my house at Banamohalla was flowing very quietly that day. Nothing more and Nothing Less , the day started for me as a usual day.


Being in 7th grade and excited about the adolescent age at my doors , it was an exciting time. I was riping over tunes of Qayamat seh Qayamet tak.. and feeling every stroke of heart beat at this raw Adolescent. Watching some good faces around and a good team of football at school was craze. To Share this craze among friends was an honour not bestowed on many.




I had returned from two good trips recently and it was for the first time that I officially stayed away from family for a fortnight. Plundering it may sound but I was spreading hot news across in school premises and attaching every significance of my journey like a seaman returning after discovery of Americas Inc. Fortunes wont have changed if life would have stayed bit like the same and god wouldn't have be displeased further if I would have taken my life further from here. Things were occasionally forecasting the shadows to be played even at zenith but I loved my horizons and sunsets more than them.



In premises of Purshayar temple , stood our two story building called GITA BHAWAN. For last 3 years or so , I was pursuing myself in rehearsing every shalok of Bhagwat Gita and some other religious text. Our Teacher Sanjay ji , Kamlesh ji and few more were so dedicated that at times , I would feel the positive energies from them transcending through me into the body and heart. Between during the ill fated elections of 86 and fresh from violence in Anantnag , I heard the trauma stories of my fellow brethren who coincided to my belief that everything wasn't right.


By Mid 1989 signals were fearsome for this kid. One fine day, I was playing with my friends next to mansabal lake Higher secondary school. Every Muslim boy would couter brand himself as Miandad and would love to hit six on last ball fo match. Natraj Pencils advertisement was branded as " Yeh hai Match ki akhri genddh and yeh lagah chakkah, Pakistan fir champion". With a friendly laugh , I would dismiss this skirmish as another foolish paradize.


Suddenly I realized a cricket club which came from Asham ( A village not far from Safapore ) teasing me as Dyali batta ... I had a HRM HARMAS cricket bat with kapil dev sticker on it and this annoyed one of their ring leaders. He hit me hard and I was on ground... he then started scratching and rubbing my forehead very hard and it started to pain. His satanic comments are still fresh in my mind. " Battah : The place on your forehead,where you put your tilak will be scratched by God in same way and you will be having bigger pain on day of judgement. Better give up putting tilak on your forehead and convert"


I was taken aback as till date , I never thought that someone will put me down on my playground amidst my friends and none will object him. Some stood mum and some stood laughing ,... I came back to my maternal place with a bruise and scar in my soul. A void had been created with this incident.



On Sep 14, this void was further deepened when our Urdu teacher Moti Lal ji enetered the class and asked us to assemble in the ground... as I was moving down .. I saw some Muslim boys crowding in different corner and KPs in different one.. Komesh Teng who was our senior was consoling a boy whom I dont know till date that everything will be fine. At the assemble Pyari Madam and Prana Madam broke the news of Tika Lal ji Assasination. Soon a shout erupted from back SHABIR SHAH ZINDABAD... I could realise my Void is a wound now and it is not just a bruise but a radical cut stabbed in my soul. I moved along with Sandeep bhat to Chinkra Mohalla and saw some JKP guards around the place... Little know academy called Minerva and its Muslim boys were also present. a small skirmish resulted with some string iron willed KP kids from ganpatyar and police gaurds lathicharged all.



I ran back to home at Banamohalla and by evening a mourning was touched on our roofs.. as if tinned roofs were as sonorous as my void ... In evening I went to Sheetal nath along with some seniors and saw a crowd of some 100 odd Kps maing announcement. I remember Sh Vaishnavi ji making desperate appeal to all for unity and challenging pakistan to kill him in open not like cowards in streets and playgrounds.


Next day whole city was reverbrating from Sheetal Nath to karan Nagar. We were stoned during procession at Habbakadal and at tankipora crossing. we chased back and I was happy to send stones back... I bruised my leg in stampede...



In next one year , I saw what was beyond the imagination of human being. I saw dead body in pool floating to be fished but was instead stoned because it was wearing a kadda in right hand , I heard that breastless body of a KP women hanging in my maternal orchard , I heard people getting killed and pissed at , I saw my classmates asking me to recite kalima , I was kicked for carrying a geometry box with Indian Flag , my friends uncle and his family was slaughtered because he had an alteration with milk man , my muslim barber was murdered by his own son and buried in his courtyard for he was talking sensible secular values , temple bells were lowered for Muslims in neighbourhood will get annoyed by its sound , morning prayers on river side temples were no longer mandatory for kids , hearing loud bangs of explosion and curfew sirens was a testimony to the evil apostle that my void had forecasted long back.




In next one year , I saw lakhs leaving their home , thousands getting killed on road , mosques rather than calling faithful to prayers instead asking faithful to kill kafirs , neighbours become enemies within days and above all a big exodus. Twenty years must have been a long time but my void is yet to be filled although scars are gone , I sleep buyt rather than dreams nigthmares still come hauting and chasing me from my civilized world into an unknown barbaric Island. At last I just say ZUV CHUM BRAMAAN GARR GACHAAAV

Saturday, November 01, 2008

Violet Lips Lost

Cribbing about another hectic week ,amid global financial crisis wouldn't have got worse with domestic problems escalating thanks to my official woes. Ignoring the basic stuff which comprises my world is often the biggest halt in ones growth and Quite often or not we think.... we are doing everything for it lest we forget to take care of it.
Its like buying few Eggs for hatching some Chicks and ultimately ending up opening a Poultry farm and forgetting about those few Chicks you wanted to breed. As one of my favourite trainers said in his invitational speech "Life is what comes to us when we plan for something else"
On this casual note I landed up on this weekend, fast and fragile like a desert storm trying to grab everything it can before hitting next village. Ultimately nothing comes in hand except the sand of dunes which also settles just few miles away.
Long back on such weekends I would pack leisurely unlike all uptown boys of Srinagar and head to Manasbal. It was as if a Martian would have got an Earth to rule upon. Automatically my superiority complex of being a city boy was a welcome gesture in village cricket team. It is another story that they were far better players than my next 7 generations could be. The Wildness of Autumn was about to set in and Leaves of chinar were falling down to announce the end of another blissful , romantic and vibrant summer in Kashmir.
As Bus would make a shrieking halt in the market of Safapore , I would leave no stone unturned to announce my arrival.Grabbing the first available moment soon after having hot salty SHEER Chai and Rice floor Chapati, I would head towards to the nearest cricket field overseeing the manasbal lake...Nice Curly Mountains on all side and "Wooder" A plateau formation of small hills ...
Next on one side I would see Sainik school boys rowing their boats in discipline,some fisherman as busy as they could be, sericulture department on other side,sometimes an occasional NCC camp where aromatic kitchen was my destined pleasure.
Between I scored another duck like most of the times but was most wanted to bowl spin anytime.

Now after all the tussle and bustle it was the time to take out the small but sharpest knives .. use best archery skills and stone throwing competition .. get as many walnuts as possible from the trees... Unripe and covered with ligament which when cut would leave a Violet marks on my hands and my lips. These Violet Lips were enough for me to be caught by any Gardner and yet being forgiven.
During those days of poise only shots I would hear from the Gun filled with some rotten powder which would blast through funnel of gun and produce loud bang. Loud enough to scare the crows and birds from wall nut tress.. But within few years this loud bang was enough to turn my violet lips dry and scare me away from those fields into the dusty plains of INDIA.

Alas ! Voilets grow every season but I lost my Voilet lips of walnut theft for ever


Not sure whether those trees have birds still but I lost my habitat and lost those violet lips. One life one dream to retain those Violet Lips once again.. be caught by Gardner once again...swim across the lake once again.. run through fields to infinity once again... score few runs if not hundred... get few inches closer to the depth of lake and pluck out some more lotus stem.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Aahatun seh nikla umar bar mai

Aahatun seh nikla umar bar mai
ek siski chut'teh.. is jahan seh mai
Koi Awaaz nahi ..ko shor nahi
bas ek siski joh mera wajood thi,

Kon duuntah hai awaaz ko
is ajyaabh ghar seh duniya mai
chand lafzun mai simattih hai
bas itni lambi zindagi ,

Woh joh jiyeh bhi nahi
unhe maut seh kya wastaa hai
Kuch paloon ki yadein
kuch lamhoon ka karvaan hai !!

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Fractured Links

Few days back I met a childhood friend of mine ..who had by now grown a long beard and has become a strong advocate of DARUL ISLAm or so called establishment of Islamic order in this world. I congratulated him for him being father of 4 kids in such a short span of time and at the same time was astonished to hear the sad demise of my dear Babi whom I couldnt meet in her life time. 

I felt sorry for her being pushed into motherhood 4 times in short span of 5 years which must have contributed to her death.. but I surivived not to ask that question to this friend of mine for whom will of Allah was supreme and so do I agree that none can get things done better than the will of almighty...

This common thought led us to a South Indian Udipi stall for cup of tea and soon we started rebuilding our old bridges ...Lost hopes started turning into dreams and dreams into mirage but ultimately the story of my Exile from my Motherland never became a reality even in this discussion... 

I better not have given him my mobile number suspecting his connections with extremist but somewhere I felt that I share a common bond of Kashmiriyat with him.. Even if he wants to do something wrong ..he wont do it me at least.. with this thought we wrapped the evening.... with a promise to meet along with the family... 

I was feeling like to ask him that please give me pictures of your kids.. for I felt so much love for those kids much more than I even have for my own nephews or neices...Anyway time moved on and I started the postmortem of this heavenly anecdote..

we had played football and cricket together.celeberated every moment whether Javed minadad hit six on last ball or shastri won a car in Sharjah cup. His maternals were famous butchers in downtown srinagar and had most of the customers as listed Hindus WHO is WHO in city.

I was definetly much ahead of those WHOs at that shop... Chopping and grinding ... cutting and swaying.. they did it all with dexterity and skill.Tuesdays they would be Off to mark a sentimental value for KPs. Any Festival they would be first to acknowledge it.. 

That was the only meat shop in INdia where I was Stamped Lamped by Goverenment authority. I am sure they never made a fictitious stamp to impresses local KP population who were very beurocratic and beleived in legal affairs more than they would beleive in their religion.

For them Delhi , Washington , Moscow and Islamabad where the only four places in world who would be deciding factor in 3rd world war. They predicted in 80s that Afghan war will consume Pakistan and America will regret support Mujahideen. Cold war in end and Russia wil break away. 

Alas they couldnt predict that in next few years they all will erased from the face of Valley and willbe tormenting as refugees in Jammu camps.

Coming back to my friend and his flaunting beard... I felt sometimes W G Grace in his attitude and sometimes Osama in making. As the topics changed ..so did the moods... I mentioned about other KMs friends of mine who are moderate and doing great everywhere else in world . He would negate their existence even because for him doing any thing not done by holy Prophet was KUFUR but I wanted to ask him why are you sipping South Indian Coffee with Dosa...Prophet never had it... Whya re you smoking Marlboro American made "Prophet never had"

Finally after much  discussion , I thought this guy will surely raise his kids as Osamas commanders and will ruin their life... finally as we were about to end our conversation .. he was asking me about the good schools in GGN and Delhi.. To my surprise he wanted to his kids to study in Delhi away from surcharged Religious extremist Environment of Kashmir.

I got the clue...and was laughing within myself .. he was doing the same what other aristrocratic bizaarrrreeee  Elelments and leaders of Kashmiri Muslims did... They made sure 50K youths die with Arms and startvation and their kids study MS / MBA / MBA in America. Who paid for it... Same people who funded guns for lesser mortals...

But I was contended at least 4 kids will come out the hell and live life in sane place in civilized world.


Wednesday, July 18, 2007

POEM ( KP a Kafir got killed )

Please read on...

I always wrote the best verse
The teacher would often say
This pandit boy will be a poet one day

My pen drew imagesOf Kashmir,
Meadows and pines
Springs and brooks
Snow and shine
Alas, I forgot....
I was a Pandit too,

Soon they will come
To take me away
To the cold street
And shoot me down
My blood will freeze
Before it oozes

My verse would freeze
My voice, go dumb
The azan would rise
And the warriors of God
Will soon find another
Voice to quell

Another pandit to kill

The morning news would read
A KAFIR killed on a cold street

(Rashneek Kher)
Rashneek Kher

Blog:- http://nietzschereborn.blogspot.com

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

My Vyeth of Dreams

During my Childhood ( at Banamohalla in Srinagar ), Every Morning I would open my wooden Window facing river vyeth/Jhelum.
It was the greatest experience of the day and I would wait all night in my dreams to open it.

One big reason was I wanted to be sure that weather was fine to play and second 'a more important thing'. It sounds unusual but there was a lot of importance to this activity for me.

Our House was located right on River bank LINK (http://kanghar.blogspot.com/2004/06/my-home-on-banks-of-river.html) as such my relatives would often chide me as "HAAENZ" ( or the people who stay in River).

In Spring when whole of Kashmir was enjoying I had an apprehension that it shouldn't flood our Bank and house.
Come winter but I wouldn't be allowed to play because of apprehension I might slip on snow and get drowned.
In autumn I was worried for the receding water level of Vyeth.
In summer I will pray to lord that hustle and bustle stay like this.
So first thing to check was If any tourists are traveling in tourist boats in Vyeth.

Vyeth was very important for my forefathers. I still remember their story.They worshiped it as being life line of Valley and celebrated its birthday every year with lamps called Vyeth Truvah'.

But for me I felt like a watchman for this river. Monitoring everything that would be happening around this river. When I read River Valley civilization I felt myself to be nearest descendant of those people.I learnt to swim in its waters that too without telling anybody.

My meeting with River Jhelum was always exciting.

Come Shivratri and Mom will take us there to wash all clothes and quilts.
I would watch with cruel eyes, when vegetable vendors would through garbage into it from habakadal bridge.I was the happiest person on earth when in 1988 CPWD came to our locality and told that no toilet outlets will be allowed to flow into this river and 'Sulabh' toilets with Tanks will be constructed in every household adjoining river...

I wished that when I will grow up I ll tell all kids about this story and the way we preserved its waters. I would read stories from books (scarcely available) about rivers and its preservation. I won a drawing competition once on it as well. I had a big dream to visit VARYNAAG its source and see it growing till it reaches my home at Habakadal.Some one would tell me that water from temples purifies the waters of Vyeth and keeps all bad elements away from society. That is why we have temples on its banks.

Badrinaath (our temple priest) would wear langot and was the fastest swimmer we knew to cross upto Pandit Shawl house across the river. Baitaji and Mukhtareh would follow him to take his LANGOOT off in water but this chase will end with all the fun on our river Bank.

A funny incident from that bank :-
A big stone (Patri kanye) had a crack in it because Baitaji (a local man)sat on it and farted. we kids would burst in laughter that with his fart a stone can crack no wonder he can swim across in floods too.

How can I forget Khandeh and Rehmaan who rescued not less that 20 BEERA BAALLs (wooden cricket balls) .. They were kids favorite boatman who occasionally might quarrel over passengers to be taken across the river. Khandeh died before 1990 and rehmaan was wondering where KPs are going and why they are not praying with loud speakers on in temple.

There was a sudden lull and cruelty in air. A suspicious current of water had as if changed the color of river and hardly would I see anyone on this water front.

When bullets would be fired across the bridges I would pray that river water will heal the injured. When someone will drown I would think as if water has marooned him to safety. When some one would say "THRAAT pyeh aath Vyethi" I would moan with sorrow.

But a day came when I moaned too much...I was 13 years when we left valley on 17th April 1990.That unfortunate day I saw as if Jhelum was flowing with my tears...

When I reached Jammu I saw some kashmiri men taking bath alongside Bihari Laborers at Patoli chowk. A strong Adamant local shopkeeper teased them and said "These kashmiris have taken all the water from city .. look at the Patoli Pond they drank it all.it is dry now" ...

I came back home and was contemplating if I could take this Local to my Jhelum and ask him to please take as much water as his wants for his pond.

But alas never did I know that even after 17 years today I would still be writing about that river of my dreams and feel myself opening our wooden window on front third floor.

Someone please contact the people who are living in our house (now at banamohalla in machine Kochi.. Next to national photo studio ).. Request them to please open the river facing Window with care. 10000 miles away a fool like me has tears in his eyes for that window and its perenial flowing river.

I would be happy to do anything for my dearest HAANJI brothers with whom I spent my childhood and for my river which has more to give us than take from us.

With Great Love and care for my Vyeth..