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.

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

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..

Within me

I run for them
but they run from me
I find them all
but they dont place me

Whom is this all for
cant I stand alone
what do I look for
that I dont find within me

Am I scared of someone
who is deep beneath me
or am I craving for some place
Which is still not for me

I searchd in sky and sea
I looked in sands of dee
I found it everywhere
but why not near me

Shadow of a freind
quenches the thirst
like a river in forest fires
till there is volcano inside me

It is burnt to ashes
without any flames
immersed in ganges
but it is still burning aside me

let it start from me
let it end at me
let be roam within me
let it be nothing but me

Dont Plug OUt My heart

Dont Plug out my heart
Dont play with my soul
Oh....Take some rest !
I am still not at my best

Let water flow through the Gates
Dams meant to stagnate my Thoughts
Persist the dream of Heaven...
Till the Fire of Hell brought me Down....

Dont Plug out my Heart,
Dont play with my Soul

Sure Was It my faith
Or fragments of hope
Now Torn apart into Cloud Burst
Rain on my sand Dunes drought

Dont Plug out my Heart,
Dont play with my Soul

Perfection was imperfect
when it was carved at your feet
My love was beneath in heart
But Alas I couldnt Shout

Dont Plug out my Heart,
Dont play with my Soul

Now that world is Over
Wish me Safe flight home
Before I Meet my Master
Let me collect all thats is Still Brown...

Dont Plug out my Heart,
Dont play with my Soul

Mera katil mera rehnuma hogha
Mere peeche mera kuch jahan hogha ...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha


Aatish mai mere saath mera khudh hogha
Wasal pe mere fir bhi woh khush hogha ...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha


Aagh ki laptun mai mera karavaan hogha
Uskah likha bhi uskeh samne jaltah hogha ...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha


Poochun gha usseh kya Yah jahan hogha
Bhujke meri rooh ko .fir kahan jaana hogha ...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha


Kalam se usneh abh fir kya likha hoga
Fir nayeh andaaz mai wohi Kafila jawan hoga ...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha


Fir dil pe tarkash woh chalna hogha
Fir is jahan se mujhe ruksat hona Hogah...mera katil mera rehnuma hogha

Has the history come again?

Old myths dont go
Some shadows dont move
Some clouds come back
Lightening never faults
To hit my house
Has the history come again?

Memories haunting my head
Shivering my nerves
Adrenaline soothed out
They talk of thoughtlessness
Wish for such a minute
I am thoughtless for days now
Has the history come again?

I came back from them
But cant swim it now
Shallow waters look so deep
Still can't drown me down
Time to Break Myself Down
Yearn for New Lease
And Ask myself same Question
Has the history come again?

My crush was never over
Few Affairs and Funeral
Was it all I needed
Or is there more to come
From breathy to breathless
I see it all
In LIfe that has stopped
or Death that asks me
Has the history come again?

it is EOF now
It is EOD now
it is EOL now....

Get ready for it ...
pack the boots..
long treck ahead...
But no race now

But no Race now..
History has come ...
History has come..

Let me live with my habits

let the thunder to strike
Water burn in my yard
Fire flow in my heart
Let me live with my habits
Let me live with my habits

Cunning world wont sleep
till I rest in my grave
People will call me Enemy
For Christ will crucify again
Let me live with my Habits
Let me live with my Habits

Shut the door for sunlight
Raise a toast to the moon
Fall the star on the Earth
crash my Ego with my Sins
Let me live with my Habits
Let me live with my habits

Share the thoughts with Soul
Free the Freedom in GRave
Let the Moth eat my body
Let me now Die with My Habits
Let me die with my habits

khamosh Sajda kiya

Khamosh Sajda maine kiya ..
Zameen ki dadhkan suni..
Kuch woh kehti thi...
Kuch mai Sunta tha..
Kehne se pehle Sunna..
Mujh sikhaya gaya tha..(KHamosh)

Raste thode se the..
Par hasile Manzil nazdeek na thi..
Pyaar Jatane se nahi hota..
Un he yeh sikhana tha..
Dabhe hotun ki batt woh sune..
Toh Sajda mera Kabool hota..(KHamosh)

Kyun aisa hai hota ..
lafz zubaan par hai..
par unme Awaz nahin hoti..
Khayaluun mai woh hai..
Par haqeeqat mai nahi..

Abh toh yeh ayeen hai
Kafire Khaqsaar bayaan karoon
Sajda khamosh na ho..
Kuch mai bhi bayaan karun..

Kuch kehta hoon

Kuch Sunta hoon
Kuch kehta hoon
Hai yakeen abhi khudh pe
Ki kuch toh abhi Zinda hoon

Lafzh Halke pade hai
Ki Insaan ko baya karta hoon
Kis rekti ko bayan karoon
KHaqsar banke abh bhi sharminda hoon..Kuch Sunta hoon

Kuch Farishtey Mile

Kuch Farishtey Mile ...
Sakht Pareshan the..
Tumhe dekh ke Arzoo karne lage..
Kash woh bhi Bashar hote...

Kuch Fhool toh khile ..
par tumhare bhagh ko dek ke..
Duwa woh karne Lage..
Kash woh aap ke Kante hi hote...

Mushtaq Zamana ke ranj mai..
Firta hai Khaqsar..
Waqt ke tufaah toh uthe..
Naav kinare pe leghe...

Kafiele Kudrat Ke

Kafiele Kudrat ke Bayan Huwe.
Raste Insaan Ke beHaya Huwe.

Waqt Janjeer mai Bandh Na saka.
Mai bhi Raah chalake Batak gaya.


Yeh Khushfeam ki Manzil yahin hai
Mai Tareek ko Aghe le chala gaya..

Bha kayamat Nazar Ayee Jabh .
Mai unhe Yaad kar Fozhe Ishaq Ho gaya...

Kabhi Kuch Aisa Hota Hai

kabhi kuch aisa hota hai ..
Sagar ke leher mai Kinara khota hai..

sahil se dekho Woh
Maji kinara doonta hai...
pucho uss se kyon Sagar se
Aasma ka rasta doonta hai...

Kabhi kabhi kuch aisa hota hai (2)



Mann ke mojh bhi kuch yahi hai.
Uthte hai Aarman khamoshi se..
Takrake Duniya ke sahil se
fir khamosh is dil mai so jate hai...
====
Kabhi kabhi kuch aisa hota hai (2)
====

HAR SUDH KE BAYAS TARAZU TOLTE HAI

HAR SUDH KE BAYAS TARAZU TOLTE HAI
KHUDH KO TOLA TOH PARMAN UCHALTE HAI



ZINDAGHI BADI MUSHKIL SE SHAYADH KATTI HAI
KHULASA KARE TOH USME KHUDA BHI NAZAR ATE HAI



JAAN KE AMAAN HAZOOR MANGTE HAI
WARNA ISHAQ KHUDH KO KALAM KARTE HAI



SIRF NAZAR KA ANDAAZA BAYA KARTE HAI

WARNA HUM DILOH MAI BHI JANKE TE HAI



CHAHAT KI KHALISH MAI KUDRAT HAI
KABHI KHUD RAH KHUDA MILE TOH



HUM BHI BAYANE HAAL JIGAR KARTE HAI
HUM BHI BAYANE HAAL JIGAR KARTE HAI

A wish to cross the Bridge

Durani a fren of mine..gifted me some tears on my birthday...
HABBAKADAL.. my home..in a picture

he brought back my childhood in one picture...Thanks..a lot
But this picture bought with it..

---

A wish to cross
the Bridge once again...
See the face
in Vitastas once again.

A wish to fly
Kite on it once again
Enter temple Somyaar
Read Gita once again...

Can you give me dear..
With this snap
Just one wish
With No bargain..

---

You bought tears in my eyes..Please dont post such pictures again..
if you cant fulfill my wish.....

Star Crash

Moon Watched the Stars fall..

Kids called them meteorite

Night Said "Still lots in Sk"y..

But Moon knew the Loss ..


Night was Darkened more..

Sun heard her complaint..

But Silence made him Red..

But Moon called him Boss ..


On the Chinars shade..

Sparrow gently prayed a chirp

A young lady blushed in Prayer

Moon saw her fingures Cross..


What If there wasnt Night..

Star would have been Invisible..

What if we all had been Asleep

Never cared..for that Starz Fall..

.Never Cared For that Starz Fall...

Western Winds

He was watching the fields from the dark shadowy arch of his house and feeling as if the rice fields where calling Kishen joo loudly.

Moon with its milky light ,was playing with her twinkling Stars like a compassionate mother itching out the hairy head of her kid.The speedy wind from the west was as if combing the rice fields.

It was just few days ahead that the festival called "DHAY BATTA"(thanks to Local Deity) was to be organised ....... where he would thank he deity for his crop and start the harvest.

All of a sudden he had some negative thoughts.....What if the deity becomes angry with him.
He was relentlesly trying to convince himself about the good actions that he has done.

He had donated to the local Yatim Khana(orpahanage) ......what if they where muslim kids and studying koran.He had faith ... and beleived that God understands Humanity not religion.

He was a staunch kashmiri Brahmin and winds from west where blowing his faren away but he was holding it tight...to his body ..yet at times letting it go and flutter....Looking at the crop sometimes he was feeling proud abt his ancestral property ...at times egoist for being the richest in village ..yet next moment he would be nervous and pretent that all belonged to god...

Fear of god was keeping him tamed to the orchestra of humanity...It was midnight but this 60 year Pandit had no intentions of sleeping.

Even if it meant making Jhajhiiir (Traditional Hooka) and desturbing others intentionaly.

His wife and mother were snoring .His son had just flung in his final year.

He wanted to leave the village and catch the next bus for Delhi.He was a new breed of Pandits who would mind drinking liquor ,eat non veg and watch first movie show on friday.

The tussle between the father and Son was invisible but the women in the family would frown if Kishen Joo would brawl while having dinner. All eyes would point to his son Ravi.

Ravi was not worrying him at all for his future was secure . He was retired two years back and whole village knew abt his Post office account which had 50000 Indian rupees in his name.He would even tell this to a new born baby much before that baby would have been given christened.

Things where fine but not for long...he was never able to get the post office money back..He longed for a sinlge penny on a footpath in Bombay away from his land ...selling tea .... What changed his life???What was it that blew his home apart...Western winds could never take his Farren Off ..then how did they manage to blow his whole life Off..Watch out this blog or post to me..I ll let you knoew

The Wait

She was crying in pain ,But couldnt speak .ONly way she could gather attention was by screaming at the top her voice.

She was never like that before,At her one command children of her village would run for their life.But today in the dark room,on Moonless day she was desperate for help.Her husband in his eighties was snoring in the basement.

Their house was so big that it was not at all disturbing her husband and that was what her husband was trying for alwayz.

The villagers were calling her witch and were believing that she got the curse back on her for killing her brother in law.

Some even were of the notion that the whole property belonged to her Brother in law.

Her adopted son had settled far in the posh localities of New Delhi and had no intention to come back.

Kids were happy and making merry in her courtyard without her fear.

Only the man who would visit her was the postman,carrying some one else letter and reading for her as if her son had written a letter for her.

Society had long forgotten them..

Then came the turbulance which swept the whole village .Guess what next??

The Barber ...

On the busy interior streets of Srinagar.. along the banks of Jhelum for 50 years this man "Sone Navidh"{Golden Barber} had shaved , tonsured and cut the hair of almost all big dignitaries as well as common man.

Sitting on the Warm Skinned kusock he was an integral part of the Hindu community of that area.Although,being a muslim but he was so much inter woven that at times he had the capability to perform any religious ceremony for the brahmins.  He was sometimes a noted hate figure of jealous Mullahs.

Even people at the civil secretariat would talk of his great proffesional and communication skill.He was not just respected by elders but loved by kids.

He would shave the heads of pandits when some had to proclaimed as pandit after the birth (ZARA KASSAY) or when some one would die and his elder son needed to tonsure his head.


Come 1990 amd pandits were leaving the locality and mullahs were proclaiming them to be infidels.Now he was a most deserted man.

He was upset as all his frens with whom he grew up and with whom he had more bonding than with his family were no more around him.

Streets wore a deserted look,No kriya karms or grand scale Funerals were happening , where his presence was alomost like that of the God.

On the 10th day of Kriya (after someones death) he was a dignitary,to perform the special custom along with brahmins.The special Hair cut (Tonsure).

As the pandits were shot down like sparrows,None would approach him for the 10th day function.But what was the reason?  Was his Name now a terror or a suspicion in the heart of minority Pandits ? Where was his son from last 6 months ?

Soon the circumsatnces changed and one day he had to shave off his head. Did he survive the change?
Why was he murdered and burried without the Fateh (last rites in muslims) in his own home ?

The man who attended the funeral of thousands in his life left Kashmir with out the funeral.??
Will mother earth forgive us for that.?

What happened and how? Keep on visiting this blog? the story is still not unfolded?

OPrince Charming

He was young and charasmatic,So people called him prince charming...He was fascianted with the story of Ugly Duckling.

May be it was his own story.As he was growing up in the fields and pastures of Kashmir,He was a self proclaimed king of these meadows.

His only temptations was the "Sootu"(partially grounded and half burnt floor) with a salty tea (Nuuon Chai).

But some one was fast approaching his approaching his meadows.This gujjar boys pastures were soon going to experience a new shepherds and sheep.But who were they.Did he survive the on assualt of new shepherd armed with rocket propelled grenades.

Was he still prince charming or now yearning for past to come back...

Find out about what happened to Prince Charming.??Keep on visiting or subscribe to my stories