Paradise gone HELL!!!

Born in the most beautiful place on earth “Kashmir” (not any more though). Spend my best years there growing up with cousins in a very long joint family. Our house was surrounded by huge gardens, and it provided us with a lot of place to run around and play. Having fruits and vegetables straight off the ground was an everyday practice. Playing all day or till dad came back from office. Mom used to surprise us with some candies she bought on the way back from office. And talk about festivals..wow.. it used to be fun. Long preparations and very long pujas (all night) on the occasions of Shivratri and diwali was a delight so was eid and big muslim feasts. I have loved all, whether it was sweet sevaiyya or awesome mutton dishes. Our weekend trips to temples and trekking with dad, his jokes and pranks, it was awesome. Going to school used to be fun; we left for school at 9 and were back by 4. My grandmother used to wait at the school gate for us and we used to come with her jumping and troubling all the way. I still remember her bed time stories as I always slept with her in her cozy bed. Every day she used to tell us stories of lord Rama and Krishna till we slept. And she used to keep checking the quilt over us all night; I used to wonder whether she ever slept at night. I was her favorite granddaughter; she has loved me more than anyone else in the family. She is our best buddy till date. I can’t imagine a life without her. Life was so much simpler then. Back then, nature and humans were at their best forms, no pollution, no pesticides, no diseases, no fights, no regrets,….absolutely nothing.

As militancy struck Kashmir, I was hardly 5-6 years old. I remember the trauma…. The whole place was a mess. But fun times for us (kids) as there was no schools which meant only playing at home. But it was equally a tough time for the elders in the house. I remember everyone was scared, especially pandits (kashmiri Brahmans), as their existence was questioned. ‘Kill all’- an announcement from the mosque, threats, massacres, blood was all over the place. Whenever the phone rang, our hearts sank, for there must be a bad news. We pandits were ignorant to believe, we no more belonged there. My father kept saying, it’s just a matter of some days, things will pass. It will be normal again and we kept hoping and that hope is still there in our hearts somewhere. I remember the day we left home, in the dead of the night (at 3 am) like thieves with nothing in hand. My father’s very good friend (a muslim) arranged for a taxi and we left home forever. I saw my mother’s eyes filled with tears and my father kept saying we will be back in a week. That desires of going back to our motherland, where our forefathers died, our parents spend their childhood, joys and sorrows are engraved in my heart. I still want to go back to my big house where we all stayed together to relish and relive my childhood.

Most affected people for that generation were the old ones. My grandmother feels so sorry for not living in the legacy she was proud of. Even if we have a whole bungalow to ourselves, where she has stayed for more than 18 years she says “it’s not mine”. It’s difficult to make her explain that we can’t go back, and even if we cud – we won’t, now for sure. A very old wise saying goes “once burnt, twice shy”. I can see the remorse on her face and her sadness in not being in her big house in the valley sipping “kehwa” (kashmiri green tea) with a “kangar” in her lap and singing “aadhar zajatuk konie chu manthar, shivae namah.. om namah shivae………”

I don’t know, if she will ever see it in her lifetime. Many questions come to my mind, but I have no answers. If nature doesn’t question our existence – who are we?