Fond memories of all the guns and all their shots.

Childhood memories are usually vague. You hardly remember the times. You just know that they did happen. And like flashes from your previous life they often set your mind racing through the life that you have left behind. Of what you went through, what you endured and what made who you what you are. Kashmiri children like their adult counterparts have a bizarre set of memories. As far from utopia as they could be, it is amazing how those times are remembered as fondly as any beautiful memory would be, atleast for me. My memories were not life taking or breathtaking if compared with others from my place, but for me, they sure were life changing and left a trial of impacts. So, I pen down a few of my disturbing but fond memories of my childhood.

To get up in the morning to go to school and have your parents telling you to go back to bed to have an extra hour of sleep because there is a curfew out there is a very commonplace in Kashmir. But what  used to happen rarely but regularly enough was your parents waking you up at 5 in the morning telling you to grab your warm clothes and leave because we were going to have a crackdown. I have spent a considerable amount of time in my childhood at my maternal grandparents’ place in Baramulla. It was a hub for anti-militant activities because it was the hub of militant activities. So, whenever there was a slight confrontation between the two armed forces’ Baramulla used to get a taste of it. I have experienced a lot of crack downs, they sounded fun. We got to miss school, sit outside in the pleasant morning, usually in somebody’s apple orchard and because we were asked to get out of our place at 4 or 5 in the morning to breakfast was not what we were privileged to have breakfast. It used to be one of those times when my mother would not stop me from having as many apples as I wanted.
It always bothered me why all the other female members of my family had such worried faces. After all, all we were having was an unplanned excursion. It was later in my years that I learned that they were worried for the men of the house wondering if they were being beaten to pulp. And I always concluded they did not know how to have fun.

I remember my maternal aunt always crib about how the army men never bother to take off their shoes before entering a house and how they always used to dirty her house. I always thought that was her biggest worry and tragedy in a crackdown.

I remember how she once scolded my grandmom for cooking food early in the morning telling if the army heard her pressure cooker whistle at 5 in the morning they might think you are preparing food for militants and get us all killed. The reason she cited pinched me but I couldn’t quite figure out what exactly was wrong with the reason. I knew it were the times of war. Now I know.
I remember my cousin once reminiscing about how there was a crack down at her place. It so happens that all my paternal cousins live there. So, the army was very furious because they had recently suffered an attack from the opposition and they were here to teach us a lesson. So, she tells me how the boys in the area had to dig out their old examination slips to get out of the crackdown, for this was no ordinary one. The army had pitched a shamiana. They don’t do that generally, they do it only if they felt like ‘teaching you a lesson’. I hear they did beat the men to pulp that day.

I remember waving at the army men when their vehicles past me and my little but oh-so-wise cousins tell me how you were not supposed to interact with them coz they might shoot you if they were in a bad mood. I remember my grandparents telling me how when an army guy is angry he can do anything and so not to EVER bother them.

I remember my grandmom recalling the days when militancy had started and in one of the worst crack downs they had witnessed, everyone left their place and in the middle of the night and walked away. Walk where? She said she had no idea, they just knew they were not supposed to be at their place and so they walked. I remember her telling me how my uncle took his whole trunk of books because he figured it was stupid being alive without them. She said he carried the whole box on his head. I could see the pride in her eyes when she says that.

It once happened that my family decided to go for an evening trip to Dal Lake. We parked the car in the parking, carried our picnic food across the road. We ask the shikara waala guy (shikaara's ferry man) to take us to the park in the Lake. I place my foot on the boat and a gunshot; and a few more. And we cross the road again. This time running and ducked. And that is how I remember that trip. We might have had some fun that night. But it was the night for fireworks.

And this one time, at midnight, when the entire world had gone to sleep and I was wondering how I would fare in tomorrow’s maths paper, considering it was not one of my favorite subject, suddenly I hear a gunshot. A gunshot and my heart begin to race. It is something the generation of turmoil was used to. It might have started as a part of the natural reflex, but now it had turned into one of those feelings which if didn’t come soon enough you would wonder why it isn’t back. It’s not like you love it but its absence does bother you. I hear a few more of those gunshots and then a scream and I know the thing has turned ugly. My mom asks me to go to sleep. How could I? There is something going on close by which is shrouded with this air of mystery and agony and I sleep? Out of question. Who cares about the test?! I  was not going to score well anyway, now I have a reason why I couldn’t score well. As the memory has faded I don’t remember what made me go to sleep but the first thing I do in the morning was ask my grandmother what the yesterdays’ commotion was about. She tells me a lady in the village was killed and her sons were beaten up. Rumor has it that that an army guy had fallen in love with the lady’s daughter. I ask my grandmother to go to that place and get the accurate info but she is too scared to go to that place alone and promises to go if she finds someone to along. I never got to hear about what the truth was till now and till date I still wonder what the real story behind that attack was. Maybe it’s time I ask my grandmother again.

Y'allah Masr!! ( Go Ahead Egypt!!)

The way revolution rose, the way it made the world shake. It’s amazing. It reminded me of the French revolution. And the Russian. It’s dramatic rise, the likes of which you only see in movies, when all sorts of people join hands and speak in one voice was one of a kind (the teenager in me thinks). If this revolution gets a ‘happy’ ending, I would be one of those who witness history and go on talking about it for as long as they live. But along with that I would like to sing songs in the praise of Julian Assange. I strongly believe that this might be the decade where we move towards ‘democracy’ in the world. But then it might not be the decade too.

The power of USA is baffling. You are never sure where they stand in matters of power. While half of the world is praying and hoping it’s the end of American supremacy, the rest are already dead due to the fear of what if they acquire more power or continue to be as strong as they are at the moment.

The power is evident from this one ‘eyebrow raising’ event of disconnecting Egypt from internet. Can you imagine a world without any means of communication? Well if you can’t, bad for you. Because as difficult it might be to imagine such a situation, it is so possible. A whole country offline, you can now talk of censorship and free flow of information.

Although all that is happening around the world might be an international peace maker’s dream but what we need to be careful about is where we are heading to. I hope that just like the independence of India, the effort and dedication of all these people doesn’t go waste. The questions to be seen answered are many and I ponder. Will these countries be able to maintain their individuality and essence after their inclusion in the realm of democracy? How far are we going to be able to move ahead before the clutches of uncertainty, corruption and confusion hold and try to drag us back again?  I am one of those people who think that democracy at its worst can be as much as if not more stifling than a dictatorship.

And still, with the hope of breaking free in my heart I call out, “Y'allah Masr!!”

We are Muslims. We are next.

I already feel like a Jew of the Nazi era, living somewhere in the Eastern Europe. Not in Germany, because luckily enough I am not an Arab. But the fact that I am a Muslim living in India, that by a few decades time is going to be no less than a superpower or something close to that and a very close ally of U.S.A (and with that goes the non-alignment policy down the drain) I am shit scared that my race does not have enough time left. We are the next scapegoat for the American ‘democracy’.

Despite the Wikileaks, despite so many people trying their level best to integrate Islam and muslims into the fine mesh of cultures and religions, we are still the odd, bent and tangling piece of wire, all thanks to the American ‘amazing’ propaganda system. They ban books that seem to generate interest of people towards understanding Islam and Muslims and they let out and exaggerate every damn thing that portrays an ugly picture of us.

Tell me, aren’t there criminals in other religions? What religion are the indefinite drug dealers, the mafia, the crazy people who walk into schools and churches and shoot at random people? No one questions their religions, why muslims then?

They might repeat that terror has no religion, but they do agree that terrorism is breeding in the muslim countries and minds. This one time they need a big target, to keep their population engaged for ages to come, so bring on the terror on the people whose population is second largest in the world. I mean, who are we kidding, they are gonna raze all of our civilization and reduce it to rubble and it won’t be long before that date.

Unfortunately enough, there is nothing anybody can do; it is George Orwell’s ‘1984’ coming true. For those who speak against the ‘Big Brother’ (like Iran), America has a strong reason to destroy them. It is like they are digging their own grave. And for those who don’t want to be noticed and while they hope they will be lucky enough to escape the scanning eyes of the big brother, they already have been dominated by them because as a matter of fact, in countries like the Saudi Arabia, the army constitutes of not the natives but they have an American army. Yes, that is right. Their own people are numbered in the army. All their weapons and artillery are that of America’s. So, they can never even put up a fight against them.

Everyone is so desperately trying (in their own way) to get away from the clutches of this big scare, but it seems to be a dead end ahead. You cannot raise your voice, you will be tagged as a terrorist, you cannot keep a low profile and get away with it, because they have their eyes fixed on you. After thinking of different ways and ideas of escaping, you realize that all you can do is sit there and wait. wait for the tanks to arrive, wait for them to come drag you out of your houses. 

So, here I am, sitting in my room, reading an article on ‘Islamophobia’ and how bad it’s condition is (almost every day there is an article on this subject, adding to my anxieties) and I do feel how the Jews must have felt listening to Hitler.

It's Me....

It is when the darkness descends,

When the world fades out,

And I am left all alone with myself.

My true colors show,

And emotions flow.

Uncontrolled, unstoppable.

In this darkness, the truth comes to light.

And blindingly shines on my face.

I do not choose to run away from it now.

I run with it.

No matter how long the run is and where it takes us.

We will go together, wherever we go.

So this morning,

The sun chooses my window to peer through.

And I pull down the shades.

J

Stage Of Life.

Tell me something new, something that you came up with. Not the usual stuff that one hears on every next nook of the street. You have to make the world feel the difference and it has been long since you showed it something different. The audience are waiting for you but don’t get the idea that they are gonna wait forever, because, here in this new world, everyone tries to show something different, something new and they are eager to put up their show.


It is a cruel world and it will want you too prove your worth, it will want you to make your mark. So while I am waiting for you to buckle up, I am hoping that you might get the idea that despite the timeless love, I might not have the patience to stand that long.

R.I.P.

It is the coming of an age for me, an age of innocence, of not worrying what will happen tomorrow, of chattering on and on like you used to do when you were a kid. No mean words, no hard feelings, no double meanings. No I don’t want to backstab anyone, no I don’t want to act like I have loads of important work when all I have got to do is earn a living. I am in this phase where I want to be all happy and carefree and I want this phase to last forever. For no matter how much people would like to say that their mean and self-centered life rocks, I know it doesn’t. And I know of joy that they will never come to experience and for this one thing I pity them all.

They will have a slight tang of it on their way to their graveyard and they will know how they were supposed to extinguish their ravenous thirst. But it will be time gone; it will be the coming of an age.

So, today when relationships keep altering, people changing, you ought to understand that life is all about this age of innocence.

That is why; when the rain starts to pour, I do not worry about how I am gonna look when I am all drenched. I know there will never be anything much better than the joy of experiencing this one moment in the history of life. So, lazing in the desert sun, I soak up in the joy of knowing that life is beautiful every moment.

And when I lie down under that tombstone of mine one day, I know I will rest in peace. What about you?

Oh yes, My dreams are back!! ♥

Let the words dance their way tonight, to the hearts we wish them to go. We will be sitting under the starry lights accompanying each other’s loneliness. It has been long since I found an inspiration; allow me to melt you in words. I won’t ask for much, just a few words you might want to share, a few smiles to give, a few high-fives and one good willed pat on my back. That will be more than enough, for I know how to carve memories in words while I am still high.

So, let the spirits join tonight, for we are celebrating our own world of carelessness and pure joy; and we are the king and queen of our paradise. It has been long since I met a dreamer like me and you and I will dream the world tonight in our own light. We will put the world to shame because no matter how hard they strive they never find the way to true joy. And here we are putting up curtains to the way, coz we have been visiting it too often.

Soon we will be going on our own ways from this square in the city. But whenever we are together, whenever we are high, we will put our world back together, piece by piece and reign over it once more coz we are the king and queen and we rule here baby!

Dedicated to 'you', for after this long dry spell of no dreams, I have found 'you'...