Kashur Islam

Islam may be on the tongues of kashmiris, it is not in their hearts,
it may be associated to the kashmiris, it is not characteristic to them,
it may be in their names, but not in their lives,
it may be on their streets, but not in their homes,
it may be on their faces, but not in their limbs,
it may be on their outsides, but not their insides,
it may be in their past, but not the present,
it may be in their books, but not their deeds,

they may die for it, but not live it...

Hajj on Sale

Visiting my beloved moj kasheer is always a kaleidoscope of mixed feelings. On one hand, the beautiful vale, a cradle for all its children, the sense of belongingness, the family that is mine and the family that is kasheer, the faces that started growing wrinkles as I grew, the same neighborhood, the small streets often serving as our cricket fields, the mosque standing tall as always and the same shop around the corner. On the other hand, the broken roads that never got fixed, the overflowing sewer, the stinking garbage and the hapless child’s first breath in the filthy maternity hospital which smells of corruption and gross negligence. Well, whatever it is, it is home and i was visiting home this summer. With passion in my heart, love in my eyes and nervousness in my limbs I went out of the aircraft to feel, breathe and see Kashmir. Besides other things, top priority on my to-do list was to convince my maternal aunt and her husband to make the intention of the journey that every Muslim must undertake at least once in his lifetime. Perhaps waiting at the carousel for my baggage never was a more monstrous task as it seemed this time. Anyway, I stepped out of the airport and into the daily life of a Kashmiri visiting Kashmir.

The first step – meeting my aunt itself proved to be quite an uphill task. “We can’t take the car, the main roads are closed for public, the inner roads are jammed with traffic and the buses are taking an hour to reach where it should take them five minutes. It is the assembly”, jeered my dad. “Isn’t the government supposed to be ‘for’ the convenience of the people and ‘main’ road is off-limits for the common man?”, I mused. Anyhow, where nothing goes, the bus no. 11 is what you can always trust. I was greeted by one of the most emotional welcomes and without much-ado I jumped onto my mission. “You guys have to go to your first Hajj this year. I ain’t listening”. “Definitely!”, came what was music to my ears. In no time the papers, pictures and money was ready and in the hands of my dad and there goes the application. “inshaAllah”, I could hear it from the hearts of my aunt and uncle.

Due to a large number of people applying, there will be a lottery draw for the people making it to Hajj this year – I overheard somewhere, but it was time for me to head back to US – adieu. Days passed by and every now and then, I would pick up the invention of Alexander Graham Bell and enquire from my parents. ‘Na gobrya, weni draw ne kiheen’ (No, son, the decisions are not made yet). Anyway, the inevitable had to come and they were the unlucky ones to be dropped out of the list. ‘But there is still hope. The people have requested for more quota and there may be some additions’, was what I heard my dad saying. Indeed, the greaterkashmir.com did give new life to my hopes one day as I read the news that the number of Hujjaj has been increased. “An old couple, its their first time, people who are going for the third and fourth time are getting it. Now, they are definitely going to get it.”, I convinced myself. Anyway, the office of the DC, the nemesis as it proved to be, did not bring any great news. They were dropped the second time also. “Our pleas fell on deaf ears. Hopes were shattered and the hearts were broken”, was what my dad conveyed to me. “Now there is only one way. There are people who paid bribes of five to ten thousand per head to get in. I have already talked to one such person and he has assured us two spots for ten thousand rupees”. “Never”, came my reply, ”you can bribe people, but you cannot bribe Allah. Softly, almost choking at her tears, hardly able to speak out, “teli inshaAllah nawi waryi”, said my aunt.

How much Panun is Kashmir

Taking off from where this blog was left last, i was thinking about the time when this uprising was in its infancy, probably not only new as an infant, but definitely as innocent as well. Most definitely i was a blind eye witness to the scenario. Was it Governor Jagmohan, the theory i myself adhere to, or was it just panic? It was not the Kashmiri muslims, the honest pandits would definitely tell you that, or was it a third person? Whatever it was, we definitely needed to stand up to the trying moment. And by we, I mean all kashmiris who think kashmir is their panun, not only in an euphemism for a lost cause but in the honesty of the blood in the veins. So, i might not know the reason or the cause, heck, i might not even know the effect in the long run but i definitely know this - the panun in that kashmiri was just a statement and probably a motto as strong as that kashmiri himself was. Life has taught me that what i love, i will stick to it no matter the trials and tribulations i have to go through. Turning ones back used to be the last of the options that 'men' used to consider but probably there is not much of manhood left in the man anymore. Who stood up to the challenges? Who showed the relentless love for his motherland? Who owned the responsibility and decided to stand as one against the relentless forces that have been hounding my motherland for the last so many decades?

Well, i guess no matter what the reason for the mass exodus was, there definitely was a factor and that was the kashmiris for whom kashmir became panun only once they left, had a place to go to, a place that they could call their own, that always considered them a part unlike the kind that stayed behind. Where would the other kind flee to? Out of the frying pan into the fire? I guess they took their chances with the pan. As for the others they decided to get on the bandwagon and watch the show of barbarism , cruelty and ruthlessness from outside of their Panun Kashmir.

The Maer’s Last Sigh!!

Dal chhui maala-maal

Dengi was, khaalto laal

Laalas chhu gaashukh kamaal

(Dal is full of riches

Dive in and get the pearl

Pearl as bright as the light)

O my son! I have but been a good mother to you. I have been a cradle to your houseboats. My arms have held your shikaras like babies. I have fed you, nursed you, raised you and loved you as a good mother should. Remember the pambach, the nadur and the gaade. How many of you have I helped swim and how many have felt the warmth of my affection. I have watched you grow from babies to old people. I acted as a playground for you when you were kids, a rendezvous for friends to soak their tired legs. I would host you as love birds and provide an ambience where you would forget your troubles. I have kept you alive, I have kept you kicking. I have posed like a proud mother in your photographs and have been happy even as an unobserved detail in them. I assisted you in earning your livelihoods and raise your families. I never asked anything in return. But why my son, did you never consider me a part of your family? You abused me, ravaged me, poisoned me, hurt me in every way you could. You have brutally encroached my boundaries and violated my sanctity. I have shrunk to more than a tenth of my size. All I asked was to leave me alone, if not care for me, and I would continue serving your needs, the only reason Allah had created me for.

O my son! Listen to my plea, for this might be my last before I disappear into history and become merely a part of an artist’s collection. Help me so that I can help you. It does not take a genius to realize not to chop the branch one is sitting on – or does it!!

Manzimyara Manzimyara

Manzimyara manzimyara onthane kahn labith
Ahnez ahnez kaapi hind dah warakh barith

Ajekated, shareef te shakeel chhui baech
Ahansa su gow pozui gode wan me zaech

Sofi saebnen korum jawab, na onum Teli
Tyuhund awlad aestan kootah jaan, saen zaat ma meli

Akh rishte haz chhu Qureshi te byakh chhui Wani
Yi kyasa ma chhu dolmut zan ne me zaani

Parway ne Bhat ti chhim anmit te beyi anim Baba
Ahansa magar asi yiyi ne yiman saet hisaaba

Ade Banday dimonaya kine dimonay Qazi
Wech kya karaan rishte chum na thawun razi

Mufti ti haz chhim beyi haz chhim Khan
Yiman kith chhi keran zanem panun paan

Nahvi saebni tula kath kine tohi gachew Shah
Tul waen kehn karakh na beyi khas rachah

Goday korwam inkaar ki asi lagi ne Mir
Syed ti saeri nakli kahn chhune peer

Haay myane khudaya sharaftukh rood ne zamanay
Syod syod chandaan rishte, tath ti karaan bahanay

This is an effort at the dramatization of the dialogue between family of a prospective bride or groom and a species in kasheer known as manzyumyor (middle-man). There are so many other castes in kashmir, I had no intention to leave you guys out. But, sorry, my vocabulary of castes is limited. It is a pity that we have been muslims for so long, but never have risen above casteism. I wonder if there is a last name musalmaan or a surname muslim???

Disclaimer: The castes are not mentioned in any order - ascending or descending (wAllahi that does not even make any sense).

Who says Pundits left Kasheer?

In one of my off late khazer-sochta-hai-wular-ke-kinare or the musings-of-aristotle moments, i was thinking of the big deal that everybody has made out of the fact that the pundits have left or were forced out of kasheer. This is so not true. The kashmiris still worship their bootte-mein-tarashan-zi-sange-mazare lord, you will still find people lining outside the tombs and graveyards. You will still find aastaans more crowded than mosques. They still sing hymns in the early mornings, only at a different rendezvous. The caste system is still as water tight as it used to be - there still are so called upper caste brahmins that have taken our religion hostage, marriages are still performed by matching horoscopes minus the stars. A new born is still greeted with charms and talismans that sometimes look like the suicide capsules worn by LTTE in Sri Lanka. Every other person, male or female, wears a talisman or a charm. Birth of a girl is still frowned upon and usually an occasion of distress. We still wail and whine on a death and even observe the chooryium (fourth) and the chatjehum (fourtieth). We have more holidays and auspicious occasions than probably any other place on the face of the earth. Some animals are still considered pheshal (bring misfortune) and yet others phrooch (lucky).

Kashmir is still so full of pundits, i fail to understand who fled.....