It was not just another day when i
uselessly move around places like office, market, bus stand and
narrow streets to make out a meaning of life in Kashmir. It was a
friday when masses gather for prayers. I had been told by my
professor to avoid certain places on this day. On every friday
security is beefed up from what it is on any other day for the mere
reason that mass gathering takes place and 'popular sentiment' in
Kashmir finds expression on this day.
For past three weeks my religious
identity have come out strongly in the interactions I have had with
learned and wise people whom academicians mark as 'common people'.
The feeling of being a hindu and part of majority community (in
mainland India) never came to my mind so strongly. I can credit for
that blissful ignorance to multicultural and multireligious friends I
have had. Religious identity was limited to being born into a family
which is hindu. I am not even an active practioner of the religious
identity ascribed to me. Once in a while I used to go for the
spiritual retreat I feel in religious places. For that matter
honestly I frequent religious places of most of the religions
practised in India. The spirituality and humbling experience I get,
is irrespective of the religion which legally owns the religious
place.
Kashmir is different and I have been
constantly reminded of my religious identity in subtle ways. A small
experience in a tea shop, where i frequented to have chola
bhatura, on succesive days gave
me reason enough that there is a thing or two communal in the air of
Kashmir. While purchasing a plate of samosa the lady asks the tea
stall owner, “bhaiya ye hotel hindu ka hai ya musulman
ka”. The tea stall owners
answered making a meek face, “hindu ka hai”. That
moment people sitting in the tea stall smiled the matter off in a
light humor. One old man cracked a joke “umar humari badh
rahi hai aur farak inpe pad raha hai”. I
have seen old age getting reflected in the wisdom and humor of such
old men and women many a times. The experience lightened the air
which i saw getting communal. The day next to this experience was
more shocking. While being served chola bhatura in
the tea stall on the next day, when waiter wanted to give me a
particular glass, the tea stall owner chided him and asked him, “ye
hindu hai isey saaf glass de”!
On
that friday me and my friend cum colleague have walked some distance
in search of a dhaba where
we could get paranthas. After
a long walk and search for a descent and cheap dhaba we
landed up at one in lal chowk. Dhabas have
not remained the traditional dhabas which
were affordable and cheap and especially catered to working class.
Today they have become fad and entrepreneurs have banked on it. Dhaba
has been made synonymous with Punjabi cuisines like butter chicken et
al. The place had been figured by me during the bus ride back home to
Hyderpora the previous day. Do not remember the name of the place but
it was run by Punjabis. It is easy to know where a person has lived
his life or where he is from by his pronunciation. It is difficult to
guess about people who have lived in multiple places and specially
cities. Their identity too becomes fluid like their movement between
the places. I too had found myself difficult at times to tell people
about where I am from. In my generation most of the people introduce
themselves about their native place as the one where they had spent
large part of their childhood. But there are some confused characters
(like me!) too who find it difficult to tell where they are from.
Their personality is such that it is not characterstic of any
particular place, it is amalgamation of many places considerably.
Such type of characters have adapted well and had never held identity
of any place rigidly.
While
having paranthas in the dhaba we were looking at people who were
walking past lal chowk. It is always good to see people engrossed in
activities from a vantage. May be it gives you a momentary pleasure
of being powerful and almighty. It is absurd! It is easy to see guys
having intense hormonal imbalance looking and wooing every girl
walking past their way. Vendors selling with a broad smile, dyers
flapping the dyed dupattas, there is so much of life on the streets
that it can enliven even a dead soul.
After
having the lunch we started walking back to our office. Everything
looked normal. On reaching Maisuma area the air changed a bit,
protestors were shouting slogan against anti-Islam movie made by US
based Director Becile. We thought of watching it for some time and
then move. It was only a minute after this that CRPF personnel
started blocking the main gate of their unit in that area. Some said
aaney do aaney do. To
this we turned our heads and saw a mob coming to that side. It did
not take a second to realise that stone pelting which we had heard of
untill now will become a eternal memory in this Kashmir visit. It was
a shock, exhilaration and fear. It was for the first time I realised
that I stand party to none. A neutral person who did not know anyone
there at that moment. I asked my friend and colleague to walk through
diferent street than through which the mob was coming. Steps
naturally pace up when a slight threat to life gives a glimpse. We
were to cross that bridge which would have put us in the down town
area but the mob was coming back along our direction, as the
retaliation from CRPF had started. Fear from CRPF was one and side by
side thoughts of my hindu religious identity were stirring my mind. I
have had never felt threatened in being around minority (muslims,
sikhs, christians) population as i always belonged to the majority
population in the areas I have lived. This was the first experience
of feeling like a minority in a place. Past events and frictional
relation which two religious communities hold affects your state of
mind in turbulent situations. On a normal day interacting with my
muslim colleague and friends I have never had these feelings. But
here I was in a different city with strangers all around who were
pelting stone symbolically to protest against the state repression.
All these people suddenly appeared threatening to me.
In the
middle of this my colleague suggested we go back to our office and we
had taken 5-6 steps also in that direction. But it clicked to me how
hostile and sensitive down town area is and i realised how grave it
might become going there. So I decided to walk away towards the
Jehangir Chowk over bridge. While walking to Jehangir Chowk we could
see people running with stones in their hands smiling with a zeal.
They were cool about the situation and appeared to me seasoned. But
all the shops and windows and doors of the houses were shut. We paced
really fast and reached the Jehangir Chowk over bridge. The escape
was a big relief. Realisation of how scared am I to lose my life
dawned like an enlightenment.
At
Jehangir Chowk life was normal, people walking and vehicles zooming
past. This was a memorable day, as life lived in those few minutes
shook me to core. The harsh realities of life for people living there
came as real-time glimpse for me. While fagging I made a resolution
that I will never let this experience of a friday afternoon in
Kashmir go down the memory lane!
