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(Editor’s Note : This is a personal account of an individual due to which the names have been changed to respect the person’s privacy.)
T + 100 hours since we last spoke to our parents who went to Srinagar as their yearly ritual of visiting their motherland and summer home. Not ever knowing that we’d see this day in life, where we’d wake up one fine morning knowing they’ve been put under grid lock. We started out being ok, thinking this complete blanket ban would last only a mere day given that it has happened in the past. But when the news broke out of what was to happen and how the state was going to transition, a fear like never before gripped us. My brother Mehul and I were together at that moment, and we saw each other’s face blood flush out of fear with what was happening and all the fears started rushing our minds - are they ok; if they had medicines, did they have supplies? I am at the airport about to take off to Srinagar (after hearing rumours that airport will be closed) to bring them back and see if I can be successful at it not knowing what lies before me. What lies before us.
While I was checking in at the airport, I saw other Kashmiris who had heavy eyes and no idea of their loved ones. How do I explain that feeling to not hear from your family; to not know their whereabouts? That fear? I found myself in the similar situation, stopping the tears inside to want to see them stay strong and not make them feel weak. I wanted to believe. I wanted to have hope.
I’m visiting Kashmir after 4 years. I was born and raised in Mumbai since it was a state under constant curfew and conflict. I wish you all have it in your heart to have empathy towards innocent lives who are collateral damage in circumstances like these. See them as human beings and not as a state. Defeating intolerance and all forms of discrimination will liberate us all.
After taking off when the signal went off, I was preparing myself mentally to face whatever was coming my way once I touched down the airport. I didn’t know how I’d reach home, but I had packed light so I could just walk down through alleys so I could avoid being stopped and questioned.
The flight was empty and had mostly people like me who were rushing to check on their loved ones. We all sat together to give each other company and solace. While we approached the Srinagar airspace, we were asked to shut the blinds/windows of the plane; yes, I did get curious but we followed the protocol and did as was told by the captain. Once on the ground, I quickly enquired how I could commute to the area I was staying in. Some curious relatives who had gathered at the airport in search of their families, had managed to get a curfew pass. Somehow, I hitched a ride half way with them and half way I walked as I had planned before leaving with a small cabin suitcase that had some food and water just in case, I was not allowed to go any further. Yes, I had booked three return tickets from Mumbai itself to be on the safer side and be ready for the worst. I wanted to return with my family. It was dark by the time I managed to reach my society on foot. All this while when I was walking through allies to avoid the Nakabandi/barricades on the main roads as I didn’t know if I would be stopped and asked to go back or other fearful things that I had read about kept crossing my mind; there was complete silence. It was a ghost town - the roads and that silence made anxious walking around in the dark with the flash light for my phone. I held the suitcase in my hand to not make any sound of the wheels.
Somewhere around 9PM I managed to reach the gate of my house; I was hoping that my parents wouldn’t have left the house to take refuge at their relatives with the hope of staying together at this hour. I knocked on the gate and I could feel my heart beat in my mouth with every bang on the gate. I heard a familiar reply and it was mum. I felt a sigh of relief the closer I felt her approaching the gate. I broke in to tears the moment I caught the first glimpse of her and I hadn’t hugged her this tight ever in my life, as if I had lost her once before and this was my redemption to tell her how much I loved her and needed her ever more than before. I met my parents and we rejoiced our reunion. However, it felt like a small victory. There was no electricity when I reached and in that ghost town silence, I felt what perhaps someone in another war-torn country could have felt. Silence, yet you could hear the screams of fear in your head - a fear of the unknown.
Today afternoon we took our flight back. As the jokes of the property rates going up traverse the accessible internet, we left our home without a single piece of clothing, a surely not a piece of land that this all is about. My parents didn’t want to come back as they didn’t want to leave the rest of their people there alone. But I am selfish and I wanted my parents to be with us in Mumbai, safe and loved. They had been actively partaking in helping the ones in need. Whatever they had stocked to survive with had already been shared around amongst the ones who couldn’t manage the same and the ones who couldn’t afford it. I don’t know about the ones who were still there – how long will their supply last? Would they have fuel to last till the nearest hospital? When would the schools/colleges/offices resume?
I left the city with these unanswered questions with a heavy heart and anger; one beyond any of our control. While the world celebrated their Eid, our hearts were broken. It was a day of darkness for me.
I’ll end this note with these words I read on my friend’s timeline:
Home is
like a dark grave now
silent, voiceless
invisible
buried beyond the fence
how dark is it there?
can they hear my prayer?
and feel my pain?
are they numb too?
like me
lifeless
just blood and flesh
will we meet again
on the promised day?
in the vale called Heaven.
Sharing some more thoughts from a fellow Kashmiri.
People of India,
I’m a little confused- the news says that we have now become one.
No barriers, no differences between us..
But, I wonder...
Do you have any elders in your families, like we do in Kashmir?
Do you call them regularly to check on them, hear their reassuring voices, like we do in Kashmir?
Do you have grandparents, like we do? And, do you ever wake up at night to wonder if they’re okay, like we do?
And, do your phones also go dead abruptly, before you say goodbye, like ours do in Kashmir?
Do you ever stay awake the whole night when you consider- what if something happens to them and you don’t even come to know...for days- like we do in Kashmir?
PS- If you haven’t called your family and loved ones today, take a few minutes out of your day and call them. You probably don’t realize how privileged you are and how far we are from being one.
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