Uncork
When I look back .. I do not weigh …I do not sigh … I only see what made me cry !
The streets give a deserted look now, which at one time used to be the most happening and busiest thoroughfare in Srinagar !
My exodus story is not about the property & belongings we lost but about trust and hope that is lost forever . It is about the lost motherland and continuous yearning and imagination to live and relive, what could not be or could have been, built on the premise of preceding thoughts of our own lived memories. It is about the precious youthful years of one’s life wasted just for its survival bet . The trauma of separation from the motherland and the subsequent implications it had on our lives and future generations, so on and so forth. The most unfortunate part of it is that it began when I had just developed a keen interest and innate love for mother nature in mid 80’s as a result of my professional prerequisite of travel and visits to different places and it is precisely when the terror began to mount in the valley alongside . I had no idea about Kashmir in my childhood, the value and place it held on the world map, the beauty of nature it exhibited. We as kids would often see foreigner tourists, called ‘Angrez’ ( English) in local language , no matter which country they belonged , walking through the busy streets in the down town while sipping Coca Cola. It was amusing for kids to watch and stalk them ,gleefully try to talk to them in our halted English having no idea why few of them ventured into heart of the city otherwise one would see them in flocks on Boulevard road and various other prominent tourist spots , which were rarely visited by locals. They would undertake city trip to get the feel of the culture and most of them were invited by people dealing in Kashmir artifacts businesses who had their main offices located near or inside their premises in the heart of the city. As a youth, my day would start with a cup of Kehwa ( black tea ) with Bazritch tChot or Kandhur ( KP bake house ) early morning followed by lunch by around 9 am or at noon on a holiday. This used to be a norm for both students as well as for the office goers . The schools in downtown would normally commence at 9.30 -10am. There used to be a big siren in the city which would blow sharp at 9.30 am alerting people to rush to their jobs and errands . Interestingly Radio Kashmir would run their Kashmiri folk songs also at 9.30 after finishing all their morning Vividh Bharti programs . The poignant siren and the folk song would merge in chorus reverberating all around the core of the city and for students , like a haunting background theme of some mourning , particularly for those who had missed their home work and were likely to face the music in the class as the parents one side would push them to leave for school and on the other side the siren and folk songs signaling, you are already late. By mid-eighties, I was in my early youth or one may say late adolescence . By then, I had understood the culture , people , ethnicity ,religious biases and dealing with situations where we as minority would usually face the brunt of being branded as Indians, contrary to the view of the majority community consciously or unconsciously carried out due to their religious bias. I knew now how to handle Ind-Pak cricket matches resulting in sledging and abuses on streets and shriek by local khorr (rogue) in mohalla lanes and by lanes I had had Muslim friends more than pandit friends as I was active in cricketing sports . I was the most sought player for local teams which comprised of boys much elder to me. I recall on a match day they would drop in to pick me for the day’s match not before they had to argue and convince my Mom to let me go as she always felt insecure leaving me alone. But on the brighter side , I used to get lot of affection & care from these guys .We were friends when it was common business but out of same lot ,few of them would behave indifferent on ethnic issues. We had learnt how to save and protect our girls from teasing, harassing, eavesdropping without getting into physical scuffle and avoid confrontation as we were brought up like that only, not to mess up with them . There is always a tendency for any majority community to show supremacy and treat minorities as underdogs and play haughty. The extent varies ,depending on the community’s discourse ,its genre and where they come from. Mid eighties saw a major turnaround in the valley. The exodus was a beginning of a culmination of a long standing Indo- Pak tangle , lately a drip strategy masterminded by general Zia to cleanse the KP race from the valley and establish Islamic supremacy to avoid any knee jerk in pro bono cashmero which kick started in ’87 unfair elections . Around eighty percent of locals were part of that dream Azadi or / and under Pak dominance whichever could be achieved first . The last nail in the coffin was put by none other than the quixotic Farooq blindly supported by congress, who couldn’t believe being out of power in presence of Jagmohan when Governor’s rule was imposed and was specially sent on mission to take care of the situation and unrest in the valley . Before that , Mufti et al ,played their part in historic support to separatists through fake self kidnapping act and to get 5 hardcore terrorists released in exchange .It gave a huge impetus to the terrorist establishment thereon .That was the best they could offer to serve the nation while being in power. Ideologies don’t work in politics. It is all about acquiring power or to stay in power. Congress allied with its old enemy NC ( Rajiv -Farooq Pact) to acquire power . They succeeded by openly rigging the ballot thus adding fuel to the fire .BJP on the other had no existence in the valley then ,but it allied with Islamic based MUF for no reason and contrary to their party tactics. We saw a continuous shut down in the valley in ’89 . We experienced a new epoch of chaos getting into an astonishing groove, a vicious cycle of hartals, riots, arson, gunshots and blasts followed by curfews and killings of innocent people ,particularly KPs in continuity. The panic button was torn out with the brutal killing of bold and fearless Tika Lal Taploo to begin with, a political leader and many other eminent personalities who were not even in the forefront and meant no threat at all. It sent shivers down the spine to the whole KP community. His son happened to be my college mate. I clearly remember visiting his place on the day of demise. Tapiloo was shot dead in broad day light and purposely chosen to send real time warning signal to KPs. The days passed under curfew, hartal,demonstrations ,loots , damage to public property, anti India and azadi slogans , encounters , gun attacks ,shouts and abuses in kuchas and galiis (lanes & bylanes ) expressing hatred towards minorities, India and security forces .The daily highlights were the news about, who got killed today ? Where did the blast occur today ?. Evening and nights were more distressing. We had only Radio and local TV channel to stay connected with outside world, but that too was not dependable because of frequent power cuts. Transistors were the only reliable source. I recall , we would usually turn to tune BBC radio to get outside world’s view of our situation. During that time , USSR disintegration had also begun, BBC news came flooded with news of chaos ,riots , demonstrations , rebellion all across and it felt like the whole world was on fire .Indian intelligentsia and its Intelligence capability miserably failed to sense the changing tone in the valley, the stance taken by the India’s stakeholders in the valley and entry of gun culture in the valley. The administration proved incapable probably with some mollified intentions to contain the growing subversive acts , allowing terrorists roam scot-free, letting them kill innocent people, allowing the situation to go out of hand and to further delineate the valley, rather than making some effort in the first place to nip the evil in the bud. It was probably September month in ’89, I along with my sister, Mom and a friend where returning back to valley from Jammu after a usual visit to our relatives in Jammu. The tension by then had mounted on its peak , and we would hear news of killings, bombings and encounters everyday reaching out to us through local newspapers. The separatist and militant groups where multiplying, regrouping , sub grouping at their will and targeting security forces and innocent people from minority communities and those found supporting India called as Mukhbirs ( Indian spies ) from the majority community. Media was going gaga in publishing the claims militants groups would make of their share of killings, bombings or attacks on army on daily basis and and some pro separatist Newspapers even would publish threat warnings issued by militants groups besides the ‘Hit list’ issued by them on the target list especially Kashmiri Pandits ,displayed covertly on hoardings and lamp posts in their localities. It was more of a fear than a delight of coming back to your own home on that day. I had never seen passengers in fear and eyes moving in suspicion as before as experienced in that Bus journey. The bus reached the tourist center ,Srinagar very late in the night. As we stepped out , the whole scenario was one like a ‘nightmare on an elm street’. It was spots of fire all around in dark of night with not a single soul visible anywhere.. Out of 15 odd passengers, we along with few more had to go towards the downtown area . We mustered up our courage and decided to walk together, holding each other’s hands tightly leaving everything to God and we started to move towards our homes ,a 4 or 5 miles walk from the Tourist Centre, the last bus stop . On walking , we saw nothing but fire and cries reaching our ears . It was like a horrifying walk through the jungle in mid of night, wolves howling, patches of burning forest fire and fear of a predator attack on every step. Surprisingly, it was midnight , there was no visibility of any army or security personnel on duty even at prime chowks or crossroads through the whole course of that journey .Yeah, the same road which at one time used be full of hustle bustle and exuberance even during nights. Panic stricken, we finally reached our homes safely on that night. But then, we had no idea that this was supposed to be our last homecoming. A month or two later, we didn’t know that our Ex. Day was destined
To be contd…
The next part will cover the ‘real-time Exodus’
Disclaimer :- The content in this website is purely based on the true feelings and general view prevailing at that period of time with no intention to hurt or harm the reputation of any individual or a group or a community whatsoever. There is no claim of accuracy of information shared in the content but for its essence and purpose of narrating a story.
