Men, Matters & Memories
M L Kotru
Frankly, I don’t remember when exactly did I read a book by a Kashmiri author last. Lest there be any confusion, let me clarify, I mean a book not in Kashmiri but by a man or woman from the valley. Of course, if your time-frame is broader than the one set by me for myself there are any numbers of books in many languages including English written by Kashmiri’s in the pre-independence era. These relate to the period when the State was under the Dogra Maharajas and prior to that when it passed from one alien invader to the other. The most notable books of that era were mostly in Persian.
Pardon my ignorance, but I don’t wish to hark back to Raj Tarangini and the Pali era etc. I am specifically referring to the past three decades or so. The first and the most impressive that comes to mind is that of Agha Shahid Ali, the brilliant young poet whom I had the privilege of receiving at my office in New Delhi in early 80s or late 70s.
I had heard of this bright young man a couple of years earlier and it was indeed a pleasure to meet him. Some two decades later I read of his death, quite young, but one who had left an imprint on the world of letters. I remember one of his poems which has earned for itself in every treasury of poems: the remarkable poem ” The country without a post office” which so tellingly brings out the pathos of the Kashmiris’ situation, their home turned into a virtual wasteland of sorts. There have been a few other books that have come out recently, largely based on the 90s post-terror era. Of particular interest have been a few books written by young Kashmiris, each with his own twist to the horrifying tales of the valley since the early 90s.
Each reflects the agony of the people whose lives have been turned upside down by developments such as the migration of the Kashmiri Pandits from the valley and conversely the agony of being a Kashmiri Muslim in a militarized environment, condemned to living in isolation, a suspect in his own homeland. You have tales of well-to-do Pandit families suddenly reduced to penury, living in tented camps or one-room tenements, forced to make a fresh beginning in lands so dissimilar from their once beloved valley, longing to go back, just for a peak at an old home in Srinagar or in Anantnag or Baramulla.
You perceive a certain degree of anger among the Muslim youth at being suspect in their own home, mohalla or town. A sad story it makes sometimes, but there is hope around you, that’s if you haven’t given in to despair. I particularly enjoyed reading the slim volume “In Wanderland” by Deepak Raj. In the words of a reviewer- and I quote from it- a concession given by me to myself in view of the confession that I haven’t had much access to the post-90s literary outpourings of Kashmiri authors. “After the Kashmiri Pandit exodus from the Kashmir valley……… a host of creative writings cutting across genres have become the mirror to the existential agony as a consequence of separation from the homeland”.
I from my part, loved going through the “Tale within a tale” wherein the author joins a group of Kashmiri Pandit migrants at a wedding reception, gets sucked into the conversation, predictably interrupted when ‘Kakni’ (aunty) yells that the DJ be asked to stop that loud, monstrous music; she would rather they stuck to the traditional Kashmiri wedding songs (wanuwun).
And this sets off a round of stories by a group of guests, with the author as a listener. The tales, one following another, keep me reminded of a culture that has perhaps vanished. Deepak Raj pokes razor-sharp fun at the so-called community leaders, their strength, the ability to knock the bottom out of the aspirations of the members of the community living in exile.
His Directorate of Directionless Community in Exile (DDCIE), advertising for the post of a leader lists as qualifications the ability to destabilize, disintegrate, anything that can cause an anarchic situation. The author’s creative acumen as an innovative satirist and an inviting fantasist stands out. His reference to “History” seeks candidates who do not understand its nature and become mute spectators of its ferocity and savagery. The book in the end leaves you sorry for a community which for all intents and purposes has lost its moorings. Sad, yet, somehow sardonically humurous for anyone with the capacity to laugh at himself.
“Curfewed Night” is the first book of Basharat Peer, US-based Kashmiri journalist. Peer studied journalism and politics at Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism. He has worked as an editor at Foreign Affairs and has written for Guardian, New Statesman, Financial Times etc. Basharat Peer wrote Curfewed Night, after he had spent time in Delhi working for several journals.
The book represents his journey on his way to Delhi but not finding a place to live in until he finds a Kashmiri Pandit woman, Mrs. Kaul who shelters him. It essentially brings into focus ferociousness of life in a region perpetually at war with itself, of life as it confronts a hapless people living in a war-like situation.
Peer relives the lives of militants “caught or surrendered”, each explaining his experiences while in militants training camps or undergoing torture by security forces. Basharat often repeats his grandfather’s advice to him not to be part of militancy. There is no return from there, grandpa told him. Basharat mentions his visit to a Pandit refugee camp in Jammu where he meets his “father’s sister” and looks out for his schoolmate, ‘Vinod’, to spend some nostalgic moments with him.
Rahul Pandita’s “Our Moon has Blood Clots” is another Kashmir book that I chanced upon. His narration of his family’s flight from the valley gives a sharply etched out account of the travails of being forced out of what had been home for centuries, a flight from the known into an uncertain future, a journey filled with a sense of fear, as the than teenaged author accompanies his parents on the journey to the safety of Jammu. His narration forces you to identify yourself with the hardship that befell the family. For some reason, as he travels, you become a part of the migration. He makes you strongly identify with the suffering of the migrant families. The chilling accounts of individual and mass killings and the circumstances that made it possible, demand a collective self-reflection, remorse and atonement. Between Pandita and Peer they complete the tragedy that has befallen the once happy valley.
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