Someone asked me do I miss Kashmir? I didn’t really have an answer and hence I write this.
If I would have said NO, then I would be lying at least while there are summers in Delhi. If I would have said YES, it would have been a bit confusing because I have never really lived there.
My birthplace unlike all my brothers and sisters has been in Delhi. Yet, If anyone asks where is my hometown, I always without fail say Kashmir. It’s ironic because Delhi has sheltered me for the past 22 years of my life, unlike Kashmir.
Very frankly speaking after migration, all KPs have progressed in ways they would never have had they still been in the Valley. Yes, the ones in the migration camp have been unfortunate but while I am sticking to my kith and kin, I would maintain my stand that we are better off right now. So in a way there was some boon even in the bane.
But leaving aside all the meticulous facts, a part of us no matter where we go will always be in Kashmir. Even mine who was not as blessed to be born in the valley.
I remember, the first time I went to Kashmir and landed on the airport my first reaction was “Wow! Everyone is speaking Kashmiri. Everyone is speaking my language”. Yes that was an exclamation and such a wondrous scenario for me. It is somehow difficult to put in words, that feeling you have when suddenly you feel you belong somewhere and then reality hits you back that ‘No, you don’t really have the same place here’
I am not saying we are the only race who has suffered migration in the face of Indian History but having a place, which is supposed to be your home, but to feel awkward and hesitant to call it your home even in your thoughts let alone vocally is unfortunate. Unfortunate in itself would be a mild word.
Since birth, I have been there only twice and yet every holiday I crave to be back, even if as a tourist. Yes, I literally crave to go there. But my craving can hardly heal the wounds, the Valley gave to my parents or to every KP that migrated leaving their ancestral properties, their jobs, their studies…Leaving the life they all lived and loved.
No one can forget Kashmir. I realized this when my mother claimed, that she closes her eyes and can picturize every nook and corner of the home she had to leave behind. I can still feel the regret in her voice when she says she couldn’t enjoy her home. Yes it is still home. After 22 years of migration, it still hasn’t become a house.
We all had roots there and we all lost it owing to a sect of pests who deflowered the budding flowers of happiness and peace. We lost our home. It’s a reality we all accepted as our fates.
And yet, Kashmir will remain that part of our lives that we can neither forget nor get. So do I miss Kashmir. I still don’t know.
Home is one where you spend your life
But a part of my heart still murmurs
That I live in that heaven where there is no strife
Posted @ Alphabe-Thursday(K)