Trying times
This self-reflective piece was written as an emotional response to the political action of the Modi-led Indian state to revoke almost all of the clauses of Article 370 of the Constitution of India in the state of Jammu and Kashmir on August 5, 2019. Article 370 which granted special rights to the state of J&K was abrogated and the BJP-government proposed to fracture the state into two Union territories- J&K and Ladakh- snatching its statehood (effected from October, 2019). This autocratic decision was taken while the state political leaders were kept under house arrest and the entire region experienced another bout of violence as more military was deployed overnight to curb the protests that erupted after the abrogation was announced. The BJP-led government of India effected a complete information and communication blackout in the state. In the face of yet another atrocity, this piece reflects my personal anxiety and helplessness regarding the human suffering in my country which is slowly sliding to despotism.
These are trying times. Darker than it has ever been. A tad bit more claustrophobic than those tiny benches which served as brutal punishment during school days.
My surroundings have always affected me more than it should. I had horrid dreams about Kashmir last night. Trying to escape a bullet, always on the watch for death. How must it feel? To go to bed with the thought of death, waiting for the bomb to be dropped over their heads?
Is there something wrong with me, I wonder!
Why must it be a weakness to be vulnerable? I want to be co-dependent; living with and among fellow species gives me immense joy. Yet, the joy is lost as it heavily rains inside my heart. People creating walls around them; walls that shrink with the passing time! You feel crunched. You want to live like you are dancing bare-feet in a pool of mud, your hair moist from the rain that’s gone, making faces- uninhibited, undaunted, unfettered- yet, all you get are boxes with fixed measurements.
Dreams are fitted, cramped inside those boxes. Dreams which make you want, need, aspire, grow- eternally. Dreams exist infinitely, which means they are not meant to be fulfilled and they could be cyclic too. If you get something that you’ve wanted, you move on to the next want, the next dream. It may so happen that once you reach the next, the first is lost and so on and so forth. Yet, I seem to be enjoying dreaming. I want to laugh and dream. But why do tears in the eyes of Kashmiris make me want to cringe and throw up? Dreams, then, begin to seem like lies. An endless process of chasing lies!
Why do I feel that people have forgotten to be sad for anything beyond their corporeal self? When insecurities are rampant in the internal self, does one require looking at externalities? Perhaps, that’s what makes people in the rest of the country apathetic towards the plight of Kashmiris, alienating themselves from the distress of a community dwelling in violence for over eight decades. No internet, no phone calls, no communication, no news- and Kashmir is forgotten!
It becomes overbearing. I want to remember. Yet, I want to stop. I want to be sad. Yet, I know I won’t be allowed to. The system has mechanisms to integrate one’s mind to the holistic idea of social harmony; the syncopated symphony of the rattled universe. I know it’s an illusion but I would have to dwell in it.
Power has always been the dominant variable reiterating its characteristic chauvinism with a resounding hollow cry and Kashmir has always been at the centre of the tug-of-war marked by power.
We are disintegrated beings, trying to open our mouths, trying to stretch our arms. Trying hard to live, to struggle for survival and always a little more than that. Ranting and growling, fumbling and toiling, we move towards the endless goals.
These are trying times. I was trying hard to escape a bullet in my dream while others dropped dead beside me in Kashmir. I screamed but I wouldn’t die. I escaped death’s release.
