Tuesday 14 January 2014

The Exodus Of the Kashmiri Pandits


Our Moon has Blood Clots




'... and an an earlier time when the flowers were not stained
with blood, the moon with blood clots!' 

Our Moon Has Blood Clots by Rahul Pandita is the truth of the life that Kashmiri Pandits have lived, their exile, their ancestral history, discrimination that has been part of their life, since the 14th century.

Rahul Pandta has written an insightful, and easy to read history of Kashmir Pandits, and how with many Muslim rulers since 14th century, many Pandits had to convert to Islam. How since then, Kashmiri Pandits were ridiculed, humiliated and till date are subject to the same treatment in Kashmir. 

Just before this book I read, Curfewed Night by Basharat Peer, and though that book has a different approach towards the story of Kashmir. Both these books, talk about Kashmir on common grounds, and both these books, help one understand, how not only Kashmiri Pandits have had a tragic life, but the Kashmir that once was, no longer is.  The brotherhood, the culture that was, no longer is.

I was born three years after my family migrated from their homeland, Sopore, Kashmir.  In a way, I had lost everything, much before I was born. I had no cultural heritage, no ancestral history that I could be shown, no place or antiques of my family. I always saw one photograph of our home in Sopore that was a three storey bungalow. And then I saw another photograph of that same, grand home reduced to a single storey, burned down.  Then, as a child, I could not understand the graveness of the matter. Though I had been told how we had been made to leave Kashmir by Muslims, but never the reasons, never the humiliation of it all. The human tragedy was very less talked about. Apparently we have moved on. But, whenever Kashmir flashes in front of their eyes on tv, their eyes and heart are glued to it. When they talk about that Kashmir, the pain that you hear in their voice, of having lost their homeland it will make you helpless, as helpless as they were then.

I always asked my father one question, who was the one fighting for us? I failed to understand, that in a country filled with freedom fighters, how come no one raised the issue of the oppression and discrimination Kashmiri Pandits had been subjected to. Outside our community, was there anyone who raised their voice for us? Nobody. And there still is no one. I love Rahul Pandita’s book more so, not only for the first hand accounts and brilliant narration, but for the fact that he has mentioned this fact that nobody fought for us ever. ‘There are no grants for research on the Kashmir issue.’  I agree with his point of comparing our sufferings with those of Jewish prisoners in Auschwitz camp, the campaign against us by Muslims in Kashmir and Pakistan was much like, Hitler’s campaign in Germany, against Jews.

But, we only lost our homeland, never our humanity. And that is the sole reason of our existence. We may still be a minority, but we continue to live a prosperous life because we did not treat anybody else the way we were treated. We did not kill Muslims, the way they killed us. Because in spite of everything, we remembered those Muslim friends who in spite of the insurgence wave, did not waver and supported us, maybe, discreetly, but did. I was never told to stay away from Muslims, ever. One of my first best friends was a Muslim Kashmiri girl, and my parents loved her as much as they would a Kashmiri Pandit.

Brutal killings of Kashmiri Pandits, the struggle of setting up a home in a place much, much different in culture, language, temperature, and temperament of people, with nothing and as refugees,  thousands of Kashmiri Pandits shifted to Jammu, living in one room. Six people living in one room. Thousands living in slums, who had nothing. These stories, rather these realities have been told with as much pain as we had suffered them.

The details of the raid by Kazakhs from Pakistan, in Kashmir, in 1947 has been told as a first-hand account. This raid was the reason why Kashmir joined hands with India and again, Rahul Pandita’s expression and writing style will move you.

Overall, this book will not only acquaint you with the Kashmiri Muslim, and Kashmiri Pandit brotherhood, but also the reasons of the struggle of the Pandits because of many other Kashmiri and Pakistani Muslims.  It will help you understand what happened in Kashmir and if you are a Kashmiri Pandit, it will help you understand your struggle and existence. 

This is an excellent book about the Kashmir issue, a true book, written very well, with first-hand account of the author himself; it makes the book much more credible and a very interesting read.

For those who want to understand what happened to Kashmir, not just the Kashmiri Pandits, Curfewed Night will help you understand how even the Indian military created problems for Kashmiri Muslims, who were innocent. But, Our Moon has Blood Clots will make you understand why Indian army had to stay in Kashmir.
Curfewed Night, is a good basic book with first-hand accounts of a Muslim Kashmiri, who faces a world, where because of the Kashmir situation he is tagged as a militant if he is a Muslim and who lives a threatened life in Kashmir because of both the militants and the Indian military.

Kashmir has been an issue of debate since 1947. Our Moon Has Blood Clots’ best part is that it talks about the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits not as a happening or a sad tale. It talks about it as brutally as it was, as that life shattering experience that changed the entire  life course of  Kashmiri Pandits and as worse an experience as was of the Jews in Nazi Germany.


To understand the author's viewpoint http://www.newslaundry.com/2013/01/nl-interviews-rahul-pandita/ Please watch this interview of Rahul Pandita. 

Sunday 12 January 2014

Mad Girl's Love Song



Sylvia Plath remains one of my favorite writers. She might be neurotic for having committed suicide as people declare. But she wrote with her heart on fire, and those flames burn anyone reading her. Her journals which I am halfway through are extremely enriching with words, desires, and dreams. Mad Girl's Love Song has been my favorite of her many beautiful poems, since the first time I set my eyes on the name Sylvia Plath. This poem was written by her when she was still a student at Smith college.  
Sylvia Plath 

This poem gives a very base meaning to that unrequited love, that never was, that man that never was, those daydreams that never became anything more. The world that one makes up inside their head. 
The last para is the most I love. It longs for love, it regrets and it knows that again, the heart was mistaken. .

 Mad Girl's Love Song


"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

An Eastern Ballad

Allen Ginsberg was a great American poet of 1950s, a leading poet of the beat generation. His poetry as I went through some, did not entice me. But, An Eastern Ballad by him, is what I would share. It is somehow both an attempt to make it look surreal, and has that inexpressible longing.
Allen Ginsberg


  An Eastern Ballad 
 I speak of Love that comes to mind; 
The moon is faithful, although blind; 
She moves in thought she cannot speak. 
Perfect care has made her bleak. 

 I never dreamed the sea so deep, 
The earth so dark; so long my sleep,
 I have become another child. 
 I wake to see the world go wild.