I am not sure whether ‘A’ will text me this Independence Day. We both have been exchanging greetings on significant occasions like Independence Day, Diwali, Eid, New Year, Republic day for the last couple of years. But this year is different. Last evening, I kept thinking about what must be A’s thoughts on recent developments in the valley.
On a clear February morning, we landed in Kashmir, the view outside the glass cabin at the airport was so stunning that I didn’t notice multiple layers of security checks. Some of us were searched thoroughly, some routinely, some people’s bags were withheld, many were searched open. And I just pretended to ignore the sight and consoled myself by saying I am on holiday.
Our pre-booked cab driver to Gulmarg ‘Mr A’ was waiting for us outside the gates. As soon as we started, I tried to strike a conversation with him, which he oddly cut short with his single word responses. Disappointed by his act, I decided to ignore him for the rest of the journey. He must be in his early 20’s but looked old and seldom spoke on the way.
While enthusiasm took over me for the next couple of hours, everyone else was silent in the car. After several minutes, I noticed the overwhelming presence of army men around every nook and corner, and the deluge of recent floods. The sights were so disturbing that all of us could not look beyond them and enjoy the scenic beauty. To detract myself from the stark reality, I tried again to talk with ‘A’ and once again he just nodded in a yes and no. His short responses were annoying.
The sight of fresh snow in Gulmarg brought back the cheer, and we indulged in snowballing each other for the rest of the day. Several tourists on the spot were haggling with man sledgers for ₹200–250 a ride in the snow on a wooden plank. Honestly, it wasn’t really a happy sight to see a fat man being pulled through the snow by a thin sledger. But all tourists—men, women and children were oblivious to the near colonial slavery sport.
By the end of the evening, we needed help with our baby girl to wade through the snow. By this time, the sledgers were bidding for an amount as low as ₹20 from the tourists. We requested one of them to hold our girl while we took care of other belongings. On the way, we exchanged notes with him about his work and life in the valley. Strangely, just like ‘A’, he kept the conversation short. We wondered how harsh life is for people like him who are on fringes and left to fend for themselves only through seasonal work. I was curious to know his thoughts on unrest in the valley. But all he said before bidding goodbye was “we just want peace to prevail and enough to survive”. His wants from life left a sinking feeling. That night I went to bed thinking whether ‘A’ also feels the same.
The next day, I shared this little story with ‘A’ who just gave a quiet nod. I believe my questions pained him, so I decided to let go and focus on sightseeing for the rest of the trip. The floods had left quite a mark on the landscape, and many places—including the homestay we booked—were under repair. We quickly finished our food and decided to end the sojourn with a sunset at Dal lake.
At the lakeside, we were probably the first batch of tourists for the season as many shikaras and houseboats bore a deserted look. We perched on a shikara which meandered through several houseboats around and took us to the other end of the lake. It was a long sail. This was the moment I had waited for so long, but somehow instead of happiness and joy, there was melancholy within. I could not turn my head away from reality; the images of the stark poverty of the people dependent on lake economics were haunting. The unkept small shikaras, mushrooming algae and fungal growth around static houseboats and the distinct stink emanating from them, the torn drapes of once opulent big boats, every object on the lake spoke of a glorious past lost in time.
All of us were lost in our minds when the ride ended. We didn’t speak with each other and quietly sat in the car. It was the traffic jam in one of the by-lanes which made us sit up and take notice. We were in a massive gridlock. But to our surprise, passersby helped the vehicles and soon it was sorted. We all were amazed at the ease and composure with which locals handled that situation and how calmly ‘A’ was sitting and waiting for his turn—there was no honking, no angry and abusive language and everyone was in harmony. We wished Delhi could learn something from this.
On the last day, during our drive to the airport, everyone was busy taking stock of what was missed and what went well. But I was taking stock of the army men at every spot. The sight of expressionless stoic men standing tall with guns and blank eyes was repulsive. I muttered to myself perhaps rather loudly, “are these men really required here?” And suddenly, I heard A’s loud and emphatic “No, not at all.” I turned and looked at him in surprise, not because he said ‘no’, but because he expressed himself for the first time. He moved his eyes away as if I had found him unmasked at last—his inner self had given away. There was no need for any more questions…
For the rest of the journey, all of us kept discussing Kashmir and how the way ordinary people we met and their lives are affected by the turmoil. ‘A’ obviously didn’t participate and chose to remain silent. We were back to our lives of the so-called ‘mainland’, and Kashmir remained a trip done and dusted in records.
That year on Diwali, I got an SMS greeting wishing us health and peace from ‘A’. It brought back memories of silent compassion and camaraderie between us, the want of peace and harmony in the valley. Since then, we have wished each other on New Year, Eid and Republic Day, Independence Day etc.
Will he wish me ‘Happy Independence Day’ this year? I am not sure. I don’t even know how he is. The lines of communication with people in Kashmir are shut. I don’t know how the recent political events have affected him and several others. I have not a lived life like him, surrounded by gunmen. I don’t know how common people in Kashmir view these events.
However, I do know that I don’t have the right to judge whether the political decision taken is suitable for ‘A’ and Kashmir or not. And I hope ‘A’ gets a chance to express himself and he is not forced to remain silent.
But I pray for safety and peace in the valley.
Note: Smita Khanijow is a gender rights activist. Views expressed are personal based on an actual incident.