Kashmir

It's been a while since I have been here. Kashmir more feels like a home, a neighbour's house. A world within and an aloof. I enquire about people, the places they have been to, the late-night Kashmiri wedding I saw that night from my window, and requests to visit pandit settlements, which they call migrant colonies. I enquire on people, I drive my way straight for an hour to Maa Kheer Bhawani, I heard of Kashmiri pandits residing there, saw layers of protection, met irum mohammad selling flowers to make his ends meet. Six shops straight, I read on the banners, Sharma's, pandit's, to talk, I order for a cup of tea, I order halwa which they taxed me for rupees 150. Arvind Sharma the shop owner, and his son questioned talk about Governor Jagmohan, the house they had in Anantnag, the life in Udhampur now, and their yearly home visits. I found photographs, photographs of people who left Kashmir and went to other countries, the exodus of 1990. I lived in Pahalgam, villages, Gujjars, bakharwals and damn, the Jammu-Srinagar highway, the other side of eight km banihal pass, where science and engineering actually failed, rolling stones, hours of no vehicular movement and packed roads, a life waiting and it's raining here. Read of accidents on the same route, may god be there, that's too dangerous. It's raining for fifteen days now in Kashmir valley, my driver bhaiyya who accompanied me to all the non-tourist spaces, the old town of Srinagar, dargahs and mosques, the areas of stone pelting, the first mobile store of Srinagar, the grand taj, laal chowk, maqqa bazaar and says this was the same case in the year twenty fourteen. Twenty-fourteen when Srinagar was flooded. Rain since fifteen days, I read about travellers rolling down with buses on the same way I was there a day ago. Gandherbal-sonmarg route, it's raining badly, as badly as it can, Jhelum crossing all danger marks, crossing over the bridge, I hear it. Muzffarabad in the next 140 km, in deadly rain, I visit Baramulla, the difficult terrains and weather I had been to. I was asked by my ‘Z-level security’ driver Bhaiyya not to open windows, and let somebody into the car, he drove it crazy and said you are next to me, your life matters to me. He drives through Sopore, and I get my work done, on our way he explains to me all about the grand fruit market, chinaar, apple orchids, Pakistan, hindustaan, the old Kashmiri local buses, which were only featured in Hindostan and Pakistan movies and bajrangi bhaijaan. I spent one of my evenings in Chai Jai, what a beautiful cafe. Kashmiri Kava and sheermaar. Today I have been to stream, Kashmiri waazwaan chicken Rogan Josh and butter naan, I will write about Kashmir the other day again, it's two twenty-nine of the morning, govt circuit house, Jammu and Kashmir