An Ode To An Unknown Kashmiri, By Sanjay Jha
MY FROSTY WINTER
(An Ode To An Unknown Kashmiri)
It was a regular August morning
Unremarkable, unhurried
A languorous beginning, towards another monotonous routine
Of daily chores, of muted conversations, of interminable debates
Going nowhere, but mollifying a disturbed soul
Meandering into the majestic mountains above
Their shadows shimmering in a tranquil lake
Of being frisked by helmeted security guards
Wanting to confirm my patriotic identity
In a plastic card
Despite decades of breathing my country’s air
Pure, pristine and ……well, patriotic
Thankfully, am spared a free ride atop a jeep’s bonnet
Of watching bespectacled charlatans
Appear miraculously at the appointed hour
9 pm to be precise
And utter platitudes, calling me a vile traitor
From their glitzy TV studios
Their hate, escalating amid the rising, frenzied cacophony
Where the only voice audible said: Anti-national
My daily routine, predictable, boring, yet my own
Was suddenly shattered
The news flashed in a rectangular box
Article 370 was abrogated
Now, within seconds
I was a prisoner in my own home
The Facebook abruptly froze, the last picture of my wrinkled grandma
And her wan smile
Still a nebulous frame in my clogged mind
The television set carried a monochromatic blue image
With white lines hurrying past in frenetic pace
Going nowhere, but reappearing again and again
Symbolic of our hopelessness
As darkness descended into the verdant surroundings
It seemed like an endless night
The only sound audible
Were my father’s incessant palpitations
A deathly impenetrable silence prevailed
Sporadically interspersed by the sound of heavy boots, screeching tyres
A loudspeaker reminding us that it was curfew
Stepping out would be a death wish
Our world was transmogrified
Everything looked different, felt different
Millions of us, were huddled in silence
Our only hope
That tomorrow
The sun would be up, and all would be fine
It has been over a hundred days
Of solitude, our minds wandering into bottomless despair
I am told that everyone is celebrating
That we are caged, cordoned off
We have a heart that beats, that has experienced excruciating torment
Like yours, in moments of pain, beyond mere pellet gun injuries
And damaged retinas
We are not a piece of real estate, we have an emotional history
Of tranquil days, alas too transitory
Of mysterious deaths, redemption, bullets, blood on the streets
A hostile neighbour, inimical intentions
Have preyed on the sensibilities
Of the susceptible
But we belong here in this soil of India
We need to build soulful bridges
Not fluorescent shopping malls
We have voted before
Because democracy
Is us
But how is arresting our leaders
Freedom? Liberty?
The apples have begun to rot
The boats float disconsolately
Submerged in melancholia
The dusk dissolves, segues into a black night
A new season beckons
Snowflakes shall soon ensconce
On rigid leaves
I once danced when it first arrived
But this time, I shall remain indoors
Fearful, worried, uncertain
Blanketed in my sadness, enveloped
In my frozen winter.
