The Treasure
Veena p koul
Thefts are very common these days. Almost every alternate day the daily newspapers carry the news about the thefts. One can hardly imagine what a horrifying experience it is for the people who fall prey to it. Loss of hard earned kind or cash is a shock no doubt, but the way the belongings are thrown upside down leaves a scar in the memory. I have experienced one myself.
One fine morning me and my husband left our home locked at 8 a.m. and at 3 p.m. on my return I found almost everything on floor lying in shambles. The theft had taken place. It was like a night-mare and took us almost 3 or 4 days to settle down and resume normal routine of life. I don’t intend to give an account of how I felt that day or how we settled down afterwards but to narrate how I overcame the whole psychological trauma.
It was hell of a job to readjust everything that was lying in sixes and sevens all over the house. But as we all know that what can’t be cured has to be endured. So finally, in the centre of the room, on the floor I seated myself with a heavy heart to do and undo things which were spread all around me. In the process I laid my hands on a bundle that contained some cards and letters. Ah, the fond memories, the reminiscences! I got absorbed in searching and finding whatever it contained. Therein I found 3 letters addressed to me, two written by my father and one by my uncle. It is needless to say that I adored and admired both of them. And these happened to be special letters they had sent on different special occasions. Now that both of them are no more, I felt that these letters were sent to me from heaven, and I still enjoy their patronage and blessings.
The bundle also contained a book ‘The Prophet’ by Khalil Gibran which was presented to me by my brother about 18 years ago. I remembered having read the book without actually understanding it. Now that it was in my hands once again, I went through it and found it as an unparalleled philosophy of life, and an all-time reference book.
Last but not the least, I came across some pages that I had preserved but conveniently forgotten with the passage of time. One of the pages contained the first sentence my daughter had written for me, “Mom, I love you”; the other one was a pencil drawing she had drawn; 3rd one the newspaper cutting carrying news of her dance performance in school. Along with it there was the first Barbie Doll she had played with.
I held all these things – the letters, the book, the pages and the doll in my hands, hugged them and kissed them. It filled my heart. I could feel tears rolling down my eyes that washed me of the bitterness created by the theft.
I had found the treasure, an invaluable one that will remain very close to my heart for the rest of my life.
Sh…… Sh…… Sh! No loud talking loudly about ‘The Treasure’. Only whisper, lest the thieves may listen and misconstrue the word.
veenapkoul@gmail.com
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
a knock--- tak-tak-tak
‘Tak-Tak-Tak’
Veena p koul
Have you ever lived in a house, where in the mornings you find birds instead of chirping trying to break the window panes with their small beaks?
I am living in one for last one and a half month. Don’t be surprised. I am not talking about any Bhoot-Bangla (horror-house), it is my home, a newly constructed house where we have shifted recently.
It took us 2 years and 5 months to construct this house. When it was being constructed, these birds have lived there and made every cavity in the ceilings, which are normally kept for lights, bulbs and fans, their sweet home. I have been witness to it during my frequent visits to the house during its construction. Often I would see their beaks full of straw, would listen to their chirping sounds, would see at times their eggs dashed to the room-floor and some times had to wipe their shit as well. But I had hardly visualized that what it could mean to these innocent birds after we fit in the bulbs, tubes and fans, close all the windows with glass panes and close the other openings with doors. Our shifting to this new house has deprived these small innocent creatures of their sweet homes.
Now it is one and a half month that during the mornings and after-noon there is only one sound tak-tak-tak persistently resounding in our house. The other interesting thing that takes place in this house is that if you happen to keep any of your doors open, immediately you see some of the birds flying inside the house making beautiful chirping sounds, as if singing and dancing with joy.
I can feel their pain when we have to push them out of the rooms, I can visualize their unseen tears. This is so because it reminds me of our exodus from Kashmir. It reminds of me of my home in Sopore when I was a child and of Srinagar when I was young and I am convinced that no house, how so ever big or small, can fulfill my desire of being at home other than the one in Kashmir, my own native place. Living and being one with Kashmiri Muslim brethren, where you don’t have the identity crisis, where you are recognised and respected, where Eid and Shivratri means festivity for all, is a dream that almost all Kashmiri Pandits like me will be dreaming of. The newly constructed flats and houses may be a refuge for them but not a home.
Till this is made possible, the world has to be a witness to the ‘Tak-Tak-Tak’ sounds from the soft tongues and pens of Kashmiri Pandits.
veenapkoul@gmail.com
Veena p koul
Have you ever lived in a house, where in the mornings you find birds instead of chirping trying to break the window panes with their small beaks?
I am living in one for last one and a half month. Don’t be surprised. I am not talking about any Bhoot-Bangla (horror-house), it is my home, a newly constructed house where we have shifted recently.
It took us 2 years and 5 months to construct this house. When it was being constructed, these birds have lived there and made every cavity in the ceilings, which are normally kept for lights, bulbs and fans, their sweet home. I have been witness to it during my frequent visits to the house during its construction. Often I would see their beaks full of straw, would listen to their chirping sounds, would see at times their eggs dashed to the room-floor and some times had to wipe their shit as well. But I had hardly visualized that what it could mean to these innocent birds after we fit in the bulbs, tubes and fans, close all the windows with glass panes and close the other openings with doors. Our shifting to this new house has deprived these small innocent creatures of their sweet homes.
Now it is one and a half month that during the mornings and after-noon there is only one sound tak-tak-tak persistently resounding in our house. The other interesting thing that takes place in this house is that if you happen to keep any of your doors open, immediately you see some of the birds flying inside the house making beautiful chirping sounds, as if singing and dancing with joy.
I can feel their pain when we have to push them out of the rooms, I can visualize their unseen tears. This is so because it reminds me of our exodus from Kashmir. It reminds of me of my home in Sopore when I was a child and of Srinagar when I was young and I am convinced that no house, how so ever big or small, can fulfill my desire of being at home other than the one in Kashmir, my own native place. Living and being one with Kashmiri Muslim brethren, where you don’t have the identity crisis, where you are recognised and respected, where Eid and Shivratri means festivity for all, is a dream that almost all Kashmiri Pandits like me will be dreaming of. The newly constructed flats and houses may be a refuge for them but not a home.
Till this is made possible, the world has to be a witness to the ‘Tak-Tak-Tak’ sounds from the soft tongues and pens of Kashmiri Pandits.
veenapkoul@gmail.com
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