‘Impact of Exodus on Elderly K P Women’
Veenapkoul
“I want to sit under the shade of Chinar. I want to cook on hearth of my home. I want to lie down with all my limbs stretched,” cries Somawati, 75, who lives in a camp at Mishriwala for last 20 years. “Take me to my home. Take me to Kashmir. I want to live and die there,” says Prabhawati, 80 now, who is living in Muthi Camp for last 2 decades. These and many other K P women cry and shed tears in isolation, which definitely go unseen by most of us.
At the core of their being, they are deeply peaceful, immensely loving, infinitely wise and could be profoundly contented as well but for this exodus. They are the descendents of spiritual heritage of Lal Ded and Rupa Bhawani who are the examples of saints carrying not only spiritual but also rich intellectual heritage.
K P community is well educated and dynamic where females are equally enlightened. The events of 1989-90 in Kashmir valley changed the situation completely for this peace loving community. Almost the entire community left the Valley or was forced to leave in distress resulting them to be scattered all over the country. Presently they are finding themselves on the cross-roads where every road leads to their extinction.
The impact of migration was worse on the women in general but for women belonging to age group of above 50 years the effect was worst.
Lawerence mentions in his book, “The Valley of Kashmir” that Kashmiris normally like to stay and work in the valley, quoting a Kashmiri proverb, ‘Cheri Chu panani kandi cheri pathey karar,’ meaning a bird has content when it rests in its nest, may it be a thorny one. And it is particularly true of any and every K P women. Elderly K P women, who had spent half of their life in Kashmir in their homes, could not actually adjust to the different atmosphere at new residing places, where a big mansion got replaced into a tent, or a small room or a cow-shed. It was like being uprooted at the fag end of their life or at a stage of the life where one feels, “jaida gyi, thodi rahi,” where it is very difficult to get new lease of life by being replanted at a new soil.
If you uproot a tree which has already spent half of its life in one soil under a given environment and plant it at another place, it may not survive at all or if it survives it will only find itself struggling to adjust to the new soil.
1. Paradise Lost
Elderly K P women lived in one particular environment, spent their life in a specific neighbourhood, had recognition in their own way and their small paradise comprising of their homes, hearths, cows, fields, neighbourhood was lost. This is true of K P men as well but I will deliberate upon the fact that why it told upon elderly women more than their counter parts.
A. Less educated and mainly home makers:
The women of above 50 years of age group in 1989-90 were mostly not highly educated and hence did not belong to service class. They were attached to their household activities, which got crumbled at once. Loss of homes, hearths, fields, animals and in some cases life also, devastated them and put them into a psychological trauma.
B. Loss of joint-family system:
This age group of women was used to joint-family system in Kashmir. The joint ancestral properties provided the binding factor which forced them to live together. The loss of properties is the major grievance of all k Ps, the majority of whom have to continue against tremendous economic odds. But for elderly ladies it is an unbearable loss of companionship of each-other which they would enjoy in joint-families. The exodus resulted in nuclear families leaving these elderly women to lonliness which resulted in their depression.
2. Language Problem
Since most of the Elderly K P women at the time of migration were not literate they hence had to face the language barrier. The community had to shift to different parts of the country and in J&K State they mainly shifted to Jammu province. There was a big communication gap between Jammuites and these K P ladies.
There are hundreds of examples to quote; like ‘Baccho ko khaya, Pandit ji ko khana hei’ etc etc, where because of language barrier they become laughing stock for others. May be at the face of it they also join the laughter but basically they are sensitive in character and it would pierce them somewhere deep inside creating ailment like stress.
3. Irreparable Loss
A. Family privacy and values:
The social set-up of Kashmir is known for its family privacy. People live in the houses with closed environment for outsiders. They believe in complete private family life where outsiders cannot peep, indulge or interfere. Every family has a set of defined family values which are passed from one generation to another. And women are supposed to be the guardians of family privacy and values. This is true of K P women as well. Exodus made them to seek shelter whatever and wherever they could get it, resulting in its complete erosion. For elderly women who had spent more than half of their lives in guarding it, exodus was a bolt from blue which left them completely shattered.
B. Loss of cultural ethos:
Culture is the cumulative expression of the values enshrined in the heartbeats of the people in every community. Culturally speaking each woman in Kashmiri Pandit community is considered an embodiment of Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and they are honoured, revered and deeply loved.
Cross-Cultural diffusion is resulting in the complete extinction of Kashmiri Culture in Pandit community. Loss of rich culture in the form of customs and beliefs has become a matter of concern for the elderly K P women. They find it very difficult to adjust with the erosion. They feel persistently being deprived of whatever is dear to them and hence find themselves in deep agony.
C. Loss of social values:
Social values can be described as a set of beliefs or morals that help provide for family and society unity. Belief about what is right and wrong or what is important in life as per the definition of society, is what binds people together in a particular community. Social ethos has come under severe strain. Social values are being reduced to a hollow shell.
Questions haunt the women persistently, like; what has happened to our age old shrines? Where are the symbols of architectural grandeurs in the form of temples? Has every thing been destroyed? The community has been robbed of soul.
Insecure Future
A. Inter-community marriages:
Inter-community marriages have disturbed the peace of mind of elderly K P women. Since the community is scattered globally, the young generation has no inhibitions in getting married anywhere in any community. People from across the world are getting into the K P families resulting into confusion and chaos in the family set-up. This has in particular damaged the integrity of elderly women who find themselves alien to this new atmosphere. They find themselves compromising at every step with the result they have withdrawn to themselves and feel very insecure in the old age.
B. Troubled homes:
Inter-community marriage may results in troubled-homes, because of the fact that the two people with different social set-up and background naturally have different priorities, different tastes, different customs and different beliefs. In the long-run, it is observed that they find it difficult to adjust with each other and may also result in break-up in marriages or troubled atmosphere in families. The axe falls on the aged parents, particularly on mother who has always held high hopes from her children. She sees her future in them and therefore the crumbled and broken marriages break her dreams.
Personality Shattered
The ‘strong-authoritarian-creating-awe’ type of personality of K P women, for which they are known and respected, is completely, by and by, undergoing a change.
It is taking shape of a timid, self-centered and weak personality.
A. Identity crisis:
There goes a Kashmiri saying, ‘yus yas na zani, su tas kya mani,’ meaning that an unknown personality is only just another person in the world whom nobody bothers about.
Migration has created an identity crisis for KPs as and they feel that their identity was tied to the valley. It has affected mainly the women who are home-markers. The service class could find some outlet to prove them, though it took quite a long time and effort but for elderly women who otherwise would command respect they had earned in valley, found themselves belonging to no one.
B. Beauty endangered:
Kashmiri women are known for their beauty, which comes from their within and from the environment and atmosphere of the valley. Like Kashmiri apple cannot be grown anywhere other than Kashmir, in the same way the beauty and personality of women cannot develop the way it is famous for anywhere else in the world.
We all appreciate that ‘face is the index of mind’. When mind is disturbed and lost, the beauty is obviously endangered.
C. Change in dress pattern
Pattern of dressing of women has completely changed. The style of wearing ornaments which were typical of KPs has also undergone a change.
Health Problems
The trauma of exodus has taken a toll on all. Fleeing from their homes and being reduced to living the lives of refugees made them stressful and remorseful. The incidence of stress-related conditions like insomnia, depression and hypertension has increased. Birth rates have declined significantly. Women are aging physically and mentally by 10 to 15 years before their natural age.
Leading neurologist Dr. Sushil Razdan in his study on prevalence of dementia in K P migrant camp found that it is 6.5% among KPs above age group of 60 years which is reported to be higher than any where else in India. Skin diseases, sun strokes, heart attacks are the other common diseases found prevalent in this age-group, and the root cause is the migration and related impact.
RECOMMENDATIONS
· Help from NGOs
· Setting up of:
Guiding and counseling cells
Rehabilitation centers
· Formation of self-help groups
Conclusion
Somawati and Prabhawati had left homes only to be back within a month or so. They and others never knew that months will change into years and years into decades. They have lost patience but not hope. They dream with their eyes wide open of going back to their homes and hearths. May their dreams come true! Let the good sense prevail all around to make a safe return of KPs to their homeland. They have lost 20 years of age in exile. Enough! Let them live in their homes now.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
remembering 3,6
Remembering 3,6
“Budget meeting,” I exclaimed to myself. I had to attend this kind of meeting for the first time. It took us almost a week to gather information and inputs to prepare budget estimates and revised budget estimates. I felt very enthusiastic to attend the meeting.
Various heads of institutions were assembled in a conference room at a given venue. Some budget experts were also present, as it was more a kind of workshop on how budgets are framed than the actual allocation of funds. I seated myself in a chair trying to understand and feel the pulse of a few people around. Some seniors seated themselves very confidently but some novice in the field like me, were in dilemma and looking forward to the meeting with all curiosity.
Finally the chairperson seated himself comfortably and the meeting started. The budget experts started the discussion resolving the problems one by one receiving in between the comments from the chairperson as well. Tea was served – very refreshing and making it easier to understand what seemed otherwise very complicated in nature. It continued for almost three hours, when somebody announced lunch. The break seemed to be the most needed one and we hurriedly got busy in collecting the papers spread in front of us. Before we would disperse, final word came from the chairperson, “I know it is a tedious job to prepare budgets. However the best thing to remember is the formula of 3,6 which makes everything easier and comfortable.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. At least there was one formula, mathematical in nature, which was going to help us out. But what was the formula 3,6 all about? I had to know and understand. Whom to ask? I turned to one sitting to my right, then to my left seeking the explanation but to my bad luck they also did not know.
I proceeded for lunch making sure that I meet some seniors who definitely might be having some understanding of it. With a plate in my hand in which I had placed some eatables, I tried to explore the secret of the formula 3, 6. “Take it easy, madam,” was the answer from a few. But how could one take it easy? I had simply to swallow the food as I could not cherish the delicacies without knowing the answer to it. It made me restless. However I had one solace that people like me will sure be asking the explanation of the formula from the budget experts in the meeting.
Again, we were all seated in the conference room and the discussions followed. The experts would answer one by one to the problems of every individual. But none discussed the formula. What was it? I could feel a lump in my throat all the time. Finally it was my turn. The budget expert guided me and almost concluded to turn to the other side when I suddenly heard myself asking, “Sir, kindly explain the 3,6 formula.” To my surprise he too showed his ignorance. A pin drop silence prevailed and we all turned our heads to the chairperson. In reply he narrated an incident which I would like to share with you.
He and his boss went to mosque to offer prayers on one Friday. They reached slightly late because of their busy schedule. The mollvi sahab had started the sermons. Since both of them happened to be known personalities, he recognized them. They became the focus of every eye. While both of them were feeling a little uncomfortable for being late, the mollvi sahab came to their rescue by saying, “Both of them as we all know, are very busy. It does not matter if they are a little late but what matters ultimately that they remember 3,6 – that’s what finally one requires at the time of ultimate rest. Your achievements, struggles, name, fame and everything which is materialistic in nature do not help while one breathes one’s last. All that is required is a grave, 3 feet by 6 feet piece of land, to get buried into.”
Our chairman took a pause after narrating this event, closed his eyes, smiled, making every one present to smile and finally wanted the proceedings of the meeting to be continued.
I took a deep breath. My restlessness had been taken over by tranquility. Very true! The formula of remembering 3,6 could do wonders -- it could bring peace of mind and contentment in our lives. It could work in all walks of life even in the formation of budgets – but only if we would remember this ultimate truth every time and everywhere!
Feedback at: veenapkoul@gmail.com
“Budget meeting,” I exclaimed to myself. I had to attend this kind of meeting for the first time. It took us almost a week to gather information and inputs to prepare budget estimates and revised budget estimates. I felt very enthusiastic to attend the meeting.
Various heads of institutions were assembled in a conference room at a given venue. Some budget experts were also present, as it was more a kind of workshop on how budgets are framed than the actual allocation of funds. I seated myself in a chair trying to understand and feel the pulse of a few people around. Some seniors seated themselves very confidently but some novice in the field like me, were in dilemma and looking forward to the meeting with all curiosity.
Finally the chairperson seated himself comfortably and the meeting started. The budget experts started the discussion resolving the problems one by one receiving in between the comments from the chairperson as well. Tea was served – very refreshing and making it easier to understand what seemed otherwise very complicated in nature. It continued for almost three hours, when somebody announced lunch. The break seemed to be the most needed one and we hurriedly got busy in collecting the papers spread in front of us. Before we would disperse, final word came from the chairperson, “I know it is a tedious job to prepare budgets. However the best thing to remember is the formula of 3,6 which makes everything easier and comfortable.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. At least there was one formula, mathematical in nature, which was going to help us out. But what was the formula 3,6 all about? I had to know and understand. Whom to ask? I turned to one sitting to my right, then to my left seeking the explanation but to my bad luck they also did not know.
I proceeded for lunch making sure that I meet some seniors who definitely might be having some understanding of it. With a plate in my hand in which I had placed some eatables, I tried to explore the secret of the formula 3, 6. “Take it easy, madam,” was the answer from a few. But how could one take it easy? I had simply to swallow the food as I could not cherish the delicacies without knowing the answer to it. It made me restless. However I had one solace that people like me will sure be asking the explanation of the formula from the budget experts in the meeting.
Again, we were all seated in the conference room and the discussions followed. The experts would answer one by one to the problems of every individual. But none discussed the formula. What was it? I could feel a lump in my throat all the time. Finally it was my turn. The budget expert guided me and almost concluded to turn to the other side when I suddenly heard myself asking, “Sir, kindly explain the 3,6 formula.” To my surprise he too showed his ignorance. A pin drop silence prevailed and we all turned our heads to the chairperson. In reply he narrated an incident which I would like to share with you.
He and his boss went to mosque to offer prayers on one Friday. They reached slightly late because of their busy schedule. The mollvi sahab had started the sermons. Since both of them happened to be known personalities, he recognized them. They became the focus of every eye. While both of them were feeling a little uncomfortable for being late, the mollvi sahab came to their rescue by saying, “Both of them as we all know, are very busy. It does not matter if they are a little late but what matters ultimately that they remember 3,6 – that’s what finally one requires at the time of ultimate rest. Your achievements, struggles, name, fame and everything which is materialistic in nature do not help while one breathes one’s last. All that is required is a grave, 3 feet by 6 feet piece of land, to get buried into.”
Our chairman took a pause after narrating this event, closed his eyes, smiled, making every one present to smile and finally wanted the proceedings of the meeting to be continued.
I took a deep breath. My restlessness had been taken over by tranquility. Very true! The formula of remembering 3,6 could do wonders -- it could bring peace of mind and contentment in our lives. It could work in all walks of life even in the formation of budgets – but only if we would remember this ultimate truth every time and everywhere!
Feedback at: veenapkoul@gmail.com
Monday, November 23, 2009
Peace and Progress
A rejoinder to 'Peace imperative for Progress'
Veenapandita koul
Prof. A.N. Sadhu in his article, “Peace imperative for progress” published in The Kashmir Times on Nov.14, 2009 has hammered the factors leading to peace building, which if practised will attain tranquility and freedom from civil disorder and eventually to progress - to development and improvement, to keep us going on. It is a fact that we all crave for the peace to return in the valley. It feels the paradise is lost somewhere.
I am reminded of good old days when Kashmir was famous for Kashmiriyat, which would mean love, brotherhood, respect shown to guests (Mehman-nawazi), refraining from blood-shed - irrespective of colour, caste and creed, in short respect for human values. One could see people walking by the road-side during late night hours without any apprehensions of Ghosts roaming around. The valley of Kashmir looked colourful not only with the flowers, the green Chinars and the meadows but also with the colourful dresses of tourists. Tourism used to be the back-bone of the economy of Kashmir and had lead to its progress. The common people have the realization of the loss they have incurred by losing tourism in Kashmir. They perfectly understand that the pressures of not keeping peace at a cost are telling hard on the economy of the state in many ways. The mindsets of the common people have not changed or they have not turned hostile to peace. They have also not lost the realm of Kashmiriyat nor has their blood turned into water. Somehow, the rich culture, for which Kashmir is famous for, and the Kashmiriyat, for which the Kashmiris are known for, has gone dormant somewhere. Twenty years have passed in turmoil, exile and anguish; and allowing the state of affairs like this for another ten years will mean an irreversible change in our culture.
We need to awake ourselves to listen to our inner-voice, which I am sure is for peace and progress, not only materialistic one but of mind, body and soul. Need of the hour is to revive kashmiriyat for which we all are proud of. This way we will not only be doing good to our generation but to the posterity as well. Otherwise we will have to be answerable to the generations to come. Trust, tolerance and cooperation need to be imbibed to regain the blissful situation. Peace definitely cannot be enjoyed under the shadows of ghosts and guns. We need to nurture and promote our age-old values to re-establish peace. It may seem that peace has become an expensive affair to attain. It definitely costs men, money, material, time and energy to make peace attainable. But at the same time we need to ask ourselves that what price we are paying for not maintaining peace and order. And what shall be the outcome of true peace? let us all search as the answer lies within our minds.
While concluding I am reminded of the parable about our great emperor, Akbar, who once ordered each household to deposit one jar of milk in a tank to build up a reservoir of milk to feed poor children. All his subjects’ responded. The next morning when the lid of the tank was opened it was filled with clean water instead of milk. Perplexed he turned to the wise Birbal for an explanation and there came an explanation that it happened to be a classical case of individual gain and collective loss. Each one had deposited a jar of water thinking that it would go undetected among hundreds of gallons of milk brought by others.
If we think that our individual contribution will have no significant impact on the overall system, then we are bound to end up with a crippled and callous society. Let us all contribute whatever little we can and be the change that we would like to see around us to create peaceful lives for ourselves and for our posterity.
Veenapandita koul
Prof. A.N. Sadhu in his article, “Peace imperative for progress” published in The Kashmir Times on Nov.14, 2009 has hammered the factors leading to peace building, which if practised will attain tranquility and freedom from civil disorder and eventually to progress - to development and improvement, to keep us going on. It is a fact that we all crave for the peace to return in the valley. It feels the paradise is lost somewhere.
I am reminded of good old days when Kashmir was famous for Kashmiriyat, which would mean love, brotherhood, respect shown to guests (Mehman-nawazi), refraining from blood-shed - irrespective of colour, caste and creed, in short respect for human values. One could see people walking by the road-side during late night hours without any apprehensions of Ghosts roaming around. The valley of Kashmir looked colourful not only with the flowers, the green Chinars and the meadows but also with the colourful dresses of tourists. Tourism used to be the back-bone of the economy of Kashmir and had lead to its progress. The common people have the realization of the loss they have incurred by losing tourism in Kashmir. They perfectly understand that the pressures of not keeping peace at a cost are telling hard on the economy of the state in many ways. The mindsets of the common people have not changed or they have not turned hostile to peace. They have also not lost the realm of Kashmiriyat nor has their blood turned into water. Somehow, the rich culture, for which Kashmir is famous for, and the Kashmiriyat, for which the Kashmiris are known for, has gone dormant somewhere. Twenty years have passed in turmoil, exile and anguish; and allowing the state of affairs like this for another ten years will mean an irreversible change in our culture.
We need to awake ourselves to listen to our inner-voice, which I am sure is for peace and progress, not only materialistic one but of mind, body and soul. Need of the hour is to revive kashmiriyat for which we all are proud of. This way we will not only be doing good to our generation but to the posterity as well. Otherwise we will have to be answerable to the generations to come. Trust, tolerance and cooperation need to be imbibed to regain the blissful situation. Peace definitely cannot be enjoyed under the shadows of ghosts and guns. We need to nurture and promote our age-old values to re-establish peace. It may seem that peace has become an expensive affair to attain. It definitely costs men, money, material, time and energy to make peace attainable. But at the same time we need to ask ourselves that what price we are paying for not maintaining peace and order. And what shall be the outcome of true peace? let us all search as the answer lies within our minds.
While concluding I am reminded of the parable about our great emperor, Akbar, who once ordered each household to deposit one jar of milk in a tank to build up a reservoir of milk to feed poor children. All his subjects’ responded. The next morning when the lid of the tank was opened it was filled with clean water instead of milk. Perplexed he turned to the wise Birbal for an explanation and there came an explanation that it happened to be a classical case of individual gain and collective loss. Each one had deposited a jar of water thinking that it would go undetected among hundreds of gallons of milk brought by others.
If we think that our individual contribution will have no significant impact on the overall system, then we are bound to end up with a crippled and callous society. Let us all contribute whatever little we can and be the change that we would like to see around us to create peaceful lives for ourselves and for our posterity.
I saw God in his eyes
I saw God in his eyes
Veena p koul
It was in 1987 that we shifted to live in a rented accommodation at Karan Nagar, Srinagar. Mornings would fill me with joy and energy. The breeze, the chirping sounds of birds, the fresh fragrance of flowers would freshen and elate me. I was in love with myself and hence would enjoy every routine work that would come my way for the rest of the day. And the routine would start by the knock of the milkman at the door of the compound wall which would make me rush with a pot in my hand to fetch milk.
One day while I rushed to fetch the milk, I happened to see a person who had a strange freshness in his demeanour. He was white-bearded wearing white kurta-pajama and a karakuli cap, and had a cool and composed look.
Next day I happened to see him the same time again with a visible serenity in his personality- a saintly look in his eyes. Later, I realized that it might have been the time for his return from a morning walk or may be morning prayers; and that he lived in immediate neighbourhood. Thereafter whenever I would see him, I would bow my head with respect and he would smile to bless. I hardly remember having conversed with him. His unspoken blessings would freshen me sort of the way one is blessed in a temple. It continued for about two years. By this time militancy in Kashmir reached at its peak. Hindus fell prey to exodus, feeling concerned about their safety. On the other hand Muslims in general felt equally concerned and would often come with a question as to why the Hindus should flee. Kashmiri Muslims took it as struggle for libration and Pandits took it as anti-national movement. In short, all confusion and chaos.
One unfortunate day one of our close relatives, living in neighbourhood fell prey to militancy and got killed in his office. It shocked us beyond repairs. We decided to leave Srinagar temporarily which would help us to recover from the shock. The day we had to leave, my brother left to fetch a taxi early in the morning. I was supposed to wait for him outside at the gate of the house in the street. It was almost the time for the milk-man to come and the man to pass. With a suitcase in my hand while I was waiting for the taxi, I saw two young men approaching me. Their body language was what some would describe those of militants. They started questioning me and directed me to follow them. I was shocked and terrified. I felt numb as I could feel death approaching me. Suddenly, I saw the man crossing from the other side of the road. Understanding the situation, he stood between the two and me, almost covering me with his Pharan that he was wearing. He had a verbal encounter with them and I heard him saying, “I swear by Kuran Sharieff, I will not allow any untoward happening here or you will have to kill me first.” He had absolute command in his voice. He held me by the arm and helped me to walk away from them.
After a few minutes my brother approached with a taxi. The man opened the door of the taxi and guided me inside. I was shivering with a mixed feeling of love and anger. He blessed me with his hand on my head and his words still resound in my ears, “Allah bless you, my child. He not only saves innocents but also regards innocence”.
Later, it might have taken me days and months to recover from the shock, but I know I came out with the strength of believing in humanity. From then onwards very often I close my eyes, I see his white-bearded smiling face and light-radiating kind eyes, with a Karakuli cap on his head, in short He in the form of a human-being- Him in his eyes.
Militancy and terrorism, no doubt, is a matter of grave concern particularly in the event of its becoming a global phenomenon. But I am of firm belief that terrorists and militants have no religion because no religion is devoid of human-values and teaches killings. It is only a handful of people who for their own petty gains indulge in anti-human activities. I am sure the world survives because common man believes in peace and harmony, values innocence, protects innocents and regards human-values.
veenapkoul@gmail.com
Veena p koul
It was in 1987 that we shifted to live in a rented accommodation at Karan Nagar, Srinagar. Mornings would fill me with joy and energy. The breeze, the chirping sounds of birds, the fresh fragrance of flowers would freshen and elate me. I was in love with myself and hence would enjoy every routine work that would come my way for the rest of the day. And the routine would start by the knock of the milkman at the door of the compound wall which would make me rush with a pot in my hand to fetch milk.
One day while I rushed to fetch the milk, I happened to see a person who had a strange freshness in his demeanour. He was white-bearded wearing white kurta-pajama and a karakuli cap, and had a cool and composed look.
Next day I happened to see him the same time again with a visible serenity in his personality- a saintly look in his eyes. Later, I realized that it might have been the time for his return from a morning walk or may be morning prayers; and that he lived in immediate neighbourhood. Thereafter whenever I would see him, I would bow my head with respect and he would smile to bless. I hardly remember having conversed with him. His unspoken blessings would freshen me sort of the way one is blessed in a temple. It continued for about two years. By this time militancy in Kashmir reached at its peak. Hindus fell prey to exodus, feeling concerned about their safety. On the other hand Muslims in general felt equally concerned and would often come with a question as to why the Hindus should flee. Kashmiri Muslims took it as struggle for libration and Pandits took it as anti-national movement. In short, all confusion and chaos.
One unfortunate day one of our close relatives, living in neighbourhood fell prey to militancy and got killed in his office. It shocked us beyond repairs. We decided to leave Srinagar temporarily which would help us to recover from the shock. The day we had to leave, my brother left to fetch a taxi early in the morning. I was supposed to wait for him outside at the gate of the house in the street. It was almost the time for the milk-man to come and the man to pass. With a suitcase in my hand while I was waiting for the taxi, I saw two young men approaching me. Their body language was what some would describe those of militants. They started questioning me and directed me to follow them. I was shocked and terrified. I felt numb as I could feel death approaching me. Suddenly, I saw the man crossing from the other side of the road. Understanding the situation, he stood between the two and me, almost covering me with his Pharan that he was wearing. He had a verbal encounter with them and I heard him saying, “I swear by Kuran Sharieff, I will not allow any untoward happening here or you will have to kill me first.” He had absolute command in his voice. He held me by the arm and helped me to walk away from them.
After a few minutes my brother approached with a taxi. The man opened the door of the taxi and guided me inside. I was shivering with a mixed feeling of love and anger. He blessed me with his hand on my head and his words still resound in my ears, “Allah bless you, my child. He not only saves innocents but also regards innocence”.
Later, it might have taken me days and months to recover from the shock, but I know I came out with the strength of believing in humanity. From then onwards very often I close my eyes, I see his white-bearded smiling face and light-radiating kind eyes, with a Karakuli cap on his head, in short He in the form of a human-being- Him in his eyes.
Militancy and terrorism, no doubt, is a matter of grave concern particularly in the event of its becoming a global phenomenon. But I am of firm belief that terrorists and militants have no religion because no religion is devoid of human-values and teaches killings. It is only a handful of people who for their own petty gains indulge in anti-human activities. I am sure the world survives because common man believes in peace and harmony, values innocence, protects innocents and regards human-values.
veenapkoul@gmail.com
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Riddle
The Riddle
Veenapkoul
It is very difficult to understand child psychology. How so ever liberal we may be, sometimes we fail to accommodate the whims and moods of our children. We never raise our level of understanding to appreciate theirs but instead we try our utmost to thrust our opinion and decisions on them. We pick up unnecessary cudgels and at times argue a lot to convince them. And even if we yield to their decision, we undergo many sleepless nights. Later, may be after years we understand that it had been much ado about nothing. Or, it may leave us puzzled whether we were right or wrong in dealing with our children.
I remember one such incident about my daughter. Once when she was in class 11, she expressed desire to buy a pair of sandals with high platform heels for herself. I have had virtual aversion for such type of high heels. I have always felt walking on them is very risky as one is susceptible to fall and hurting or even breaking one’s bones. Moreover, I had a notion that big platform heeled sandals are not for sophisticated and elegant ladies. Whenever I would see ladies wearing such sandals I would feel they have one-ton trucks underneath their feet. With such a bent of mind you can well imagine how I must have felt on hearing her demand. “High heels!” I almost yelled at her, “No, my child ! wearing heels is not good for you. And that too at this young age! No, not at all.”
No, I need to wear them,” she asserted. “Why?” I wanted to know the reason. “I will be as tall as Shahdab and even taller than Mahavash,” she replied quickly. “But does it really matter?” I sounded disturbed. “But Mom, I want to look tall”, she said with enthusiasm. “You are beautiful, my dear. And beauty needs no ornaments. It comes from within. You are an angel -- a golden one and very precious to me,” I heard myself arguing. “I simply want it. And that’s it.” I could sense adamance in her behavior which I had seen for the first time.
She had been a child far more mature than her age. I have never had problems of any sort with her. She would always understand my logic and I would always yield to her genuine demands. I am of firm belief that parents need not to thrust their choice on children and at the same time have to be watchful that their freedom of choice is for their benefit and development. So being of this conviction, I and my daughter would discuss all problems mutually and I would let her take final decision, which would coincide with mine always.
This time it was different. I tried every skill and knowledge of management but all in vain. Finally, it had to be her decision. We went to the market, got the sandals of her choice - a pair of very high plat-form heels, which kept troubling me for quite some time.
Now, after six years I find that there is a complete change in her choice of wearing sandals. She has switched over to complete flat ones, though this time at her age I would like her to wear sandals with sharp small heels. Sometime back I expressed this desire to her. She simply laughed it over saying, “Mom, flat sandals are smart and comfortable. I know I am, what I am. Heels or no heels, I can carry myself. And Mom, beauty needs no ornaments. It comes from within.” “Yes, my dearest,” I heard cry of a proud mother.
Whenever I am reminded of this, it comes as a riddle to my mind, which probably you may help me resolve. Should I have yielded to her demand straight way understanding that in course of time she would realize of her own what is right and what is wrong? Or, has my explaining to her or showing displeasure at that point of time left some imprint in her mind that has made her eventually think in the right direction? Was the trouble that I undertook worthwhile or worthless?
Veenapkoul
It is very difficult to understand child psychology. How so ever liberal we may be, sometimes we fail to accommodate the whims and moods of our children. We never raise our level of understanding to appreciate theirs but instead we try our utmost to thrust our opinion and decisions on them. We pick up unnecessary cudgels and at times argue a lot to convince them. And even if we yield to their decision, we undergo many sleepless nights. Later, may be after years we understand that it had been much ado about nothing. Or, it may leave us puzzled whether we were right or wrong in dealing with our children.
I remember one such incident about my daughter. Once when she was in class 11, she expressed desire to buy a pair of sandals with high platform heels for herself. I have had virtual aversion for such type of high heels. I have always felt walking on them is very risky as one is susceptible to fall and hurting or even breaking one’s bones. Moreover, I had a notion that big platform heeled sandals are not for sophisticated and elegant ladies. Whenever I would see ladies wearing such sandals I would feel they have one-ton trucks underneath their feet. With such a bent of mind you can well imagine how I must have felt on hearing her demand. “High heels!” I almost yelled at her, “No, my child ! wearing heels is not good for you. And that too at this young age! No, not at all.”
No, I need to wear them,” she asserted. “Why?” I wanted to know the reason. “I will be as tall as Shahdab and even taller than Mahavash,” she replied quickly. “But does it really matter?” I sounded disturbed. “But Mom, I want to look tall”, she said with enthusiasm. “You are beautiful, my dear. And beauty needs no ornaments. It comes from within. You are an angel -- a golden one and very precious to me,” I heard myself arguing. “I simply want it. And that’s it.” I could sense adamance in her behavior which I had seen for the first time.
She had been a child far more mature than her age. I have never had problems of any sort with her. She would always understand my logic and I would always yield to her genuine demands. I am of firm belief that parents need not to thrust their choice on children and at the same time have to be watchful that their freedom of choice is for their benefit and development. So being of this conviction, I and my daughter would discuss all problems mutually and I would let her take final decision, which would coincide with mine always.
This time it was different. I tried every skill and knowledge of management but all in vain. Finally, it had to be her decision. We went to the market, got the sandals of her choice - a pair of very high plat-form heels, which kept troubling me for quite some time.
Now, after six years I find that there is a complete change in her choice of wearing sandals. She has switched over to complete flat ones, though this time at her age I would like her to wear sandals with sharp small heels. Sometime back I expressed this desire to her. She simply laughed it over saying, “Mom, flat sandals are smart and comfortable. I know I am, what I am. Heels or no heels, I can carry myself. And Mom, beauty needs no ornaments. It comes from within.” “Yes, my dearest,” I heard cry of a proud mother.
Whenever I am reminded of this, it comes as a riddle to my mind, which probably you may help me resolve. Should I have yielded to her demand straight way understanding that in course of time she would realize of her own what is right and what is wrong? Or, has my explaining to her or showing displeasure at that point of time left some imprint in her mind that has made her eventually think in the right direction? Was the trouble that I undertook worthwhile or worthless?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
the treasure
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
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 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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