Let's Pray...

 (29-05-2017)

 It is a hot May afternoon and the second day of Ramadan. I have tried Word Power as well as Candy Crush to kill the monotony but nothing seems to work. Upamanyu Chatterjee’s English, August is an impeccable piece of literature but I am not able to read more than two paragraphs, after every new attempt. Thus, here I am, squiggling on my laptop. This boredom, however, is so intense that I feel like an illiterate. I am not able to form words and it’s going to be a task to put phrases and sentences together. Let’s see how soon I give up.

In Kashmir ‘hot’ does not mean that birds would fall from the skies, dead; a puff of air from a near-by glacier is always there to flirt with the Sun. Except, summer in Kashmir can be cheerfully dull; Beautiful yet boring. The meadows and the lakes of Kashmir are enchanting beyond wizardry and the evil eye seems to have gotten comfortable with its stay. Sigh! 70 years of infestation and she can still cast a spell and leave you breathless! Treasured one, don’t you ever wish to have been a desert instead? Barren and bleak but may be, peaceful.

The suffering and subjection of the bloody summer of 2016 is still spun-out in the air and here we are, living curfew-ed days, yet again, a year after. Why?  Lord knows, how far-off lay the answers to our calls but the parapet of patience has definitely developed a chink, a gapping fracture through which our subsistence seems to be diffusing aimlessly. After all, for how long can human beings endure pain of this magnitude!

We have buried our children.
We have washed blood off the best-looking men.
We have the silenced cries of our sinless women entombed inside of us.
We have had our hearts ripped apart by wailing mothers.
We have seen old fathers carry the coffins of their shattered dreams.
Can you picture a baby, sitting by its father’s dead body hoping, anytime now, the hero will tear the shroud into pieces and hold his child tight in his affectionate arms? We have the images imprinted on the shards of things broken within.   
Kashmir has gone up in the flames many a time,but every spring the Enchantress turns into emerald and the world thinks of her as nothing but the lady of pleasure.
For how long?

Our resilience is exemplary but so is the enormity of oppression. It is a curse to lead a conflict-ridden life; but, a breakdown of any kind is not an option. We will not collapse, we will pray. In this holy month of Ramdan, let’s burst into tears on our prayer mats and ask for His forgiveness for we have no one but Allah to turn to. Dear Lord, we deserve to live in peace if at all we deserve to live. Forgive us and please heal our Beloved land. Release her of all her burdens as she has had enough and yearns to be the Promised Paradise. Let her be. Ameen.


With tears breaking out of my eyes, I give up...

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