Thank you Sir

I often thought of visiting you on my trips to home and tell you how much I owed to you for the person I was today. Whenever, I want to think of the teachers who have helped me, guided me, and mentored me to the person I am today, Sir you would be on the top of my list. And on the top of the list of the most students who had an opportunity to study under you.

Sir, I remember our first meeting in class 9^th. Your legends had already travelled far and wide. Your voice, it was said, would echo in every corner of the school when you spoke. It was said under you even the naughtiest and rouge students would discipline themselves, than face your wrath.

Sir, I remember how much I hated doing those Mathematics exercise 100 times a day, using sand paper to sharpen my pencil as I struggled through the geometric shapes, failing to understand that one example from the “Circles” chapter of the NCERT book. But, Sir you were persistent and kept on FORCING us to practice till we got it right.

I remember that you coming out of the office would lead the whole school in pin-drop silence. I remember you would shout loud in the assembly of 400 students and were audible, when every-one else used the mike. I remember you would come as early as 5:30am to the school and get started by the special classes by 6:00am to make sure that we were ready for the board exams and need not take tuitions.

Sir, I remember that you promised me the best of the class teachers, when I wanted to leave the school. I remember that you never broke your word.

Sir, for all those things I wanted to thank you. Thank you for those important lessons of life through punishments, mathematics lessons, and your own personal conduct.

I did hear about your illness and was planning to meet you as I visited home this Diwali. But, it seems as always you wouldn’t wait.

Sir, I am sorry for not getting in touch with you sooner. Not proactively looking for your number. Sir, I am sorry for not staying in touch.

Respected Nanda Sir today as I hear that you are no more. I realize how much I have learnt from you and how much you contributed to what I am today.

Thank you for everything. But I will never forgive myself for not showing my gratitude in person

My Exodus (Part 2)

Before I get continue with the second part of the story of my exodus, I wanted to highlight a couple of things. It was 1990 and there were no ATMs, no centralized banking systems, no internet banking, no mobile phones, no telephones, only rich could afford A/Cs and refrigerators!

As we crossed Banihal, my dad was relieved. We only managed to eat something when we had crossed the tunnel. I for the first time in my life had traveled so far.

We reached Jammu and rented a place at the outskirts of the town. Within a week, my mom needed to be shifted to the hospital and my sister was born. When the nurse asked for some "soft" cloth to wrap the baby, we were unprepared. My father immediately took out his under-shirt and gave it to the nurse.

I need to point out here that we had come completely unprepared - a bag of clothes for each person may be. Given that my grandmother was outside Kashmir for the first time, she had packed her clothes according to the harsh winters of Kashmir, however the climate of Jammu is generally more moderate. To put it straight, her clothes were too warm for Jammu winter.

Cash draining out quickly (remember there were no ATMs and centralized banking systems) and there were lot that needed to be done. My mother's medical expenses, my school admission, and we had these regular family, family friends, family of family friends, in-fact anyone who was a Kashmiri Hindu visiting us as they often had no where to go.

My dad many years later told me that he had Rs 500 in his pocket when he left Kashmir, and the day my mother was brought home after my sister's birth, only Rs 50 were left. My grand-mother told my father to get some vegetables, mutton, and grocery for home. My dad says as he left home, he lost Rs 40 somewhere and was only left with Rs 10 in change. That was all the cash we had. One of my father's friends worked in State Bank in Jammu. Father remembered him immediately and went to him for help. Uncle, still remains one of the coolest chaps around, was not only ready to help but scolded my father for not coming to him earlier.

Meanwhile, one of my cousin uncles visited from valley with importantly news of my grand father's well being and some cash! We managed to start construction of our house (please note not home - home was/is/and will be in Kashmir) and I was admitted in a nearby school (it wasn't a school you really want your kids to start their education with. The classes were under the sun and one teacher teaching many classes together. But then it was in better condition than a camp school).

Our limited resources meant that my father and grandmother had to help in the construction in-order to reduce the drain due to additional laborers. My father and grand-ma (who was 52) would leave early in the morning and work hard, helping with bricks, leveling the floors, watering the walls and come back late.

Our relation with our landlord also wasn't in good terms. To be honest, he was crook! Looking for ways and means to get an extra penny. So finally we had to move in our under-construction/without the flooring house. The wood to be used for the doors was put on bricks and a make-shift bed was created for my mother. For us, me, my grandmother, aunt, and my father, we used to sleep on the floor (well there was no floor).

We often had relatives and friends staying over with us for weeks, some helping us with the construction, some figuring out places to stay, some come to buy land, some looking out for their relatives. It was a complete chaos!

In the evening, my grand ma would often sit outside and often tell me that it was just time and we would return back to Kashmir. All those initial years, she was never ready to accept that she would never be able to go back to Badrakali , Chandigam, and Tikker

Meanwhile in Kashmir, my grandfather had found out about our leaving when he had sent a servant over to Srinagar to deliver some stuff at our rented place. The servant had come back and told him that we had left. In May 1990, one of my grandfather's cousin was murdered in broad day-light. The body was cremated and rituals performed with utmost secrecy. Grand father, when he came to Jammu, had many stories to tell. He told that he found out that he was on the "hit-list". For many days, he would lock the HOME from outside, get in from the window at the back-side and sleep on the first floor. He had even made arrangements so that he could safely jump from the first floor window in-case the HOME was put on fire.

My grandfather left, handing over the keys of our HOME to the most trusted friend and neighbor. Years later, when someone from Kashmir visited us, he told us that the "trusted" neighbor had taken the things out of our Home for his personal use, sold our cattle and other belongings. In 1991-92, my only HOME was burnt!

Later post 1996, KMs started visiting us in Jammu. Some honestly coming to check regarding our well-being and some came to persuade us to sell our property. All were welcomed with open arms. I have some cry, some beg for forgiveness, and some silent on our exodus.

P.S. In 2010, my grandfather's elder brother (the eldest member of our family) expired with only one wish - He wanted his ashes be spread over our fields and in the village stream. He had died living the dream to return back.

I hope I am fortunate enough!

My Exodus (Part 1)

Kashmir, as my grandfather through his tales told me, was very complex. It is a Muslim dominated area and ruled by Islamic ruler through the medieval and modern history till 19th century (when the Sikhs brought the state of Jammu and Kashmir under their rule). Most of the Kashmir's culture/food habits/marriage and other rituals were influenced by the culture its ruler brought with them. However, the minority Shaivite Pandits did maintain the ancient culture of the Shavisim with alternations and adaptations. (It is important to point out here that the Hindu religion is based on three basic principles of - Desh [Place], Kal [Time], and Patr [Person]. The rituals, ceremonies, and other aspects of the religions are flexible based on the three principles.)

Moving on, it is important to note that it was only during the period of the Dogra kings that the the three regions of Jammu, Kashmir, and Ladakh (though culturally very different) came together as the "Princely State of Jammu and Kashmir). During Islamic rule on Kashmir, the Kashmiri hindus were persecuted and as the legend goes at one time only eleven families of Kashmiri hindus were left in the valley. The Kashmiri hindus had to leave valley four times during the Islamic rule. The situation was no different for muslims of the valley during the Dogra rule in the 19th century, and the dogra rulers were similarly unpopular among their kashmiri muslim subjects.

I was born in December month of the year 1986. Earlier in the year, the communal tension had increased in the valley since the Parmeshwari Movement in 1967.

The early memories of my childhood are those of my care-taker "Gul" didi (8-year daughter of our kashmiri muslim neighbor). Since both my parents were working, I used to stay with my grandparents in one of the most scenic villages of North Kashmir in the Lolab valley. Gul would come to our place early morning and would take care of me all day, till my grandmother would finish off with her daily chores. I would often visit Gul's home and many a time eat there (its important to note here that kashmiri pandits and muslims generally avoided to eat from each other's kitchen, though during ceremonies special cooks were bought to serve the guests from the other community). Gul would often fight with my grandmother when the later would tell her that Deepu (as I am called at home) will not cure her when I became a doctor. To be honest, I considered her to be my elder sister till many years we moved to Jammu and was never able to understand why she didn't come with us.

One day, in early 89, my grand mother returned back from the nag (in villages the water for cooking etc. had to be carried from the nearby spring) and she was very upset and perplexed. She had been told by a muslim friend that they had visitors from "Apooor" (the other side) who had got big "saanduks" (boxes). My grandfather would daily take me to the village temple early in the morning. One night we were woken up by a loud noise - "Mandar ha zoluk" (the temple has been burnt) . I remember getting up and walking to the balcony behind my grand mother and all I could see was the large flames coming from the site of the temple. Few days later, a neighbor paid a visit to our house, he spoke to my grandfather directly. The neighbor told my grandfather that the situation was going to get worse. And he didn't stop at that. He asked a direct question to my grandfather.

"Do you have any gold ornaments of your daughter-in-law (my mother) in the house, if yes, give them to me and I will keep them safe"

My grandfather was taken aback. All he could utter was a NO! Later in the day, he and my grandmother took out all the ornaments of my mother and dug a pit in our living room, put the ornaments in the pit, and closed it. Later during the month, when my father visited us, grandfather gave the ornaments to him in a suitcase and the instructions were - If any-one tries to snatch the suitcase from you, just let it go, and save yourself.

In November 89, three bearded-men had come looking for a cousin uncle of mine. They had knocked at the house of his door, which was opened by his mother. His mother had innocently told the men that the uncle wasn't in house and would return back in the evening. As the men were leaving, one of our neighbors did recognize one of the guys who had returned from the other side. As they spoke, the uncle's mother realized that something wasn't right. She called for another uncle of mine and told him to go and stop her son from returning back. (All these instances have been narrated to me by this aunt of my dad)

Later in January 90, my grandmother and I went to Srinagar, as my mother was expecting my sister. The situation there was even worse. We used to stay in a rented house with the owners staying at the ground floor. Often during those days, I was woken by loud protests and gun shots. My unmarried aunt wasn't allowed to venture out of the house - not even to the ground floor, given the situation outside. It was January 27, I think, as the curfew was relaxed, my dad went out to buy some house hold items, but returned really worried. He and grandmother held a quick discussion and my grandmother started crying. Next day early morning, dad woke me up and told me that we were going. The taxi was called. I along with my father sat in the front seat, where as my grandmother, aunt, and mom sat at the back. My grandmother hid a knife in her sari as she had decided in case of any problem to save the honor of her daughter and daughter-in-law it was better to kill them first, than let them fall in the hands of terrorists.

During those times, there was no internet, wireless, and mobiles. The telephones had not reached the villages yet. We left without informing anything to my grandfather who was still at the village. The message was left for him with one of my maternal uncles,who could tell my grandfather in-case he visited Srinagar to meet us.

(To be Contd.)