Be khem'ne haak….. [kashmiri collard green leave vegetable]. I am not eating this, I yelled at my mother. A full swing soccer kick on the rice plate made it fly like a frisbee with haak strewing all around; on the floor, my school bag, note books, on our new Kashmiri Kaleen [hand-woven carpet] that had dark blue mille fleur patterns of tiny blossoms knotted in maroon woolen fabric. Hai giye daakh, wech kya koruth....curse on you, See what you did.
I ran away....
Pull the trigger. com'n put some more effort, pull it!
Can you see that trehi buttun makaan [it was an abandoned house of a popular local Kashmiri pundit nicknamed "trehi bhatt"] on other side of the Jehlum River? Yes I replied. The one surrounded with trees? He asked again.
I reiterated, yes I do.
Jet-black pistol felt heavier than its size. My thin fingers were not long enough to reach the trigger. But I was trying. I was hardly ten years old. Probably unaware of the fact that it can take someone’s life. Unmindful of the certainty that it actually can kill!
Soach akis kullis peth che trehi buttun choth taapas- thukus chothi fire- imagine trehi bhatt’s ass hanging from one of those trees and then shoot into his ass. This thought burst both of us into laughter and I didn’t have any strength left to pull the trigger. Hyo benthera! Oh nephew! I love you. Now get up and let me drop you home, your father will cut me into two if he came to know I was teaching you to shoot a pistol.
I looked up at him and asked, are you afraid of my Abu [father] like I am?
Off course I am. He's a "Thakur" [a sarcastic reference to a character from a popular bollywood flick]
But you have a Pistol, you are so tall and you are a mujahid I said, while giving a thorough head to toe glance at him. Thinking one day I will be as strong as him. Then I would not have to waste a lot of my energy to pull the trigger.
Yes but he is like my father, sohraab replied. I cannot pull a pistol on him. I respect him. He is a great person. He has a big heart you know? – he said while tapping his chest. Now let’s go and eat something. I am feeling hungry.
This reminded me of haak ,Kaleen and the flying rice plate.
I could imagine Abu with a shining bata sandal in one hand and a cup of sugar free Lipton tea in another. His sagging ear lobes turn red by every passing minute. I would always ask my elder sister why Abu doesn’t take sugar. She would say Abu already had enough sugar in his body because he’s a sugar patient [diabetic]. So my initial feeling was it is good to be a sugar patient. I could taste that sweetness in my mouth. In fact, I would proudly say my father has sugar. I remember a friend of mine whose father was also a diabetic and we would argue with each other to prove whose father had the highest sugar as if it was a symbol of great pride. He would say his father’s sugar level goes above 160 and I would try to win it with a double margin. che chia pie menis malis chu chenis malisind khote zyade..Tas chu tre hatth! (300!) My father’s sugar is way higher than your father, His goes above 300!
Your father will cut me into two, Sohraab had said. If Abu can make such a big and strong guy shit his pants who the hell am I?
I shook my head and got ready to face "Thakur" at home.
You are a one crazy kid! Only picking up fights at home and then running away- look at you! Sohraab said while pointing at me.
Why did you have to kick the food? It’s a gunaah [sin]. If you kick rizq [food], it kicks you back. Gobur [son] may Allah bless you always but you should not do this.
But I don’t like Haak. I hate eating it. I said.
But that doesn’t mean you should kick it. If you won't eat it somebody else will. This world is full of hungry people. You know, I have heard people in Africa catch rats and eat them to fill their hunger because they have nothing to eat.
Yekh!... rats? This thought churned my stomach. My mouth filled with saliva. I spit and continued spitting till I reached home. I tried to divert my mind but the horrible images of skinny and hungry African people carrying rats hanging by their tail and eating them alive was enough to make me throw up. I vomited until I reached home.
Ok Baji [sister]… I shall leave now, take good care of him and give him some Gaggar Lacchi [rat tails] to eat for the dinner because he says he hates haak. He took out a small pocket size Quran which was inside a green zipper cover that had something written on it with golden letters in cursive Arabic calligraphy. He gave it to my mother and said I had promised I will bring one for you from Pakistan. My mother was overwhelmed. Pakistani? Really! She reacted as if someone would earn double sawaab (reward for good deeds) after reciting from a Pakistani Quran. But that is how all most all of us used to think because slogans like Pakistan se rishta kya? La ilaha illaAllah had so deeply brain washed our minds. Pakistani TV serials, Pakistani fabrics, Pakistani prayer rugs were a big hit in Kashmir during 90’s and people had this passion for Pakistani products. I remember my mamu (maternal uncle) bought a rechargeable torch and a digital watch from Pakistan and he would proudly keep it in his glass display. No wonder it had an “OK TESTED“made in china sticker stuck to its bottom.
She kissed it thrice before wrapping it under her shawl while giving him duakhair’s [blessings]. che lassun te bassun panine maaji- Khuda karen sarni mujahidin kamiyaab- tehndi paas che- oor zuv te dor kuth - Amin yallah amin. [Couldn’t translate]
My mother in all her excitement went running in to show it to my father. See! What my brother brought for me. It’s a Pakistani Quran. Sabz rang (green color) her eyes sparkling with its chromatic finish.
I was hiding behind the door curtain peeping out of a small hole. Hey che ke be maarnawakh (you will get me killed) father said. You know there are mukhbirs (Informers) everywhere and if someone informed Army that we have a Pakistani Quran Khuda Rasoolas path (swear to Allah & his prophet) we all will be dead.
Sohraab was still standing on the door. Hey yusuf saaba che kous haz laagi aathe- che chie gudde khuda patte sai be Yusuf sahib who would dare to touch you? Keep faith on Allah and then trust me. I won’t let anyone harm you.
What if my Abu comes to know he calls him “Thakur” I chuckled!
Challo… I shall leave now and don’t beat my benthar [nephew]. He has promised me that he won’t fight again.
feamanillah... [May Allah protect you]
Feamanillah…
I heard sohraab’s thick voice fading away in our dark corridor.
Gunshots....
heyo khudayooooo! [untranslatable commotion]
Blood….. Cries….Slogans [unexplainable fear]
La ilaha illaAllah [undeterred Faith]
kussu kussu [inexplicable emotions]
hyo kusu gov shaheed......... [intangible loss] …. Sohraab [RIP]
Trehi bhatt’s widowed home and thousands like his are still waiting for their return. Now streets aren’t that scary though blood stains haven’t yet faded away, fatigued eyes haven’t lost the hope. The hope that their missing loved ones will return back, the hope that there won’t be further bloodshed. Hope that this twilight will move away and give rise to the new dawn of peace.
Now, Haak doesn’t taste that bad either….
I ran away....
Pull the trigger. com'n put some more effort, pull it!
Can you see that trehi buttun makaan [it was an abandoned house of a popular local Kashmiri pundit nicknamed "trehi bhatt"] on other side of the Jehlum River? Yes I replied. The one surrounded with trees? He asked again.
I reiterated, yes I do.
Jet-black pistol felt heavier than its size. My thin fingers were not long enough to reach the trigger. But I was trying. I was hardly ten years old. Probably unaware of the fact that it can take someone’s life. Unmindful of the certainty that it actually can kill!
Soach akis kullis peth che trehi buttun choth taapas- thukus chothi fire- imagine trehi bhatt’s ass hanging from one of those trees and then shoot into his ass. This thought burst both of us into laughter and I didn’t have any strength left to pull the trigger. Hyo benthera! Oh nephew! I love you. Now get up and let me drop you home, your father will cut me into two if he came to know I was teaching you to shoot a pistol.
I looked up at him and asked, are you afraid of my Abu [father] like I am?
Off course I am. He's a "Thakur" [a sarcastic reference to a character from a popular bollywood flick]
But you have a Pistol, you are so tall and you are a mujahid I said, while giving a thorough head to toe glance at him. Thinking one day I will be as strong as him. Then I would not have to waste a lot of my energy to pull the trigger.
Yes but he is like my father, sohraab replied. I cannot pull a pistol on him. I respect him. He is a great person. He has a big heart you know? – he said while tapping his chest. Now let’s go and eat something. I am feeling hungry.
This reminded me of haak ,Kaleen and the flying rice plate.
I could imagine Abu with a shining bata sandal in one hand and a cup of sugar free Lipton tea in another. His sagging ear lobes turn red by every passing minute. I would always ask my elder sister why Abu doesn’t take sugar. She would say Abu already had enough sugar in his body because he’s a sugar patient [diabetic]. So my initial feeling was it is good to be a sugar patient. I could taste that sweetness in my mouth. In fact, I would proudly say my father has sugar. I remember a friend of mine whose father was also a diabetic and we would argue with each other to prove whose father had the highest sugar as if it was a symbol of great pride. He would say his father’s sugar level goes above 160 and I would try to win it with a double margin. che chia pie menis malis chu chenis malisind khote zyade..Tas chu tre hatth! (300!) My father’s sugar is way higher than your father, His goes above 300!
Your father will cut me into two, Sohraab had said. If Abu can make such a big and strong guy shit his pants who the hell am I?
I shook my head and got ready to face "Thakur" at home.
You are a one crazy kid! Only picking up fights at home and then running away- look at you! Sohraab said while pointing at me.
Why did you have to kick the food? It’s a gunaah [sin]. If you kick rizq [food], it kicks you back. Gobur [son] may Allah bless you always but you should not do this.
But I don’t like Haak. I hate eating it. I said.
But that doesn’t mean you should kick it. If you won't eat it somebody else will. This world is full of hungry people. You know, I have heard people in Africa catch rats and eat them to fill their hunger because they have nothing to eat.
Yekh!... rats? This thought churned my stomach. My mouth filled with saliva. I spit and continued spitting till I reached home. I tried to divert my mind but the horrible images of skinny and hungry African people carrying rats hanging by their tail and eating them alive was enough to make me throw up. I vomited until I reached home.
Ok Baji [sister]… I shall leave now, take good care of him and give him some Gaggar Lacchi [rat tails] to eat for the dinner because he says he hates haak. He took out a small pocket size Quran which was inside a green zipper cover that had something written on it with golden letters in cursive Arabic calligraphy. He gave it to my mother and said I had promised I will bring one for you from Pakistan. My mother was overwhelmed. Pakistani? Really! She reacted as if someone would earn double sawaab (reward for good deeds) after reciting from a Pakistani Quran. But that is how all most all of us used to think because slogans like Pakistan se rishta kya? La ilaha illaAllah had so deeply brain washed our minds. Pakistani TV serials, Pakistani fabrics, Pakistani prayer rugs were a big hit in Kashmir during 90’s and people had this passion for Pakistani products. I remember my mamu (maternal uncle) bought a rechargeable torch and a digital watch from Pakistan and he would proudly keep it in his glass display. No wonder it had an “OK TESTED“made in china sticker stuck to its bottom.
She kissed it thrice before wrapping it under her shawl while giving him duakhair’s [blessings]. che lassun te bassun panine maaji- Khuda karen sarni mujahidin kamiyaab- tehndi paas che- oor zuv te dor kuth - Amin yallah amin. [Couldn’t translate]
My mother in all her excitement went running in to show it to my father. See! What my brother brought for me. It’s a Pakistani Quran. Sabz rang (green color) her eyes sparkling with its chromatic finish.
I was hiding behind the door curtain peeping out of a small hole. Hey che ke be maarnawakh (you will get me killed) father said. You know there are mukhbirs (Informers) everywhere and if someone informed Army that we have a Pakistani Quran Khuda Rasoolas path (swear to Allah & his prophet) we all will be dead.
Sohraab was still standing on the door. Hey yusuf saaba che kous haz laagi aathe- che chie gudde khuda patte sai be Yusuf sahib who would dare to touch you? Keep faith on Allah and then trust me. I won’t let anyone harm you.
What if my Abu comes to know he calls him “Thakur” I chuckled!
Challo… I shall leave now and don’t beat my benthar [nephew]. He has promised me that he won’t fight again.
feamanillah... [May Allah protect you]
Feamanillah…
I heard sohraab’s thick voice fading away in our dark corridor.
Gunshots....
heyo khudayooooo! [untranslatable commotion]
Blood….. Cries….Slogans [unexplainable fear]
La ilaha illaAllah [undeterred Faith]
kussu kussu [inexplicable emotions]
hyo kusu gov shaheed......... [intangible loss] …. Sohraab [RIP]
Trehi bhatt’s widowed home and thousands like his are still waiting for their return. Now streets aren’t that scary though blood stains haven’t yet faded away, fatigued eyes haven’t lost the hope. The hope that their missing loved ones will return back, the hope that there won’t be further bloodshed. Hope that this twilight will move away and give rise to the new dawn of peace.
Now, Haak doesn’t taste that bad either….
