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Life continues to go waste in Kashmir

People are caught in the vicious circle of innocence and victimization.

It was Sunday. I was drinking my morning tea, reading the newspaper. The photograph showing the row of people surrounding the white-shrouded corpse of Inayat, 16, a teenager was shot dead brutally by men in uniform pressed me to write something, to give vent to my emotions.
My heart was beating fast. I could listen his choked voice echoing in the blood dappled blackened sky. This episode was reminiscent of the pain that people in Kashmir are born to torn into pieces. Here, beauty
is changed into deformity. Albeit, it was a usual happening in Kashmir to feel distressed when a person is killed. May be out of sympathy for another human being. But, this one was different. As my sensitivity towards this issue increased ,triggering the flashback of every torment and suffering for the only fault of being a ‘kashmiri’, these lines started reverberating in my ears, “I will not be reconciled to the circuit of my veins; Blood is not blood until it drips from the eye”.
Perhaps the worst effect was I couldn’t focus on anything. I wore my earphone, turned the volume of my cell-phone so high that I wouldn’t hear anything and shift my concentration. I kept myself busy, but of no avail. Instead, I started flipping the pages of different newspapers in the shop of a newspaper vendor in Lal-chowk. Every newspaper has reported this story with a different angle. This gave me the feel of how a same story is being covered in a different way. And, the thoughts of how the future of a budding boy was bereft by beasts started humming my mind and soul.
A feeling of restlessness caged me whole day. Frantically, in hearts of my heart, I was thinking that this is the place where a young mind is roaming with depressed and revengeful mind. Here, the flesh of an innocent person is vultured by devils with special powers act(AFSPA). And, the fate of people is wrought blindlessely by targeting bullets in open air.
From cutting the abdomen of a pregnant woman to sodomozing the
young breeds, atrocities in Kashmir continue to inflict the minds, by the God of menacing madness. Life continues to waste. Wind blows with shrieks of a poor mother, wailing her breast for the loss of her lone son, who is has left his home for computer training, never to return.
The vicious circle goes on and on. Kashmir, once known for its green dotted beauty with steep waterfalls, widespread patches of forests, gushing streams and green meadows is craving for a sigh of relief. The colorful sky once, painting the seasons, rivers, and oceans with a few chaste of white clouds drifting languidly is dwindling into endless graveyard.
In this dipping winter, I saw a villager wearing a long cloak of cloth (pheran) sipping hot tea from his Samovar(a hot copper plated tea pot). Cursing the anarchy and barbarism vacillating him inside out, he was switching on and off the national news-channels cursing their sensationalism of “Breaking News”. He was caught in the disarray of innocence and victimization.
From mourning the cold-blood death of an 16-year-old Inayat, who has recently succeeded in his matric result and succumbed to multiple injuries and fractures in ribcage allegedly by paramilitary CRPF to the Sopore youth Manzoor alias Usmaan, who died in a 22-hour long gunfight in Lal-Chowk encounter. He was an alleged breed of 2008 protests pushed militant, when the Valley was overwhelmed by several months of unprecedented non-violent public protest triggered by the complicated Amarnath land issue.
Kashmir is reeling in the frame of virtual reality following present day highly politicized society, where from gauging of freedom of press, brazenly opening of fire at Gk lensman Amaan Farooq by a responsible police officer to irrational fabricated probes like 'drowning' to the alleged twin rape and murder at South Kashmir’s Shopian district of Nilofar, 22, and her sister-in-law Asiya, 17, May 29 continues to damage the patina of normalcy. A curtain lies between events and us, seducing a kashmiri into insane, thereby languishing his mind with depression.

Under the veil of Quiet diplomacy and CBM's, Kashmir continues to
romance with PTSD's and other chronic ailments. Blood continues to
flow in the water of vitasta, people continue to protests non-violently
in the venomous rain of open fire and batons. This recalls me the lines of Farooq Nazki’s expression of agony,
"The blood dappled apparel of bridegrooms
Is washed at the river by mothers
And the dress of brides is set ablaze
The milky mothers pine
And quiet flows the Vitasta".
And I realized that I am part of this oppressed system, where every meadow, hills and woods are all guarded.

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