Rough, savage , bland, life was all these words in a line. Two months back , I cried almost every hour of the day. Simple , wasn’t any solution they had say , but as the waves passed we climbed stairs again. Failure , rejection , drunk , dope , sudden , disappoint. As hours passed by my dog eared novels kept at the shelf were back in my hands. I was reading again. Though felt like a fish out of water but I was there smiling at my professor when he talked about the gender inequality in the garden of Eden. I had succeeded in a new chapter. I was a Victor again, because not all were selected but almost all were rejected. It was the summer of 2016, heights of trust , broken to prices none would have even thought. Criticism all over , why opt for something which is dark? I wasn’t a fool for I knew English was my only strength , or else I was obsessed with the only thought of it. I had come back home for vacations , happy , joyous. As birds flied I walked aimlessly. Hope , kills. I was lost in the colours of the mystical world. I wasn’t safe but who knew the future? From the airport we crossed the bridge and rode to the house. A mustard coloured house of fourteen rooms. When I look back I  smile at my missed mis -opportunities. Life is full of them. As civilised as  I am , I captivated everybody with warm wishes and blessings. Everyone was moving. It was a drunk state of two lovers unaware of darkness  ahead. The objective of this journey was abeginning to a fresh start. I had graduated , we were celebrating. I was generous , trusting the rays of sun which penetrated through the lens of my window. Not a photographer by any chance , pastime writer as you go along my bio. Life was a monopoly either I had won either lose everything. Days passed as summers went blazing Sunshine’s. It was approximately after two days of mystay in Kashmir , my hometown when something sudden happened. I am here in my classroom thinking of what would have happened if I would have stayed. Misery comes straight to myintellect. Approximately , two days were gone. It was a celebrating festival of Eid. My family was all dressed up in white and everybody was glee . It was on one of the nights , televeison sets sparked and left noise. Radio’s mimicked politicians in avery abnormal  way. It was a chaotic situation , it was mayonnaise spread randomly on sweet rashogulla. How would ittaste? Journalists all over carefully chose words as they sat on their daily chair of information. It was south Kashmir which was in trouble , wait it was Kashmir which was in trouble , wait stop . It was the people who were saddened again. It was Hamlet being produced , reproduced , and acted again. It was shining in the name of blood on the streets. It was straight  a story of a pellet from the vehicle of misfortunes. It was the story of a rebel guided to the path of death ,moreover a start of rebellion called Kashmir.  It was sudden like a meaningless essay on the question paper. What will a child do ? Someone was murdered again, killed , brutally mishandled. I remember being in a hall pacing through the lines of divided floors when I heard “first” firing alarm , second , third , fourth , fifth , second. The alarms were coinciding with the voice of the mauzin from the mosques as it was the time of a fourth muslim prayer , Esha. My heart pounded between the sounds. Should I concentrate on the alarm sounds or the religious . It  rushed through million thoughts when I saw people in large groups marching down the streets. I felt the ground shaking. You know , I am 21 years old , a person dreaming of writing about her place. But what would I write? Blood sheds, and protests? I am now 22 years wanting to write about it , telling the  world about the elegies of my homeland. Telling people about the sad songs we have ranted about. My results were out , I was in utterdespair.  What had gone wrong? I asked myself every night. Everyone was displeasing to me. Everyone was dying. I was suffering too. It was the ninth consecutive day. 12 people had losttheir lives , and I was sulking at my academic failure which was regained when I unlearnt everything. 


Author: Takbeer Salati

I've never been a millionaire but I just know I’d be darling at it .

2 thoughts on “1.”

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