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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. 

…. ..

Wings flattering to get the affection of flight , mountains aspiring to heights , children’s ceasing to dance , light overpowering dark . Where has it come , A halo so shallow. Life is mauled and I lay deep thinking at the stars. Not the poet , nor a theatre person I am a man of bullets and reason.

A week before , I was discussing a birthday surprise for my favourite sister in the family.  And to this we never had a chance to eat the bite of the ordered , unreached cake.  My father asked me is the internet working? And I said no , but i had wanted it so bad. Internet which is making every step to join humanity was banned. It was stopped by ( I-Dont – know – what – to – call – them ) …. I was called downstairs for tea and while I was waiting for my father at dastar Khan ,  news flash and thirty dead. This is zulum(Atrocities) , my father whispered and sipped a hot namkeen chai, famous all over Kashmir.  It is strange to see the earning hand of your family sitting idle in house doing nothing .  Some may call it a family time but I call it a Hostage life.  Devoid of everything. Devoid of food ,  medicines and freedom to travel. The architecture of Kashmir houses is such that we have a house that we can tour. Thank God for that. But many people still don’t have that and live in a one storyed house. But luckily , I have been lucky enough to get  a house of three storey where in the life of Hostage I can at least roam.  From one room to another , Kitchen to Hall , Hall to dinning and then sleep. Like you are already dead the other morning.  Days passed and I saw my father along my side every day and every night . Well for my mother it was a summer vacation turned into a threat as she is a teacher in a local government school.  We watched news every day and followed their instruction. ” Tomorrow is curfew”

“Hartal*

“Kashmir bandh “. The best part about this  is , the announcement of mornings through chirping birds because its so silent out there that even an ant can’t escape your instinct.  Thirty plus dead as a news channel shouted. “Shivers and misery across the valley.”

“Beautiful valley succumbed”. As these headlines captured every eye of us , the freedom seekers lost theirs. Bullets, bomb shells and what not. Life is miserable. And nicely elaborated by the army men. Men in the uniforms , like naked bullets.

A woman aged sixty , when asked about her heath condition said :-

” I was sitting in my home. They ( army men) came and dragged us from our rooms. It was me and my son who was beaten and whose voices remain choked. Where to go , where to check in. This is happening since 90’s , is it ever going to end”.

Its the seventh day of full complete shutdown in Kashmir valley. I ask a question do you sometimes feel a threat inside your own house? Threat of being dragged to the dirtiest hole on earth.  Nothing stops and nothing starts. Its always in the middle and edge. It is always about the valley on edge. It is always about the blood. Its always about the freedom. A seven letter word , a seven day of restrictions a resurrection is all we need a resurrection.

 

 

The Empty Blurb.

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The brown blurb kept on the left side of her , was empty . Her mind floated through many memories of present which haunted her future. Yes , they were the memories of present. It happened once , she sat on a bench whispering to herself about life and the art  of living it life . She decided to not just whisper  but  practice it . In front of her came an image of a character from her favorite novel Elizabeth Bennett , by Jane Austen from Pride and Prejudice. She hated to read the book in the Victorian literature class but somehow it carved the meaning for her life . Time was nothing to her and she did her best to travel along with it. Life , to her was a mirage. Like whenever she was asked to define life she always faked a smile. It was a fine day of April. Flowers were blossoming and it was a unique hour. A definite sense of something will happen , good or bad she didn’t know. But she flowed within it. An acquaintance offered her a meeting with a friend and she said “It’s been long” , lets go. They walked with each passing wave of wind going through her empty channels like a good news on the way. He said “Hi” , she said “Hey“. Untamed in love she traveled through it , surpassing all the odds and evens. It was a frightful experience , though she smiled. At that moment she knew she was going to abandon it in the deepest of her chambers. Time flew and we came to future which was bright and happy . Friends deceived and left  but one thing remained constant that “Hie” because somewhere in the universe it was accepted. Days passed giggling and each day went announcing it to be the best day , clouds collided  with each day bringing in the lover’s smile and indefinite scars.The room became haunted of the people blaming her of being immoral , but she went on like the waves of the ocean. I loved her even more but hated the outcome. I loved the wilderness but i knew deep down it was a misery. Finally , the day had yet to arrive. But she thought about it. The final good bye , the final smile , that final pulling of each other’s tail ,how could they not stick together. Was this the play of time? Nobody knew the answer. But time had come to the full circle. And it was this which they were deceiving .I had come in between and i was the creator. Destiny had failed them , and everything collapsed. She came back to the center hating each and every hour of her happiness while he had them the only treasure ,reminiscing  till he had the power. The center had won , the life was dead. The line crossed between became the experience. I asked both of them , whose fault? She replied quick TIME’S.

Like a poetry.

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The girl I saw in my dream,

She was wearing a black gown

Metaphorically the ghost

She talked to me , ate food

She walked like a poetry.

Her alliteration of face

Was such as that of a haze

I wandered back and forth

Was I in love with her similies?

Another moment pass

And I see a man , coming ironically

I was in a gaze of many , but I smirked

The consonants of the man led me wonder

Are they the aspirants of love?

They talked in numerously extreme

I looked there paradoxically

Sometimes what happens is not the end of the story

She came to me and introduced

Her ring on the left end

It ended all the waves in me

I left the town and woke up in misery.

Broken soul.

broken

I had a narrow escape

The one you are in dream

I chased not to sleep

But I closed my eyes

Again , in the wunderlust

I was drowned in the interrogation

Who was I ?

Human to the basic

My soul needed ggenerations

Bards have told me to chant

I can’t to ONE

For me even a stone is miraculous

I am a savage , I run here and there

Birds follow me

Prick me for flight

I try flying

And I realize

With a broken wing none has flied .