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Growing up in Kashmir amid mad bullets hasn't been easy. The trauma is collective, yet we try to be the best of ourselves. Seeing all the hate online, I am proud to say that we turned out to be better human beings despite the torture we have been subjected to. (Thread)
First memory is of jackboots and gun-totting men entering your house and years later you can't differentiate if it was a dream or a real-life event.
Memories of visits to grandparents in a north Kashmir are of long uncomfortable road trips. The bus is stopped at many places & the gun-totting men ask the men to get down and show their identity in long queues. Did we wait for hours or minutes, years later, I can't tell.
One day as you have a guest over for dinner, the darkness is rattled by a blast & gunshots. The entire night you try to sleep pressing ur ears to shut the noise. Next morning your father takes you to school through narrow alleys because you can't miss that God damn test.
On another ocassion, you are doing your homework and there's a blast. Hours later you and your family is asked to leave the house and when you look back from the car window, you see a man in flames jumping out of the burning building.
One day, u return from school & see a lawn full of people & police & chaos in your house. As ur tender mind tries to make sense of things u hear words like grenade, blast & lose your mind knowing that your father was in the house when the grenade exploded and now he's in the hosp
Despite assurances from everyone, you can't stop crying until you see him safe an fine with a minor splinter injury on his back.
It's my aunt's mehandi, we're all excited but something happens. Elders are talking in hushed up voices. One of the bride's cousin is widowed after a blast killed her husband. She was married few years ago. Her son is few months old. The celebrations fade into mourning.
