Another very short extract from my unpublished novel-The Little Victims.

Neha raised her arms in a luxurious stretch. Phew! She had a good sleep, a good dreamless sleep, her joints cracked with the leisurely twist of her body. Ah. There was indeed an ineffable joy in waking up to a new day, to a Sunday, no class, no college. A new day was a new beginning full of hope, joy and promise.

She turned around to her left, stretched out her hand for Sumer, and as her hand touched nothing but the empty bed-sheet, she opened her eyes slowly and started coming back to the living world. Sumer was not around to herald this new day? Where was he? The bed-room light was on. She looked at the bedside clock, it 6. this was the time she would invariable get out of bed leaving Sumer to sleep out his dreams and snores for another hour, she got up, rubbing sleep from her eyes and walked bare for toward the dining space. There was no one then but the entire house was flooded in light. The lights were on in the toilet, kitchen and study. What was Sumer up to? She suddenly remembered Sumer telling her at 3 O’clock, that he was sweating, and that she was practically jotting down some new story idea in the study, or may be completing the essay on lizards, what a topic to write an essay on? She thought. But what we be doing in three places at the same time? The toilet door was ajar? Had he merely paid a nocturnal visit to it? She entered the study stealthily, hoping to catch him red-handed in the act of polishing off the unfinished cake in the fridge. But no! He wasn’t there! But the traces of his being there – were! The study looked earth, quake ravaged, the writing table was in a mess, the waste-paper bin was upside down, many of the books were lying on the floor, so, Sumer had got one of his brainwaves, after all. She flicked the pages of the essay, a few more sentences had been added, he had been here, but where is he now? Yes, the kitchen, that’s it, with the agility of a cat, she rushed toward the kitchen but not before she had restored some order in the study.

Sumer was dumb-founded. It was as if he was watching everything through a surreal haze. The two blotched sad faces-dazed, battered persecuted and tormented swam before his eyes. He stood as if rooted to the spot. The pathetic condition of the boys was too much for him. How can the police be so cruel? So barbarously brutal? So pitilessly sadistic. “The monsters!” he hissed through clenched teeth, and remembered yesterday afternoon’s tomfoolery and horseplay. How excited and cheerful the boys had been! It was as if their faces had been aglow with a festal sunshine-radiant and beaming-chirping and chattering and now this! His heart cried and howled at the screaming injustice.

Totally bewildered by what had happened and still not fully able to comprehend the hows and whys of the arrest, Sumer was finding it difficult, oh so achingly difficult, to come to terms with the reality around him. Last, as he was, in the labyrinth of his own thoughts, he had forgotten. Manoj and Kapil, the two young boys who had, like him been unjustly framed by the police. Manoj, the elder of the two, having just completed his 19^th year, and Kapil not yet out of his teens both presented a pathetic sight. They were as innocent of the crime as he was. His heart went out to the poor, wretched lost souls, who were huddled in a corner, whispering and babbling incoherently.

He looked at them, huddled, together under a filthy blanket. From where did the blanked materialize? He wondered. Now and then an uncontrollable spasm of anguish gripped their bodies, making them tremble, gasp and writhe. They reminded him of two miserable little kittens, frisky and full of spunky mischief, a few hours ago, and then, suddenly taken imprisoned by a group of sadistically mischievous boys, mauled, agonized, tortured and maltreated, and now, looking upon the entire world with suspicion and distrust.

Sumer looked at his watch. It was 5 A.M. where were the boys the entire night? Did they sleep? Did they eat? Were they tortured? A thousand and one questions hammered away at his brain. Suddenly a stifled sob came cutting into the brooding rancor of his mind.

“Sir, what is going to happen to us? We are so scared! What if we have to remain in jail for the rest of our lives?” This heart rending cry emanated from the parched lips of Kapil, the younger one.

Manoj, the elder one stifled a groan, and started consoling Kapil, Sumer was profoundly touched. He walked up to them and patted them, trying to dispel their fears.

“Don’t be such cry babies. Everything will be alright. Why will you remain in jail? What have you done to deserve such a punishment? By the way where were you the entire night?”

“In a dingy malodorous room in the far corner, and the entire night several policemen were grilling us, torturing us, slapping, kicking boxing and beating us. S.ir and pressurizing us to admit that we beat up the driver and you instigated us S..ir. Is there no justice in this world? Why is the police so brutal, Sit? Aren’t they supposed to be our protectors? Look, Sir my entire body is bruised,” and Manoj pushed up his shirt to reveal a badly bruised and lacerated back.

Sumer flinched. This was getting too much, simply too much. It was awful, so awful.

God, are you seeing? Can you hear the cries of these innocent children? Can you? Can you? Or have you become hard of hearing? Old and feeble? Doddering debilitated and effete? Or have you yielded, like the rest of us to a weary resignation? To a fatigued surrender? Succumbed to the diabolical, demonical machinations of these black-hearted fiendish, depraved and debased super-men? Don’t wince like that! Do you think I am talking gibberish once again? Flinging and hurling abuses at you? Accusing you of non-existent and imaginary ills? Perish the thought? Earlier, I merely suspected, now I firmly believe, that you have been caught in a web of your own making Tch-Tch. Poor God? Ineffectual and impotent God! Callous and cruel God! Cowardly and spineless, God! A pathetic invalid, mentally emasculated God! How can you help us? You who yourself need help….! Help against those who are trying to impersonate you trying to browbeat, bamboozle and bull-doze you into submission “Ha”. My sympathies are with you. Go, Go and sleep over our troubles or do whatever Gods do at 5 O’clock in the morning, and leave us alone, Go Vanish, Disappear, I forgive you, for you know not what you do.

“Sir, sir, sir what are you muttering? What are you? Muttering sir? Sir, sir?” This was a bemused Manoj shaking Sumer ou of his trance. An extremely embarrassed Sumer jerked himself free from his contemplation, and with the by now, perspiration soaked handkerchief tried to wipe away the last vestiges of morose thoughtfulness from his face. To hide his mortification, he took out the last remaining cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and started exhaling one sad, misshapen crooked smoke-ring after another.

“Sir, hadn’t you given up smoking?” Asked a concerned Manoj.

“Oh, yes, I had, but under this sorry state of affairs, it can’t be helped. One has to while away the time and what better way than a cheap little cigarette? Moreover, it also helps in releasing some of my pent-up anger. It’s a blessing in many ways, y’know. By the way, this is my last remaining cigarette, sad, isn’t it?” And with that he blew out another sad, bizarre smoke ring.

“Suddenly another constable lumbered into the room, pock-marked face, bulbous nose, bushy brows, and all. Where was the S.H.O.? Sumer wondered the S.H.O. with his oily smile and effusive insincerity? He seemed to have totally vanished into thin air. Having carried out his duty, to the best of his ability, he must be sleeping the sleep of the content the contentment of a job well-done of a unjust order, unjustly executed!” Sumer reflected. But on what mission, has Bushy Brows come? Perhaps to execute some further unjust orders. and casting surreptitious looks around. “If you want to save your skin you will have to part with some money. That’s what Dh”

Bushy Brows walked purposely toward Sumer, what purpose, Sumer could not for the life of him imagine.

“Prof. Sahib, now that you are trapped, there is only one way out – Dhan Haani.” This was Bushy Brows, standing in front of them, with a furtive uneasy expression in his small ferret like eyes.

“Dhan Haani?” W..h..a..ts that?

“Dhan Haani, he reiterated, shifting the wad of betel leaf from one corner of his mouth to another, and chomping on it with a malevolent expression “Don’t you know what that means.” He asked dropping his voice

“So! They are asking me for a bribe.” The cheek! How dare they? These rapacious greedy, gluttonous money-guzzlers.” How dare they! These slimy, crawling ants of humanity!” Sumer was seething with righteous indignation but..............

A short extract from my unpublished novel-The Little Victims.

I think that stoop shouldered man is walking towards me.Face taut,gait unsteady.Does he have a message from Neha?Why is he looking at me apologetically?Oh no,isn't Neha coming?But no he has nothing to say,he merely looks at me with questioning eyes.What unasked questions hover on his parched lips?What is he trying to say?Speak up you wretchedly miserable man,what ails thee?Have I seen you somewhere?Jog,jog,I am jogging my memory.Yes,I think I saw you yesterday,a nameless face in the crowd.
"Namaste,Sir,"it was the miserable looking man,greeting Sumer."I am Manoj's father,I was here yesterday also but couldn't talk to you"
"Oh,namaste,namaste,I was wondering where I had seen you "
"Sir,what is all this happening,what is this world coming to,is there no justice in this world?Yeh to sarasar anyaya hai,who is going to listen to us?What will become of these innocent kids,what will become of you?"
"Oh,don't worry,everything will be alright,my friends will sort everything out,rest assured"
"Oh no sir,you don't know these people,they can stoop to any length.When will we get rid of this khaki peril?"and the stoop shouldered man walked away,face more taut,gait more unsteady.

An extract from my book,'Take The Plunge'

Hello,it is nice talking to strangers,don't you think so?Well,I love talking to strangers,getting to know them,striking a rapport with them,but some of us shun crowds,new faces,new situations,why?Because we are plagued by irrational fears.Why are we plagued by such irrational fears?Because we have made it a habit and habits, they say, die hard.
The fearful and the timid of the world say,'look before you leap'.Looking before  leaping is of course necessary but once you have looked enough,stop looking and take the leap,without any fear or inhibitions,but do look at the fear,do not close your eyes to it,if you see an apprehension,an unreasonable fear glaring at you,make funny faces at it and believe me, it will either vanish into thin air or simply slink away like a frightened rabbit.
We are so busy looking at closed doors,closed avenues that in this self defeating preoccupation,we overlook the opening of new doors,new vistas,new horizons.Minutes,hours and days quickly fly by so why should we waste our time in need less looking!
If you have a sturdy self confidence(not bordering on vanity or a haughty over confidence)coupled with stead fast courage,garnished with buoyant enthusiasm,you need not look before you leap!If you have the the tenacity of purpose,a strong will power and are not fearful of stumbling blocks,rebuffs and cold shoulders,leap and do not shrink,leap, for your self confidence will always come to your rescue.In this intensely competitive world,if you start looking around before taking the plunge,someone else will win the race.So leap and spend less time thinking about what may happen.
No ifs and buts,these ifs and buts are merely excuses,they are speed breakers,initiative sappers,they will only make you hedge and haw, remember,be a part of the rat race but set your own conditions."Ifs" and"only ifs" should be vanished from your vocabulary.They are the crutches of the lazy laggards,the third raters,the couch potatoes,the procrastinators.They deprive yuo of your initiative,swindle you,rob you,plunder and destroy you!

Kashmir, Oh my Kashmir !

Much as i would like to,I cannot get my thoughts away from Kashmir,especially at this time when the biggest festival of Kashmiri Pandits,Shivratri,is close at hand.I remember how we used to look forward to this festival,how excited we used to be.The celebrations of shivratri or Herath as we call it,used to last over 15 days and culminate on the actual day of the festival itself.Those who are not familiar with this Herath may consider it unusual but just think of the way diwali is celebrated,Shivratri for us is like diwali for non-kashmiris.
We play cards,we play with cowrie shells,we sing songs,we stay awake till late nights and all members of the family are supposed to be together.I have used the present tense,hoping that some kashmiris may still be celebrating it the same way.At the same time i know that things have changed since the mass exodus of pandits from the valley.We are all scattered now,families have broken up,our children have never experienced the herath of yore.So much has changed,we live in alien lands surrounded by people who have no idea of the importance of Shivratri for us.
When people become separated from their roots,they also start drifting away from their culture and the same seems to be happening to us.Slowly but surely,we are moving away from our customs and at the same time we are also beginning to adopt the customs of the places where we we have landed up.Let me cite a couple of examples.In kashmir,Navratras were not important,we never used to fast for nine days but now many of us have started fasting and also the non-vegetarians among us have stopped eating meat during these days.Another example is our following vegetarianism on Tuesdays,which was never the case in kashmir.Many of us,who ,as per tradition,used to cook non veg on Shivratri,have stopped doing so mosly for fear of what the neighbours will say.Another disturbing element is our inability to communicate in kashmiri with our kids with the result that our children cannot speak kashmiri.When we forget our language,we are in danger of losing our cultural identity and this frightens me!

We,the Kashmiri Pandits,are are in the midst of a huge crisis,we face the danger of losing our identity completely.As it is,we are very few in number,we are not united,we do not have anyone to lead us,some want to go back to Kashmir,some are happy where ever they are,some are content to live their lives in extended nostalgia and a few are more than willing to shed off their Kashmiri identities.All these are very disturbing trends and therefore we must ask ask ourselves-do we want to keep our Kashmiriyat alive or do we want to become an extinct community-?

Another question which crops up here is -what is Kashmiriyat,is there any such thing as Kashmiriyat at all-? Some say there cannot be a unified kashmiriyat ,Kashmiri muslims and Kashmiri pandits cannot have a common culture.I can understand the point of view of those who say this,they believe that people of different religions cannot share a common culture but i beg to differ,Muslims and Pandits have different religious practices which is natural but culturally we have so many things in common.We speak the same language,we,more or less,wear the same kinds of clothes,our eating habits ,with slight differences,are the same,our genes are the same,our way of living is the same and above all our love for Kashmir is the same.Can this not be called a common culture?As a kashmiri pandit,i feel that if we want to survive as Kashmiris,we must reach out to our muslim brethren,try to re- kindle the love of the past,join hands and move forward together.Let us all be one,let us forget our differences,if we are able to do this we will save ourselves from total extinction!

...here is a humble beginning.

….this is going to be my first foray into the world of blogging. I belong to Kashmir, a place which at present is discussed all over, because of violence and terrorism, a place where people do not identify themselves with India, a place where people take to the streets shouting slogans of “Azadi”, where innocent people are killed either by the militants or by the security forces- in short, a place which is badly in need of love and a healing touch.

I belong to the Kashmiri Pandit community which was forced to flee Kashmir because of the atmosphere of fear and terror created by some exteremist Islamic organisations. I was not a part of this exodus as I had migrated from Kashmir in the early seventies when Kashmir was a real paradise of peace and love. Therefore it can be said that I have not really suffered what the Kashmiri Pandits did, when they had to tear themselves away from their roots.

Nevertheless I also find myself homeless and rootless and would love to go back to my native land. I also believe that post exodus, the Kashmiri Muslims have suffered more than what we did and in fact have been facing terrible hardships for the last twenty years. It is time for all of us to come together, regardless of what religion we may belong to, and make efforts for creating a Kashmir of our dreams !!!