Mukhtar Ahmed

“I’ve lived in mountainous areas near Kargil most of my life, but I’ve seen the widest skies there, ensconced by nothing. We played by our own rules, and that was pretty much living too — freedom trickled down to an essentiality in each and every tiniest part of our existence there. In summers we’d play cricket sometimes, with enough space only for a pitch and trees surrounding the whole place — if the ball passed through the space in between the trees, it used to be a four; if it went above the trees it meant a six. On other occasions, we’d play beside a road, with only pitching space; that meant on one side there’s a slope down the valley and on the other, virtually a vertical uphill. What fun it was! And then come winters there was snow. It brought along with it the fondest of memories and happiness for everyone. We, the kids would spray water in the farms at night, and by the time we’d wake, it’d have turned into a beautiful plane of ice.

“It was another kind of world there. You were free — you could go anywhere, as far as you can, no matter. Sometimes when I used to feel blue or when my thoughts were the company I sought, I’d just leave and wander around, through the hilly pathways, after walking a while I’d reach a waterfall, still thinking, reading poetry at times, I’d return through some other meandering terrain. Poetry is natural to me; I have gained it through the community, belief in God and nature, and of course, my parents who write, for themselves. That has been my indelible source of understanding, inspiration and insight.

“I’ve seen plenty of those nights too when I was woken up at 2 am by sounds of shelling near our village and we’d have to run to military bunkers for shelter. As a kid, I’d just see those fireballs from the bunker, in the air tracing shiny paths, leaving a blazing trail. No matter what it was, all I could think at that time and age, was that it looked fascinating. I’ve seen a bombshell blasting right in the middle of my school, while we were studying in there. I realise now, that we slowly grew stronger inside. Through all of that, only stronger.
And yet I still can’t understand this life in a city, with far-reaching planes, no doubt, but still no skies for your minds and heart to wander.”

“Ae mauj-e-balaa, unko bhi zara, do chaar thape’De halke se,
Kuchh log abhi takk saahil se, toofan ka nazaara karte hain.”
(Oh tides of torment, notice those too,
who sit still at shores of the sea,
and fancy the sights of thunder at the horizon.)

— Mukhtar Ahmed​, Batch of 2015 Admissions.