Being Kashmiri
“It would be a blessing to be greeted by the pellets of snow in Gulmarg without any fear. I would love to view the remains of my grandparents’ house in Srinagar, and rebuild it from scratch.”
It’s tough being a unique teenager nowadays. But, I am a Kashmiri Pandit. In fact, I’m a dark-skinned Kashmiri with a sound education, minimal injuries and no indefinite curfew. In other words, a statistical rarity. For better or for worse, it does successfully set me apart from most of the people I meet.
Unfortunately, the state of Jammu and Kashmir is not the finest region to reside in currently; you know, the complete lack in any and all communication services? My parents picked up on this trend pretty early into their marriage and ensured my upbringing in a different geography. I grew up in Bangalore, and presently live in Mumbai — what I’m trying to say is people throw insults, pretence and unwanted advice my way, not stones.
Kashmiri ancestry is adept at bringing along its own type of baggage: several unwanted personality traits and notably redundant knowledge.
For instance, there exists a Kashmiri calendar that my parents and grandparents follow religiously; minorities will do anything to make themselves feel more important, especially when the government will not. The pressing problem with this practice is quite simply the calendar’s effectiveness.
The Kashmiri calendar seems to be a botched rendition of the Gregorian calendar. Upon comparison, for instance, the Chinese New Year this year was celebrated on the 5th of February and the Gregorian New Year was of course on the 31st of December. There’s a remarkable difference between the two events and the separate calendars make sense.
On the other hand, my birthday every year is on the 10th of May. My birthday according to my predecessors? 9th of May. I sincerely wonder how subtracting one date from a widely accepted calendar system warrants the creation of another calendar altogether.
In what can only be described as a cruel trick played by God, He ensured that I am always confused. I am in a constant state of conflict while my state is in constant conflict. What to eat, what to watch, when to sleep, what to pursue — never had a moment of clarity. All in all, I just consider myself fortunate that I am not half-circumcised. I think so.
The best part (if any) of being Kashmiri, however, is telling people about where I’m from. Most hide their horrified expression and opt for the affable “Oh! Nice!”. The best non-confrontational dialogue they can conjure is naturally the avenue they resort to. Recently though, I got asked, “Really! How?”. This reaction was unprecedented, to say the least. The man with the exclamation was stunned by my very existence.
In my early years, a few teachers garnered a soft spot for me, incorrectly assuming I’d been through terrible incidents in my life. Images of my father’s pashmina being stolen from my little hands by militants incessantly flashed across their minds. I didn’t mind, though. My grades were kicked up a notch. This is my nepotism and I’ll gladly take it.
Other people treat me like an arms dealer’s close relative. These individuals consistently greet me like they’ve known me for years. I don’t mind the mild fear; it is the only form of reparations my family is going to get, I’ve no doubt about it. Additionally, it is a bulletproof plan to make people be nice to you. It was a bulletproof plan leaving Kashmir too, though that took a rather literal turn.
But the best people come under a different category. These wonderful souls started consoling me. I barely even finish telling them before a stream of concern and tears are emitted with lightning speed. Honestly, while I appreciate the sentiment, save it for the people still there.
The problem with the Kashmiri image is that a lot of people think Kashmiris can be categorized as: tour guides in Srinagar, victims in shootings, aspiring/employed terrorists, or a part of the dance sequence in ‘Bumroh Bumroh’. But there are many of us who were fortunate enough to cease fire and seize opportunity; we have something more to give.
This might read as an attempt at a humorous take on Kashmir’s situation, but honestly, that’s all I have left. I do have a burning wish to visit my land, nonetheless. It would be a blessing to be greeted by the pellets of snow in Gulmarg without any fear. I would love to view the remains of my grandparents’ house in Srinagar and rebuild it from scratch. Textbooks and my living lineage have attempted to portray this plague-ridden region in the most wondrous light — the crown jewel of the North. Unfortunately, all I possess are dreams and hopes.
Despite everything, I love being Kashmiri. I got all of the hot beverages, the eccentric spices and none of the terror. Just a ridiculous surname.
Written by Abhay Budki.
‘I was pretty clueless post my 12th, with regard to the avenues I wanted to concentrate my energies into in life. I knew I liked writing and cracking people up, but that was about it. Now I’m not going to sit here and act as if FLAME has changed the very fabric of who I am because that’s a lie. But without a doubt, it has been instrumental in helping me realize where my passions lie, and what I want my future to look like. Not just this, but coming here and being one in a sea of many has made me realize the value of working towards your goals while wearing blinds and blocking out what you don’t need in your life. This college’s theatre and film communities are filled with brilliant minds, and they’ve taught me the painstaking but rewarding art behind any form of collaboration. What I’m trying to get at, is that if you really work towards something, this place will help you learn and help you grow.’ — Abhay on his experience at FLAME University.
