IS THE KASHMIR MOVEMENT REALLY ABOUT KASHMIRIYAT?

What is the basis of any movement ? A shared sense of identity, the foundation of which could be cultural, regional, linguistic or traditional commonality. And if one talks of Jammu and Kashmir and Pakistan occupied Kashmir in that context, or the ' Kashmir Movement' as the separatists term it, one finds a lot of disinformation ,or rather, lack of information all around. The separatists in Kashmir ( and Kashmir means only Kashmir, it doesn't include the regions of Jammu and Ladakh , which constitute a large part of the state of Jammu and Kashmir) talk of Kashmiriyat and claim it to be the basis of their movement of azadi or freedom for Kashmir.

Before moving further, it is important to understand the meaning of Kashmiriyat. Kashmiriyat or Kashmiriness means the ethno – national and social consciousness and cultural values of the Kashmiri people. And who are the Kashmiri people? Contrary to what the separatists and the self-proclaimed saviours of Kashmiri people claim, it is a legacy shared only by the Hindus and Muslims of the Kashmir valley. The fact is that the entire regions of Jammu, Ladakh and Pakistan occupied Kashmir do not share any cultural similarity with the valley, and, therefore, by logic, do not conform to the ideals of Kashmiriyat.The truth is that Jammu and Kashmir is an amalgamation of diverse linguistic and cultural traditions, and Kashmiriyat is only a small section of its vast cultural heritage.

Very often, more so in recent times, one has heard a Mehbooba Mufti or some separatist leader call out threateningly for a march to Muzaffarabad , in other words, to the part of Kashmir across the border. The fact is that there is no cultural, ethnic or linguistic similarity between Kashmir on this side and on the other side. The majority of the predominantly Muslim population in Pakistan occupied Kashmir is culturally and ethnically related to the people of northern Punjab and Jammu, which include such tribes as the Abbasis, the Maliks, the Ansaris, the Mughals, the Gujjars, the Jats, the Rajputs,the Qureshis and the Pashtuns, among others. Most of these tribes found in POK incidentally also happen to be a regional characteristic of Jammu region and not Kashmir as is wrongly assumed .The official language of Pakistan occupied Kashmir is Urdu but it is spoken only by a minority. The dominant language spoken there is Pahari, which is not even remotely connected to Kashmiri spoken in the Kashmir valley in India. Pahari is actually very close in character to Dogri , Pahari and Gojri languages spoken in different parts of Jammu region.

The fact is that the only similarity between the Kashmirs on the two sides of the border is that of religion. Like its counterpart across the border, Kashmir on this side also happens to be predominantly Muslim. So then does it all boil down to that one factor of religion? And therefore, is the notion of Kashmiriyat that is so commonly and liberally used by those wanting freedom for Kashmir, a mere sugarcoating of what essentially happens to be a very communal movement? And if it isn't communal, then why aren't the nearly five lakh displaced Kashmiri Pandits a part of this perceived vision? For ironically , it is only they who happen to be culturally, ethnically and linguistically aligned to the ethos of Kashmiriyat.

LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF RUSKIN BOND

Forgive me this interruption in LANES AND BYLANES…( I warned you of the unevevn ride).But today, I must write about Ruskin Bond, for I dreamt of him last night. In the dream, I was chasing him for a sound byte (blame it on my TV background) and Ruskin, being the gentleman that he is, did oblige me with one!

I am sure most of you have heard of Ruskin Bond. And for those who have not, here is a brief introduction of the much acclaimed and loved author. British by birth and an Indian by choice, Ruskin Bond has dedicated all his life to the written word. He writes from his hill abode of Mussoorie in Garhwal Himalayas and has been living there for more than forty five years now. I was first introduced to his writings in school.He has written a lot for children, stories, short stories and novellas and many of his stories are a part of curriculum in schools across the country. As a schoolgirl, I always found his stories delightful and fascinating, but what really converted me into a diehard fan of his was a non fiction work of his, a collection of diary extracts and personal essays, titled RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS. I got hold of a copy of this absolutely fantastic piece of work in my first year of college and was instantly bowled over by the heart-warming simplicity and down to earth beauty of his prose. He spoke of the trees, the mountains, the valleys and of ordinary people, very simple things, but things that struck an immediate and intense chord with the reader. And something within me changed dramatically. RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS taught me how to appreciate the simple joys and pleasures of life. It revealed to me the extraordinariness of the ordinary and the relevance of the mundane. I read that gripping piece of work again and again and again. It provided wings to my imagination and I promised myself that I would also write like him some day.

Such has been the powerful impact of Ruskin Bond's writing. But the gentle and unassuming author is too modest to accept that. Here's what he himself says about his writing , ' Amongst writers, I am not one of the big guns. I am not even a little gun. I prefer to see myself as just a small pebble lying on the beach. But I would like to think that I am a smooth, round, colourful pebble, and that someone will pick me up, derive a little pleasure from holding me, and possibly, even put me in his or her pocket. And if one tires of me, one can always throw me back into the sea. Perhaps a kindly wave will wash me ashore again, and someone else will pick me up.' (extract from the book, RUSKIN, OUR ENDURING BOND)

My first and only meeting with Ruskin Bond was quite dramatic. Exactly ten years ago, I made a quick trip to Mussoorie with some friends. It was the month of July and the rains had just set in. The hills wore a magnificent look and as Ruskin writes, ' one could watch from the window trees dripping and the mist climbing the valley ' (quote from the book, RUSKIN, OUR ENDURING BOND). The setting was just perfect for me to meet the biggest inspiration of my life. But how? That was the big question. I didn't know anything about his whereabouts in Mussoorie, neither did I know anyone who could get me the required information, for I was only a student then. The world of television was still a year away. I had read in RAIN IN THE MOUNTAINS that he lived in a rented accommodation called Ivy Cottage. But the book was written a few years ago. Ruskin could well have moved from there. Since there was no other clue, I trusted my instinct and dragging my friends along, set out on Mission Ruskin that rainy afternoon! Taking cues from the locals, we hurried up the hilly tracks to Ivy Cottage as rain drenched us to the bone. I didn't mind the rain at all, but my friends hated me for the torture.I could read it on their faces. Once we reached Ivy Cottage, they refused to accompany me upstairs, where Ruskin Bond lived with his adopted family. Leaving them down, and with tremendous apprehension, I knocked at the door. What if he didn't live there any more and worse, what if he didn't like my visiting uninvited? I was very nervous. One of Ruskin's grandsons opened the door. I told him the purpose of my visit. He told me to wait and went back . Few minutes later, Ruskin Bond appeared at the door.Yes, it was him, in flesh and blood standing right there in front of me. I was speechless and kept staring at him. Sensing my nervousness, Ruskin broke the silence, This is how the conversation went –

'Yes, young lady?'

'Sir, I am a huge fan of your writings. I came all the way from Delhi to meet you. I hope , I didn't disturb you.'

'Well, I was having my lunch! You came all by yourself?'

'No Sir, with a few friends.'

'Where are they?'

'They're waiting downstairs. They were too scared to come up.'

'What? You left them outside in the rain. Call them up.'

Soon all my friends joined me and we had a brief but very enriching conversation with the great wordsmith. And my respect and reverence for Ruskin Bond grew manifold.

Coming back to last night's dream. When I woke up in the morning, I got a pleasant surprise from my brother. He had brought me a Ruskin Bond book. And hold your breath, it had been autographed by and had a personal message for me from none other than…Ruskin Bond himself ! Actually, a famous bookstore in Delhi had organised an interaction with the author, just the other day. My brother who happened to be passing by the store, caught the sight of the famous author sitting inside and autographing books for his fans. Knowing very well my craziness for his works, he too got one autographed for me. And believe me, I haven't stopped smiling ever since I have caught hold of it.

To conclude, in Ruskin's own words, 'Life has not exactly been a bed of roses, yet, quite often, I have had roses out of season.'( from the book, RUSKIN, OUR ENDURING BOND)

MUSHARRAF AND HIS NINE LIVES

Pervez Musharraf, the invincible dictator, the ever scheming, plotting former General is history now. A thing unimaginable and seemingly out of question only about a year and half back is the fact and reality of today.

But what actually brought about his nemesis? Analysts say it was a combination of several factors, several issues that he got entangled in all at the same time. The first and the most powerful nail in the coffin proved to be his crackdown on the judiciary in Pakistan. On Musharraf's part, this was an attempt to crush the first ever serious voice of dissent within his own country against his autocratic rule. Used completely to having his own way always, Pervez Musharraf underestimated the power of a popular resurgence, which the lawyers' movement eventually became.

His next folly was his crackdown on the national media, the media which he himself allowed to flourish. It is an accepted fact in Pakistan that it was in Musharraf's regime that Pakistani media, TV industry in particular, grew by leaps and bounds. Musharraf's liberal policy towards the media, particularly in the last few years of his regime infused new life into an institution that had largely remained suppressed throughout the six decades of Pakistan's political, or rather, military history. Here again the clever General faltered badly. He failed to gauge the strength of an empowered media. The infamous ransacking of the Geo TV studios in Islamabad was broadcast live by the news channel and viewers throughout the country saw the spectacle of the forceful suppression of their right to freedom of information. This one act and the subsequent curbs on media alienated him from the thinking section of his population.

Soon after, two months to be precise, followed another event. On 10th of July, 2007, Pervez Musharraf ordered the storming of the Lal Masjid in Islamabad to flush out terrorists holed inside. The Lal Masjid episode was a desperate attempt by the former General to appease the powers in Washington who were increasingly getting uneasy and upset with the resurgence of Taliban and Al Qaeda in the areas bordering Afghanistan. Pervez Musharraf, who himself had overlooked and,. therefore, in a way, had allowed terrorist activities within and from Lal Masjid some years back felt intense pressure, and in a bid to prove his loyalty towards the war against terror, did the unimaginable.The act did win him the appreciation of Washington and the international community, but he got further alienated .Fundamentalist groups and factions, some of whom also happened to be his political allies, now became his sworn enemies.

All these factors combined with the changed political equation in Pakistan finally sounded the death knell for the former General who once very famously remarked that like the proverbial cat, he would survive nine lives .But, in his mad pursuit of power, what the former President of Pakistan completely forgot was that there is always a tenth life after the ninth!

LANES AND BY-LANES OF MUSHARRAF'S PAKISTAN– 1

As I sit writing this piece, news channels flash breaking news of a suicide attack in Lahore, amidst reports of Pervez Musharraf deciding to finally submit his resignation.And that reminds me of Sushant's comment in response to my previous post.You are right Sushant, there are grave and serious doubts about a Pakistan post-Musharraf.There is a big question mark there, as to whether Musharraf's exit would actually mean a genuine transition to democracy for Pakistan or would it just make the country a perfect playing ground for fundamentalist and jehadi forces.Our national security advisor has already expressed his concern about the same.We can only hope that whatever happens, happens for the good of the two countries and their people.

Anurag in a reply to my last post wanted me to write more about Pakistan, its people and my experiences there.It's impossible to write all of these in one post, for I have quite a number of them.Therefore, I have decided to write them one by one as and when they come to mind, not necessarily in a sequence.I hope you won't mind the uneven and bumpy ride!

Pakistan was a total mystery to me (in many ways it still is!) till the summer of 2003.Close on the heels of my action laden trip to the war zone in Iraq , came the opportunity to visit the hostile neighbouring country.After almost a year and a half of military standoff following the attack on the Indian Parliament in December 2001, relations between India and Pakistan were slowly beginning to get normal. And much to the relief of the natives of the two countries, new peace initiatives, or, as they say in diplomatic lingo, confidence building measures, were being announced left, right and centre. The two neighbours also announced to resume with much fanfare the stalled Delhi-Lahore bus service and journalists from both sides of the border were given a free ride aboard the much awaited Sada-e-sarhad (Call of the Frontier) ,as the service is officially called. As a part of the select group , I got the opportunity to savour the excitement and exhilaration of the historic moment firsthand. It took us eight hours to cover the 530 km long journey.

I remember the bus crossing Wagah border late in the evening amidst loud cheering and mad celebration. Emotions ran high as relatives from both sides hugged and cried and I felt a tug at heart.

Once in Lahore, we were literally mobbed by the local media, everyone wanting a sound byte or two and then there was the welcome party with garlands and flowers in their hands. The warmth of the locals was so overwhelming that we forgot our exhaustion completely.Those smiling, gleaming faces which looked so much like our own , the language and the mannerism so similar to ours took away all our inhibitions and we felt immediately at home.

A funny thing happened that night.Tired after the day's action, as I was preparing to retire in my hotel room, I got a call on the intercom. It was a local who introduced himself as a businessman.He wanted me to carry his message back home to the Indian Soap Queen, Ekta Kapoor that she should stop making those saas-bahu serials as they were becoming an obsession with Pakistani women.His lament was that his wife spent all her spare time watching the Ekta Kapoor soaps and doing so neglected him and the family completely.He also complained that all those devilish and crazy looking vamps in her soaps were a bad influence on Pakistani women and, consequently, the percentage of saas-bahu spats in their families had risen dramatically!! Assuring him that I would convey his message to Ms Kapoor, I hung up. Of course, the message was never conveyed and Ekta Kapoor continues to make those soaps to this day, not that she would have stopped spinning those crazy tales had I conveyed the message to her ! This funny little episode gave me an initial idea of the deep inroads that the Indian entertainment industry had made into the Pakistani society.More was to follow in the next few days.

My first trip to Lahore lasted only three days and I still remember the mad rush to squeeze as many stories as possible in that limited period. The trip was very, very restrictive and we could travel only with the Pakistani Information Ministry officials. Were we to venture out on our own, we had to be accompanied by an Information Ministry chosen local journalist who could keep a watch on the kind of stories that we were doing and ensure that we didn't do any negative stuff. The journo assigned to me was a family man in his forties and was extremely polished and sophisticated in manner.He often bad-mouthed Musharraf and his regime and said nasty things about the establishment and how it was not genuinely serious about improving relations with India.

I had a feeling that he said all those things just to instigate me to say more and reveal any negative intentions that I might be nursing as far as coverage was concerned. And I think, considering the long history of mistrust and hostility between the two countries, our suspicion of each other was but natural and pretty understandable. But not every journalist that I came across in Lahore had a motive or seemed to carry one. I had some truly wonderful experiences in that extremely warm and hospitable city. More of that later.

Pervez Musharraf and That Evening in Lahore

I know you are curious and thinking really hard.And though there is no direct link between the now impeachment facing Pakistani dictator and that lovely Lahore evening exactly a year and half ago, there is a powerful connection.Let me elaborate the story for you.

All journalists, who have visited Pakistan at some point in their careers, Indians in particular, get a taste of the ways and whims of the Pakistani army, and its notorious and all pervasive intelligence wing, the ISI . And we were no exceptions ! The year was 2007, and the month, January. Pervez Musharraf was very much in command and completely at the helm of affairs in Pakistan. After all, it was the eighth consecutive year of his largely unchallenged and completely dictatorial Presidency and he was still months away from the landmark lawyers' agitation, which ultimately led to his downfall and the rise of new political equations in Pakistan. The uniform and the Pakistani army's unwavering loyalty were strongly and resolutely behind him .No word of criticism against the former General was entertained and talking against him in public was
still a fearful prospect.

I was part of a group of journalists who went to Islamabad to cover a crucial round of talks between the two countries.After the summit, while everyone else prepared to get back home, me and my cameraperson, who,incidentally, also happened to be a woman, decided to extend our visit by a day and visit Lahore. I had an interesting story in mind and also some friends in the city to meet. Just before leaving leaving for Lahore, we also made a visit to the Pakistan Army Headquarters in Rawalpindi to get an interview with Musharraf fixed.Musharraf was out of town and since we just had a day in hand, the plan could not materialise. Nevertheless, we packed our bags and hired a taxi to Lahore.It was early evening and the drive to Lahore via the Islamabad-Lahore expressway was 5-6 hours,we were told.The driver seemed to be a decent guy who spoke less but sensing that we were Indians, played latest Hindi movie songs on the car stereo.

It was a comfortable drive and as the cold winter breeze shivered me, I wondered whether this was the same country that I had made three previous trips to, during each of which, I felt heavily restricted as far as intercity travel ,or, movement within a particular city was concerned. Could this be because of the improved dialogue and the resulting bonhomie between the two countries ? Had the trust between the two finally begun to register itself ? I wondered.

Late in the night, we reached Lahore, checked into a guest house, without any obstruction and my sense of surprise rose again. A friend in Lahore, working for a prominent Pakistani TV Channel took us out for dinner to a swanky restaurant, which we were told was a brothel before partition! The restaurant,called Cuckoo's Den presented a spectacular view of the historic city of Lahore and the beautifully illuminated Badshahi mosque from its terrace.We chatted over several servings of Paranthas and large helpings of delicious Punjabi Saag and for a moment, I completely forgot that I was sitting in Lahore, several miles away from home, in a hostile neighbouring country.It all seemed perfectly normal, with no one apparently snooping on us or stalking us.

We had a flight in the afternoon the next day and so we decided to shoot an exclusive interview with Begum Nawazish Ali, aka Ali Saleem, Pakistan's hugely popular cross dressing TV host, early next morning.We chose to conduct the interview in a park in the centre of the city.We went strolling into the park, without anyone stopping us or asking our whereabouts.And I wondered a hundredth time!! But,hold! There was action in the offing.

As soon as I started my walking interview with Ali Saleem, I noticed first signs of intrusion. A tall, thin bearded man in plain clothes appeared suddenly from nowhere and started following us around the park.Now Ali Saleem, or, Begum Nawazish is known for his Musharraf bashing and every now and then, he would mouth something or the other against the General. This made our dear man with beard inch further closer to us. And soon a cat and mouse sort of race ensued between the four of us inside the park. It was funny in a way, but quite worrying too. Exasperated and deeply troubled, we wound up the interview fast and left the park. As we waited outside the park for our journalist friend , Rashid (name changed) to pick us up , our stalker kept hovering around.

Rashid's car was a huge sight of relief for us. We immediately got into his car and told him the entire story.The stalker was still around, closely following Rashid's car. Rashid drove us straight to his TV office and in between calls from somewhere, made us sit in his cabin. We still had about three hours for our flight and wanted to catch up with a bit of shopping.Rashid had earlier promised us that he would take us to the concerned stores, but strangely, now he asked us to make a list of stuff and deputed his help to get things for us. He looked very tense, and to hide his nervousness, babbled nonstop. It was crazy, funny and bizarre, all at the same time. He wouldn't just let us budge from our seats in his cabin and as the time for our flight drew close, arranged for us to be dropped at the airport. And yes, our stalker followed us still and saw to it that we got straight into the airport and went nowhere else. Back home, I got no message from Rashid for several months, who still seemed to be reeling under the fear of being too friendly with an Indian journalist.Later, we got to know that we were being chased right from the time we stepped out of Army Headquarters in Rawalpindi! Such was the terror of Pervez Musharraf and the Pakistani Army!

Today, as Musharraf faces the Nawaz Sharief-Zardari sponsored impeachment motion on charges of undermining democracy in Pakistan and misappropriating funds, a huge 700 million US dollars, I wonder whether this actually will be the political demise of the dictator, who once famously remarked that he was like the proverbial cat with nine lives.Will he survive this time ? What will be the Army's stance? Has it also given up on its former General or are their surprises in store, things on the lines of the infamous October 1999 coup? Analysts say it's the final nail in the coffin. But knowing Musharraf and his notorious stubbornness, and the fact that he still has the authority to dissolve the national assembly and dismiss the Prime Minister, it is impossible to predict the outcome in advance. Although chances of this also dim in the light of the fact that the decision of dismissal has to be approved by the Supreme Court of Pakistan, whose sharp disapproval of Musharraf's doings is too well known now.

This is it as of now… more when we meet next!!

Response to the Comments

It was heartening to see so many responses to my maiden post. Equally exhilarating was the warm welcome accorded by fellow bloggers. My individual thanks to each one of you! Now I know it's going to be a very eventful and enriching journey ... this journey of conversations!

Rajesh, you are right in commenting that the force of religion is such that it blinds even the rational. But, as sensible and sensitive citizens of this country, we can, in our own miniscule and small way, spread the rationale of the hollowness and emptiness of religious one-upmanship. As I said in my earlier post, the idea is not to seek definitive answers or permanent solutions, the idea is to start honest, and agenda free conversations. I know it is easier said than done, for we all have our biases, religious or otherwise and individual preferences, but then that's the challenge and beauty of a forum like this. Isn't it?

Mihir, Hamida's story may be very ordinary, but it is a powerful indicator of the fact that the peace and religious tolerance were not an impossible entity in a state, which ironically today lacks both, thankfully in part to the agenda laden politics of regional and national politicians and in a large measure to the evil machinations of our friendly neighbor across the border. As a native of Jammu, I am aware of and am deeply sensitive to the Jammu psyche. That sentiment of being the overlooked and ignored lot against the ever and much appeased counterparts in Kashmir is known to me. There is no harm in voicing that, but tell me Mihir, what do we intend gaining by playing on the regional divide and religious sentiments? What difference would then remain between the separatists and the non separatists? Wouldn't this further strengthen the hands of the separatist forces who moot religious disparity as the core of the entire Kashmir movement?

And Rajiv and Sagar, I too wish our politicians were not so shameless and opportunistic. But what is the escape? After all, aren't we the ones who bring them to power from amongst ourselves only?

Lastly, Amit, thanks for appreciating the expression. That's what rain does to some people!

Shri Ganesh!!!

Why does one write a blog, or to be more precise, why have I decided to join the fraternity of blogs and bloggers? I mulled over this for quite some time and today against the backdrop of the incessant downpour, I seem to have gotten my answer. Rain is always a reason to rejoice, notwithstanding the water flooded streets, the open manholes, the traffic jams and the power cuts! A steady shower from the skies never fails to inspire the creative and cheer the ordinary. To the poet, the lyrical pitter patter on the roof and outside the window is a poem, to the musically inclined, it is a lilting melody and to the poor beggar sleeping out on the pavement under the open skies, it is another harsh moment in the endless train of miseries.

Good or bad, sweet or bitter, every downpour is a story in itself. And here I get my answer! Like the rain, I realise, I also have a story to say. The fact is that after almost a decade of chasing stories out in the big, wide world and trying to find answers within the TV studio, I still have a lot to say and seek answers for. There are stories and stories, of both personal and impersonal nature. Stories of people, of places, of events and of non events, and, I want to share these with likeminded or even differing souls. The purpose is not to reach conclusions or seek definitive answers. The purpose is to start a journey, a journey of conversations, honest, genuine, and agenda free conversations. And in the context of the current turmoil in my home state of J&K, the first story that comes to mind, is that of Hamida. Hamida is a distant memory today, but he will always be an unforgettable reminiscence of peaceful and much happier times in my beautiful state.

Many years ago, 1982 to be precise, I made my first trip to Kashmir. My father was posted in Srinagar and we were based in Jammu. I was a class one student and till that time had seen Kashmir only in Hindi films or in my father’s postcard collection. We decided to pay Papa a visit during the summer break. And although I was very young at that time, I still quite clearly remember shouting with joy as our bus entered the famous Eucalyptus tree lined stretch in Baramulla, a location so commonly used in Hindi films. My father lived in a pretty Kashmiri style government bungalow in Srinagar and Hamida, a young local Muslim boy was his domestic help.

Hamida was quite an endearing soul, who always had a big smile on his face. He made us delicious Kashmiri delicacies and hot steaming Kashmiri Kehwa at all hours. Whatever the time of the day, one just had to ask for something and Hamida would produce it right away. He was particularly kind to me and my little brother. Often we would shout….Hamidaaaaa, and he would rush to us with pockets full of goodies. Whenever we kids wanted some entertainment, Hamida would play us some music on the tape recorder. He was fond of singing and would sing often in the kitchen. And in those daily dreams like trips to the Mughal gardens of Kashmir, Hamida always accompanied us, telling us wonderful stories about the places. We found his stories about the famous Pari Mahal particularly enchanting. The tales of fairies visiting the abandoned fortress at night delighted us no end. On our treks to Shankaracharya, the famous Shiva temple, he would climb those never ending stairs holding our hands.

Our fascinating trip to Kashmir ended in ten days and we returned home to Jammu. Everything else was quickly forgotten in the hum drum of school life, but Hamida stayed fresh in memory. We made many subsequent trips to Kashmir, but never again met Hamida. Today when I see people in Jammu and Kashmir, the two regions of the state, create ruckus over the Amarnath Shrine Board land issue, I wonder what would be Hamida’s take on the issue? Would he still be as warm and friendly to us as he was then? Or would he look at us as enemies from Jammu? I wonder and I am not too sure.

As if the scourge of insurgency was not enough, the natives of the troubled state now also have to cope with the divisive politics of selfish politicians. Politicians, who are hell bent on fuelling hatred and animosity among the people of the two regions by inciting communal and regional sentiments. The motive is to widen beyond repair the already existing regional divide between Jammu and Kashmir. And the goal….petty electoral gains? Why else do you think would the issue be raked and blown out of proportion just a few months before the state goes to polls?

The government, both in the state and at centre, first allows the situation to worsen beyond return and now plans to hold all party meets to find an emergency solution. One wonders at such a delayed reaction to the deteriorated scenario. One can at best only hope that the current efforts are serious and that all parties across the political spectrum genuinely and earnestly work towards resolving the matter, rather than planning shrewdly on how to gain the most out of the volatile situation.

Heard a Kashmiri shopkeeper lament on national TV the other day… ‘ In siyasatdanon ne tabah kar diya iss riyasat ko’( these politicians have destroyed our state). This sadly is the bitter truth of Jammu and Kashmir today.