My Life in Kashmir!

Then came my turn to face my oppressors. ‘Pull down your pants, you bloody. Where did you hide the weapons?’ Sodomy struck my mind, as I thought it is now going to happen with me. These bastards are going to sodomize me. Oh! God save me. I refused, and within seconds, kicks, abuses, gun butts, lathis and fist blows made me weak. I was hurled to the police station; they tore my shirt away, put my head in a water tub mixed with salt and pepper, ironed my back, rolled my legs, burnt my face with hot iron rods and kicked me with their filthy jack boots. They made me to urinate on an electric heater, passed high voltage inverted currents via my hands and arms, injected fuels (usually diesel or petrol) into my blood vessels, harassed me sexually, which are now a very common form of torture in Kashmir. ‘Bastard, where the hell you were at the time of firing? Why didn’t you inform us about the presence of militants? Why did you accompany them? You Kashmiri bastards, terrorists, you support them; we will kill you all’. These questions haunt me till date. I tried hard to find answers to such wayward questions, but can’t find.

I was unable to move. My first beating by the democratic forces of India made me think  as to why Kashmir is not a part of India. Can your own security personnel beat you in such an inhumane way for no reason? This beating made me realize what the difference is between beatings by an affectionate father and those by a cruel Indian army man. This torture reminded me of my Dad who faced, that day, the same things at the same hands. I felt the pain of my Dad, of those lacs of Kashmiris who faced the same fate day in and day out from their oppressors.

India is calling Kashmir its integral part, but it is not. You are proving it by yourselves, by killing innocents, by raping our sisters and daughters, by harassing our elders, by putting our young behind bars. No matter how many tactics you follow, don’t you know that TRUTH can’t be vanquished by arms and charms? You also were under the British occupation. Are you still? No. The same is our case. We are today under your occupation but will not be forever. Read the graffiti on the walls of Kashmir; don’t rub these lines but preserve them for future references. Rub them when you will be forced to leave.

Do you know whose voice it is? Not actually mine, but of the whole of Kashmir. Of the whole generation which has grown up there, a whole generation you have killed, yet they are no closer to accepting you as anything but a foreign occupying power.