Archive for the ‘INDIA PAKISTAN’ Category

Prasoon’s Joshi’s Timeless Red Diary / Rashmi Talwar/ Kashmir Images


Screenshot Parsoon Joshi Timeless.jpgPoetic Session

Prasoon Joshi’s Timeless Red Diary

Rashmi Talwar

A sunny afternoon, on a Saturday, mercury touching 45-degree Celsius, the heritage street leading to the Golden Temple is swarming with a sea of faithfuls alongside inquisitors, shoppers and revellers. Weekends are particularly loaded in the border, heritage and holy city of Amritsar, for a Darshan of the glorious Golden Temple and Wagah Indo-Pak beating retreat ceremony, the latter, in an attempt to glimpse the chequered history of this neck of the forest.

The heritage street is dotted with the Spirit of Punjab- of bravery, sacrifice, and gaiety. On the same street, sun rays melt, dripping over the World’s First Partition Museum that sits gracefully yet humbly, in an otherwise majestic British Raj’s colonial building of erstwhile Town Hall; humming mournfully the stories of the city’s painful past.

Step in for a peep into the past and the Partition Museum grips the beholder in a recurring echo of a feeble whistle of a chuffing train leaving its platform. The haunting sound draws goosebumps on any sensitive soul. Resonating whistle, a poignant reminder, of the last forlorn call of escape, to tens of thousands of refugees, on both sides of the divide. Many of whom reached their destinations- slashed, cut-up, lifeless, hanging atop bloody exchange trains, in partition years. I am gripped with a memory of the Holocaust museum in Washington DC USA, with its similar unnerving sounds, stories, and heart-wrenching memorabilia.

Today, here, in this historic setting of the border city, we assemble, sit and talk to an extraordinaire creative guest wearing myriad hats and feathers- a class lyricist, songwriter, and ad-man -Prasoon Joshi. His widely acclaimed screenplay of the film- “Bhag Milkha Bhag”- particularly sits in tandem with the spirit of the museum. The heart twisting partition scenes in the film relived in cine-dom, displayed raw, blood-thirsty killings prior to the nation-split of August 1947. Parsoon, is the second guest poet to the museum, with earlier famous poet Gulzar- a refugee from Pakistan- who too stepped gingerly into the precincts of this terra firma ensconced with countless memories and stories of loss and deep pain.

Amritsar’s Partition Museum is the brainchild of London based Kishwar Desai, Chairperson of The Arts And Cultural Heritage Trust (TAACHT) that established the Museum at this border city; reminiscent of Jallianwala Bagh Massacre of 1919’s Baisakhi, freedom struggle and eventually felt every bit the pre and post partition gory, inhuman episodes following drawing of borders.

In a crisp black and white salwar kurta, holding a red diary Prasoon, copiously sets the mood for the darkness of those reddened blood nights and days of the great (awful) divide. The backdrop in the hall is a huge fabric fantoosh lighted under, that reads- “9423 Abducted women recovered from India sent to Pakistan …5510 Abducted women recovered from Pakistan sent to India. On 6th Dec 1947 and 31st July 1948”. Amidst the audience juts out a giant FretSaw wedged and cutting a brick wall, a shouting symbol of raw cuts, wounds, of nations divided with the nib of an unmerciful pen. The pen of Sir Cyril Radcliff – now referred to as the Radcliff Line between India and Pakistan.

On Prasoon’s young 40-plus shoulders, rests the mantle of Chairman of Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), a Padam Shree and several national and international feathers and recognitions. However, he carries his enormous successes with grace and honest humility. The lyricist has an enviable inventory. Plug into songs- Tarey Zameen Par, Khalbali, Roobaroo, Behkaa, Zinda, Saanson ki Saanson, Maula, Rehna Tu, Acha lagta hai, Hum Tum, Rang de Basanti and one is amazed at the remarkable diversity of his poetry. Hummable dewy softness of some of his creative work, curls, and spirals alternating with a forceful flush of words. Prasoon, took on the honored guest chair and remained unstoppable. His pearls of poetry gushed, soared and filled up the hall, dripping in a steady stream. Fans and guests invited by Phulkari, an NGO presided by Praneet Chopra along with Desai from London, paid heed and took back with them a huge treasure of word gems.

Prasoon, was instantly likable, at ease in his Indian wear, skimming through his red diary to choose and recite an apt one, another, then, another. He reflected on the setting of this unusual venue for poetry – “The partition Museum here is ‘a beating heart of collective consciousness of the past’, albeit a painful one. I am happy there is a ‘gallery of hope’ he added. “My songs too have a strong connect to the past, yet it is consciously continuous, reaching the present and envisioning the future. For the museum, my idea is to further build it, as a bridge between the past, the present, and future generations,” he noted. Throughout the interaction and recitation, Prasoon’s red diary conspicuously stood out as a character of an endearing past, in the modern tech-world of -Echo & Alexa – a far-field voice control audio device, where a command could play out any poetry recitation, written content or song or dialogue.

It came in a rush, with a familiar lyrics of song -Taare Zameen Par-

Dekho Inhein, Yeh Hain Oss Ki Bundein, Patto Ki Godd Mein, Aasmann Se Kudey, Angraayi Le Phir Karwat Badal Kar, Nazauk Se Moti Hasde Phishal Kar…. Khoo Na Jaaye Yeh, Taare Zameen Par.  (Look at them, they are the dewdrops, in the lap of leaves, they slide from the skies, drowsily stretching, then tossing and turning, these delicate pearls slip and glow in laughter…May they never be lost, these little stars on earth…)

  The writer’s flourish with words is widely perceived as his creative currency to transcend the usual with an unusual kink, especially in the ad-world. Remember – “Coca-cola, Britannia Biscuits, chloromint”. But this afternoon was different; it was a solemn setting apt to his poem “Dard ke Parinde”. Now actively involved with the upcoming film “Manikarnika- Queen of Jhansi” for an August release, Prasoon-the ad-man for “Swachh Bharat” campaign, on his political affinity, clears the air –“I am with anyone who thinks good for my country.” On another query to the CBFC’s chairman regarding controversy over a period film ‘Padmavat’, and closer home of film ‘Nanak Shah Fakir’, Prasoon took up for the filmmaker -“A filmmaker never deliberately makes an effort to disturb sensibilities, yet should never need to compromise with his /her creative instincts.”

The poet whose stirrings take on strongly for the girl child, with-“Iss Barr Nahi” (Not this time) has found favour with the likes of legendary Amitabh Bachchan, who recited this poem forcefully, to drill the message of empowerment of the girl child. The lyricist, who contributed tremendously to female gender upliftment through poetry, pegged in also as an enraged poet in –“Sharam Ati Hai?” (Do you feel shamed ?), yet another in the same genre – is an endearing one in folk style –“Babul”- Babul jeeya mora ghabarae, Babul mori itni araj sun li jo. Mohe Lohhar ke ghar deejo, jo mohri jangeerein piglaae. (Father, my heart is fearful, listen, to my only appeal, give me (in marriage) to a blacksmith, cause he alone shall melt my chains&shackles).

“There is an earthy granularity, texture, a tactile-tangibility in our language. I purely see it from a vantage point of detail and pour it into words,” Prasoon responds, on a query on creativity. “Plus the fact, of a childhood spent in scenic hills of Almora, my birthplace in the lap of Himalayas amidst hills of Kumaon, instead of a cityscape, truly gifted me a remarkable opportunity and ability to gain insight into the pulse of the real India”. Prasoon is undoubtedly a child of the earth, of idyllic spaces. Within him resides the soil’s unmistakeable innate fragrance, mirrored in his poetry. His years of quest with nature in quiet hills and love for books seem to have packed this delightful symphony of music and words within him. And he celebrates it at the slightest nudge; say those who have closely interacted with him.

“Recalling another song “Maa..” from ‘Tarrey..’And its whereabouts  – Prasoon says –“It was a memory when my mother left me for the first time at home to fulfill an errand. And I carved – “Main Kabhi Batlaata Nahi, Par Andhere Se Darta Hoon Main, Maa..” (I never tell you, but I fear the dark, Mama)”. For the audience, it became a poignant moment, when many a mother wiped a tear.

The largely female audience at once felt a connect, with a piece on the quintessential sister- “Bhen Aksar Tumse Bari Hoti Hai, Bhele Hi Tumse Choti Ho” (Often, a sister is elder to you, even if she is younger). The poet-songwriter did not shirk from generously sprinkling the evening with poetry of other greats – Har aadmī meñ hote haiñ das biis aadmī, jis ko bhī dekhnā ho, kai baar dekhnā  (Every man has 10-20 men within his embodiment, whosoever you look at, look at him multiple times) of  Nida Fazili.

It seemed like an afternoon, on a soft breeze, that attempted to become the wind, climbed up mountains, lunged into the skies, carrying moist teardrops, erupting into sunshine and rain, and bursting into hues and shades of rainbows.  Synchronically, sunrays quietly and quite unknowingly dipped into the horizon, slipped into an unacknowledged evening, and then a starry night, as poetry after poetry and encores on the way, loaded on emotions taking them into streets of relationships and labyrinth lanes of life.

In all this, my personal favourite was one relating to the feelings of teenage boys for their fathers –

Maa ki tareef karte karte, pata nahi kab mein Pita ke virodh hogayKia pita ka dosh, pita hona, ya samarth hona, ya purush hona? Mein pita ke samne dheeth hu, maa ke samne shaitaan, Mein pita ke samne chattan hu, maa ke samne nadii …Mein maa ke liye chup jata hu ,aur pita sa chupta hu, Mein maa ke samne prashan ki golai hu and pita ke samne uttar kin nok …Maa ke achar ke bayam agar dhoop se juda hote, toh mein unhe dhoop mein sarka deta hu, par pita ki fileon ke girte kazoon par mujhe kabhi taras nahi aya …

(While praising my mother, I recall not, exactly when, I grew against father. Was father’s fault in his being a father, or his capabilities, or plainly being male? Before father I am stubborn, before mother –naughty; Before father I am rock-strong, before mother- a river; I hide ‘for’ my mother and hide ‘from’ my father; I am a rounded globe of a question for mother, for father – a sharp point of a reply; if mother’s jar of pickle separates from the sunrays, I quietly push it in the fermenting sun again, For father’s dropping sheets from files, I show no such mercy…)

 

“Song is not an aim in itself’, but a milestone in movies, where silences and unsaid emotions get frolicked or manifested in the words of a song”, the artist with words who beautifully penned – “Chaloo hasi ko riwaz kar le …”( Let’s make laughter a culture, a tradition), inserts charmingly.

The rhythm of the evening carried through -“Sunshine Lanes” a repertoire of hardbound, of pure, quintessential poetry. A book on a ‘Journey of songs’ added with the ‘howaboutry’ of when, where, how the particular poetry was born, penned by Prasoon Joshi. “Dipping into visceral emotions – I write in images… poetry is a distilled piece of random jottings,” Prasoon concludes with a poetic flourish.

The red diary closes, resting, finally asleep, in the underarm, lulled by the heart nearby of its creator.

The haunting sound of a long whistle blows and blows, beckoning the traveler, the escapee, for one last call to freedom …

Rashmi Talwar, an Independent writer, can be emailed at: rashmitalwarno1@gmail.com

PUBLISHED IN KASHMIR IMAGES ON JUNE 2, 2018

URL:http://epaper.thekashmirimages.com/epaper/edition/147/kashmir-images/page/9

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Canadian Premier shows why he’s ‘Justin Singh’/ By Rashmi Talwar / Kashmir Images


Canadian Premier shows why he’s ‘Justin Singh’

Rashmi Talwar

Seemingly unmindful of Modi-led government’s half-hearted response to his visit, the Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau today visited Amritsar, enthralling the locals in a big way.

It may be recalled that Justin Trudeau’s visit was in a way, downplayed by the Union Government but his Punjab connection undoubtedly made it a memorable one.

If Justin Trudeau is sometimes also referred to as ‘Justin Singh’- it is not without a reason.

The Canadian Prime Minister, who has more Sikhs in his cabinet than his Indian counterpart Narendra Modi, today showed how close he is with the Sikh community when upon arrival in the holy city he straight away drove to the Golden Temple.

Attired in an embroidered Kurta-Pajama with a saffron ‘Patka’ on his head and accompanied by his wirfe Sophie Gregoire Trudeau in lime green Kameez Palazzo, and two of his three children Ella Grace and Xavier in Punjabi ethnic wear, the Premier was received by Union Minister Hardeep Singh Puri, and Navjot Singh Sidhu, State Minister for Tourism, at the Amritsar airport. Trudeau was received at the Golden Temple by former Deputy Chief Minister of Punjab and Akali Dal President Sukhbir Badal and taken around the ‘parikarma’ or circumbulation of the holy shrine by the office bearers of Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee (SGPC) including its president Gobind Singh Longowal.

The visiting Premier prayed at the Sanctum Santorum of the temple during an almost hour long visit to the shrine. Trudeau and his family also tried rolling out ‘rotis’ at the Guru Ram Dass Langar Hall, where pilgrims undertake voluntary kitchen chores for feeding other pilgrims. They greeted devotees with folded hands while scores of visitors could be seen holding their mobile phones to take pictures and videos with the Trudeaus.

A thick security blanket was in place in and around the Golden Temple with SGPC task force making a human chain to keep pilgrims at bay at the Temple premises. Trudeau was presented a specially crafted 24-Carat Gold plated portrait of the shrine and a gold plated Siri –Sahib (a small six inch sword) along with a ‘Siropa’- a robe of honour by the SGPC.

In the visitors book Justin Trudeau wrote-“What an honour to be so well received at such a beautiful, meaningful place. We are filled with grace & humility”.

 

 

“Super”- Dr Daljit Singh of Amritsar / By Rashmi Talwar


“Super”- Dr Daljit Singh of Amritsar

Rashmi Talwar

Other than the Magnificent Golden Temple and stimulus to the Freedom Struggle of India- the Jallianwala Bagh, much of world knew Amritsar as the place of renowned ophthalmologist Dr Daljit Singh, the inimitable surgeon and researcher who revolutionized eye care for the world.

“Being true to your Profession is the Biggest Patriotism!” Dr Daljit Singh believed, and followed this focus throughout his glorious innings.

True to his words his children Dr Ravijit Singh Dr Kiranjit Singh completed their surgeries while Dr Indu and Dr Seema prepared Dr Daljit Singh’s body for his last Journey, to join in, when he quietly passed away, after being in coma for a week.

This amply exhibits the dedication of this family towards a lofty mission of attending to the suffering, keeping all else on hold, before proceeding to their various tasks and toils.

Dr Ravijit Singh took the mike on the last condolence meet of the Bhog Ceremony of his beloved father Dr Daljit Singh- “Every father is a Superman for his children”, he started.
“My father too was a superman for us!”

As a boy nick named Ghuggu since he spoke nearly a year after his birth on 11 October 1934, Ghuggu became Daljit Singh, born to Sahib Singh, a Sikh academic of Sikh literature.

In the eyes of his children, he was a ‘Super Son’ who served his parents through their long illnesses.
Ravijit extolled, peeling away bit by bit to share hidden glimpses of the life and memories of his father, before a crowd of nearly 5000 people gathered, to pay respects to Amritsar’s Lofty son Dr Daljit Singh.

Our father was a – ‘Super Student’ making sketches of his teachers who often shunted him out of their class and like Aamir Khan of Three Idiots – a born learner, who would sit in the library and score more marks than the best of them!

A ‘super husband’ who had a love marriage in such times as in 1957. Dr Daljit wrote in his fiancée Sawarn’s gifted diary– ‘Professional competence is the best Patriotism’ and stood by it throughout.

A ‘super sportsman’ wherein his sons couldn’t beat him in carom, chess, table tennis or Billiards. A city club etched Dr Daljit Singh’s name twice as a Billiards Champion.

A ‘Super worker’ who worked 16-18 hours a day and rose at the crack of dawn.

A ‘Super Innovator’ who picked up a liquid from a dentist’s table and used it to create his revolutionary first intraocular lens.

A ‘Super Ophthalmologist’ who needs no introduction suffice to say, he won the Padam Shri, the fourth highest civilian award, in 1987. A Dr BC Roy Award credited with isolating three new genes causing congenital cataract and invented “plasma scalpel” for glaucoma and cataract surgery and pioneered a number of innovative and revolutionary surgical instruments.

At the same time a ‘Super instrumentalist’, who played the harmonium, the Tablaa, the flute and eventually left the world trying to master the elusive saxophone.

A ‘Super Techno’ who mastered every new technological innovation that emerged– “He would tell me my laptop or mobile needs upgradation, which meant that he was going to pass on his old laptop or phone to me to buy a new one for himself,” Dr Ravijit inserted with a smile.

A “Super Wi-Fi” with a super antenna to connect to people, track a needy, and help him without boasting. Keeping a Thursday free OPD for poor patients, since years. Also, helping hundreds of Kashmiri boys with pellet injuries who came in droves from trouble torn Kashmir valley. Many a times the family encouraged victims towards the path of education instead of a pointless future in stone pelleting. No wonder, on the sound of my hometown being ‘Amritsar’, many Kashmiris pounced on – ‘Do you know Dr Daljit Singh?’, during my many trips to Jammu and Kashmir. Dr Daljit Singh’s crowning glory was however restoring vision of 11 children, who had lost their eyesight in LPG cylinder blast at Independence Day celebrations in Orissa in 1986.

A “Super photographer” who bought new Cameras with each of his monthly salaries and took perfect shots- “We found his cameras in drawers, cupboards, every nook and corner of the house.”

A “Super Painter” who even intended to take a hobby course in painting towards the fag end of his life at the local Thukur Singh Art Gallery and painted 30 water colour landscapes in a go, along with a repertoire of hundreds of sketches, he left behind.

A ‘Super Author’ who penned over a dozen books on ophthalmology, Dr Singh wrote two poetry and three anthologies of essays: “Sach di Bhal Vich” (In search of truth), “Dooja Passa”(The other side) and “Badi di Jarh” (The root of evil) to educate rural masses about national and international issues. Noted Punjabi author and close friend Kulbir Singh Suri, son of late legendary Punjabi novelist Nanak Singh, said- Dr Singh wrote a book titled ‘Naroi Akh’ (Healthy Eye) in Punjabi decades ago. His three poetry books —‘Dharti Tirhai’, ‘Sidhre Bol’ and ‘Babre Bol’ have been translated into Urdu, English and Hindi.

‘Super Simple’ with no clue of his shirt matching his trousers or turban; often a red socks synchronised his step with a blue one.

And towards the conclusion when I and many amongst us assumed that the last Super-lative by Ravijit would be “Dr Daljit Singh was a ‘Super-Human!”, Dr Ravijit surprised us by adding –Our father was a “Super Teacher” – One who loved teaching, spreading, sharing his vast knowledge in the most simplistic way with everyone including on topics as diverse as economics, politics, finance, anything.

It is not every day a true human is born, with all his fullness, feelings, faults and fallacies.

In 2007-08, Dr Daljit Singh made noble efforts to set up a speciality charitable eye hospital in Nankana Sahib Pakistan along with a university to be named Guru Nanak Dev University in Nankana Sahib, the birthplace of the founder Sikh Guru Nanak Dev along with his Pak friend Prof TH Kirmani. Even offering to send Indian doctors to tutor Pak doctors and bring excellent eye care to the sacred land of Sikhs. Lamentingly, the agreement fell through. The demarcated land donated by a local resident Fazal Rabbani was occupied by Pak army and relations soured, over the years between the two nations.

At another juncture, Dr Daljit Singh, the surgeon, with as sharp a wit and forthrightness as his invented scalpel, remained unmindful of anyone’s stature or status and therefore couldn’t successfully win the diplomatic and flattery-ridden field of politics as an AAP candidate.

Alternately, he snatched 80,000 votes, a clean sweep by many standards as a greenhorn in politics, during MP elections 2014, from political heavyweights Arun Jaitley- and Capt Amarinder Singh- who went on to become Union Finance Minister and Chief Minister of Punjab, respectively. Dr Singh intended to bring clean governance from a political platform but couldn’t be manipulated to tell lies, half-truths or stoop to briberies.

Even though holding abhorrence for the political climate of our country, I became Dr Daljit Singh’s Media Manager, solely because he was a father figure to me. And I landed an opportunity to relive some times of our childhood days with him. In the late 60s and early 70s, Dr Daljit occasionally bicycled to our home from the Government Eye hospital opposite our house.

As children then, we lined up to see his bicycle with gears, a rare contraption those times, that held contiguous fascination for me for a long time. Sometimes he even took a shot at our Table Tennis table and once took multiple close-shot pictures of my sister’s hazel eyes, ever since, he focused they possessed rare blue specs in them.
“Fer Chaa piyao!” he would say on a rare chilly evening, while visiting home. And merrily slurp his tea, savouring every masala and mazaa of it.

On a closer note Dr Daljit told me – ‘Tu acha likhdi hain’ that sounded in present times like the Dangal ‘Shabaash’ of Mahavir Singh Phogat to his daughter Geeta winning the gold. And in return – ‘le meri kitab par’ and handed me a number of his books written by him originally in Punjabi.

Dr Daljit Singh’s family -Dr Ravjit Singh and Dr Kiranjit Singh – and daughters-in-law, Dr Indu R Singh and Dr Seema Singh, form a formidable team of eye surgeons.

On my visit to Dr Daljit Singh’s home after his passing away, I could sense that the home still held his warmth of touches, thoughts, his genius, and ensconced his family most lovingly.

I wish, I could bring that warmth in my home with one of his paintings, to get inspired by the Master by his Master strokes, never saying adieu to him.

Hamid Ansari: Indian Prisoner in Pakistan/ Rashmi Talwar/ Daily Kashmir Images


Screenshot Hamid hearing Nov1,2017.jpg
 

Hamid Ansari: Indian Prisoner in Pakistan/ Kashmir Images 
“My son committed a mistake, not a crime”: Fauzia
Hearing on November 1, Parents pray for mercy 
Rashmi Talwar 

Close on the heels of the forthcoming hearing in Indian Hamid Ansari’s case in Pakistan on November 1st, Fauzia Ansari, devastated mother of incarcerated Indian prisoner Hamid Ansari, pleads fervently to warring countries -India and Pakistan, to have mercy and release her innocent son.

“He committed a mistake not a crime”, Fauzia says in a broken voice to this correspondent soon after Ravneesh Kumar MEA spokesperson answered a query regarding the Indian Government’s efforts on consular access and the release of Hamid, in a press conference.
 
Hamid, lodged in Mardan Central Jail in Pakistan, had spent nearly five years in a Pak prison on framed charges of espionage. MEA in response at press conference stated “India had taken up the matter of Hamid with Pak government and expected an update on it soon”. The hearing is on Wednesday, and I pray for my son’s release to each set of governments. “He is innocent, repeats the distraught mother, a Hindi lecturer in a college in Mumbai.
 
The recent recovery of abducted Pakistani journalist Zeenat Shehzaadi (24) on October 19 has enflamed fresh hope for the release of Hamid. The Pak journalist was instrumental in tracing Fauzia and Nihal Ansari’s son Hamid in Pakistan. Zeenat’s investigative journalism led to admittance by police in Pakistan of being in custody of Hamid. In January 2016, Pakistan Police told Peshawar High Court that they had detained Hamid Nihal Ansari in 2012, and handed him over to intelligence officials. Four years later in February 2016, Hamid was deemed guilty of espionage and awarded a sentence of three years by a Pakistani military court.
 
Fauzia recalls – “I was in Mecca, holding the Kaaba for hours, seeking Blessings to find my son’s release, when I was persistently called on the phone. On calling back, I learnt it was Zeenat Shehzaadi who wanted to help me to locate my son and I promptly felt she was an angel who came as an answer to my prayers.”
 
Zeenat’s activism ruffled a few feathers. She was detained by ununiformed men and grilled for hours after she spoke to Indian High Commissioner at a public event. A week later, on August 19, 2015, she was waylaid by armed men and disappeared in mysterious circumstances during a rickshaw ride to work. Her disappearance had a shattering effect on her family, with her younger brother committing suicide in 2016, pining for her. She was released two years later recently on October 19, 2017. Her abduction had devastatingly shaken up Hamid’s family too.
 
Meantime, in Pakistan most journalists I talked to, felt that Hamid was innocent and only the two countries bitterness have mashed him between the wheels. Beena Sarwar a prominent Pak Journalist and researcher fervently pursued his and the abducted journalist Zeenat’s case. Taha Siddiqui Bureau Head of Wion News in Islamabad calls Hamid’s case – “A love affair turned into an espionage story.”
 
In Peshawar district, Rakshanda Naz an advocate and human rights activist, dealing with Hamid’s case is anxious on the approaching date of hearing. Talking over phone from Peshawar -“Mein Dua Karti Hu Ki Iss Barr Mein India Jaon Toh Hamid Ko Uski Ammi Ke Hawaley Karne.” (I wish I go to India this time, to hand over Hamid to his Mother). Fauzia tells me that Hamid’s lawyer Qazi Muhammad Anwar, from Peshawar, a Nishane-Imtiaz (highest civilian Award) Award winner and Naz didn’t charge them a single paisa for fighting the case of Hamid. A scared Fauzia after Zeenat’s abduction is terrified for their safety too.
 
Naz had met Hamid the first time he was produced before the court and many times thereafter with permission from authorities. “When Naz first met Hamid three and half years after his clandestine arrest, I asked her if he was wearing spectacles, she said ‘No’ and then I told her that he has a 6 and 6.5 number in both eyes and cannot see things even at a three meters distance. Naz and Anwar sahib got spectacles made for Hamid on their own, after I sent the doctor’s report to them,” Fauzia inserts and further says –“ Each minute of Hamid’s two and half days in Pakistan as an illegal entry, is accounted for and on record, how can he be charged with an espionage case? Even the fake identity card was given to him by his Pak Facebook friends prepared in ‘Pakistan’ who had lured and promised facilitation to Hamid to cross over from Afghanistan to Pakistan without any travel documents, as the border is porous. Soon after his two day stay with one of the FB friends, he was uncaringly deposited in a hotel in Kohat, Peshawar and tipped to the police by the same friends about his illegal entry. The police arrested him an hour after his check in at the hotel. Then, when did Hamid indulge in espionage activities? My son is not in government security services and has a clean background, well accounted for, then why aren’t Pakistan’s own citizens (friends) being probed, investigated to reach the truth?
 
Naz had filed an affidavit to shift Hamid to a more safer jail after the Indian was attacked in Peshawar jail- “The deteriorating relations between India – Pak proved heavy for Hamid when a Jail Havaldar of Kashmiri origin from Pak Administered Kashmir attacked Hamid in fury over situation in Indian side of Kashmir-“The Havaldar has been suspended and shifted from the jail. While Hamid was also shifted to Mardan Central Jail”, Naz filled in.
 
Naz says “I feel as a mother for Hamid who is innocent of the charges. Mein pur-umeed Hu Ki Hamid Ko Rehaa Kar Diya Jayga’ (I am fully hopeful that Hamid would be released).” And further adds- “Hamid’s name is recorded in the list of prisoners. I have access to talk to him every Monday on the phone. Whenever I meet him, I carry some eatables for him with permission from jail authorities and in return Hamid had created two beautiful beaded Karas (bangles) and a handbag for me. He intends to make more for his Ammi and Naani Ammi.
 
This February when I travelled to India, I carried a prayer cloth (Roomali) that Hamid gave me for his mother and handed it over to her.” Fauzia on her part has carefully put the unwashed-cloth wrapped in polythene and secretly sits with it to smell the fragrance of her son, denied as she is any visa for a visit to Pakistan. “No one knows about this little piece of my son’s body fragrance that I keep with me to feel him from afar”, Fauzia cries painfully on the phone. I just pray for his return every waking and sleeping moment of time”, she talks in a broken voice.
 
“Sushma Swaraj the External affairs minister has assured me in my six meetings with her mostly in Delhi and one when she came to Mumbai. I firmly believe her. She dealt with me like one mother to another. She takes up visa cases for terminally ill patients from Pakistan and I have full hope she will do her best for her Indian son.”
 
Naz on her part is scheduled to reach Mardan central on October 31st, a day before the hearing, and would pass on a letter to Hamid written by his mother Fauzia. I ask her what she plans to carry for Hamid – “It maybe – Shunwari Kabali Palao, Dor Pranthas, Anar or Milak powder milk. Let’s see what I can do, plus an English dictionary, newspapers and magazines, with permission from jail authorities”, she says.
 
On an earlier occasion, when asked about who would she want to be released first -Hamid her son or Zeenat Shehzaadi the Pak journalist? Fauzia had unflinchingly said – “Zeenat”, as I feel morally responsible for her abduction”.
 
Honey Trapped: Hamid Ansari’s surreal story
 
Hamid’s story involves the core country triangle of India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Fauzia, describes her young handsome son as Mumbai-based MBA and an I T Engineer, a Rotary Club president 2012, before he proceeded to Kabul on November 4, 2012 for a job in Afghanistan’s Aviation sector on a tourist visa.
 
“Till November 10, he was in touch with the family via Tele no. +93707295124 and expected back on Nov15th”, she adds. Alarmed by the lost connection thereafter and Hamid’s non-arrival on the appointed date, the family went through his Facebook account. “Hamid had not logged out from Facebook on our home computer and therefore we became privy to his entire conversational details”, says Fauzia.
 
“His Facebook account revealed- Hamid was in regular contact with Pakistani friends Atta-Ur-Rehman, Saba Khan, Abdulla Zaid Khatak, Humaira Hanif, Dr. Shazia Khan and a tribal girl of Kohat, named Nadia.” Based on conversations, Fauzia believes Nadia was more close to him, and revealed to him that she was a victim of “VANI”- a prevalent social evil by a Jirga (council of village elders ) who had ordered her into a forcibly marriage as punishment for crime committed by her male relatives. Hamid, determined to save Nadia was egged on and coaxed by other Pakistani friends to cross over from the porous Torkham border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. “Did he possess a visa for Pakistan?” “No”! The mother replies- “Hamid had no legal documents for travelling to Pakistan.”
 
“Among Hamid’s Pakistani friends Atta-Ur- Rehman, kept Hamid in his house for two days and on the third day Abdullah Khatak deposited him in Palwasha Hotel in Kohat from where he was whisked away in an hour by the Pakistan police. This account was according to a young Pakistani journalist Zeenat Shehzaadi, who investigated Hamid’s case. She came in touch with his case, through Pakistan’s Human Rights Commission, an independent non-profit organization, which was seized about the matter of Hamid’s case. “It was clearly a case of honey-trap,” Fauzia says, on learning about sequence of events, mostly from Zeenat.
 
Zeenat who regularly updated her status on social media Facebook, last updated her post on August 18, 2015 and has vanished ever since, claims Fauzia.
 
“Zeenat came in our contact in May 2013. She filed habeas corpus petition on my behalf (as mother) in Peshawar high court (w.p.#1082/2014) and also registered an appeal in Supreme Court of Pakistan, Human Rights Cell which promptly formed JIT to investigate the case. The petition was last heard in Peshawar High Court on 13th January 2016. The Court ruled with ref to wp/1082/2014 based on the report by DAG that Hamid my son is under military custody and being tried. Hamid was tried in military court and got sentenced for 3 years imprisonment for the alleged charges of espionage.”
 
Holding back tears, Fauzia says –“My son has been incarcerated for a period of more than four years (Nov-2012 to Nov 2016) in Peshawar Jail. In March 2016, I filed a mercy petition for clemency for the period spent in custody to be considered, but my plea was dismissed.
 
Our visa applications to visit Pakistan to see my son were rejected, I appeal to Pak government to release my son Hamid on compassionate grounds as he has suffered enough for his innocent fault”.
 
A flicker of hope in humanity came from people like Qazi Muhammad Anwar and Rakshanda Naz, who didn’t charge me a single rupee for handling Hamid’s case and I am eternally grateful to them.” And adds –“Till my son returns home, my cup of woes will be full.”
 
Hamid has already filed a petition seeking commissioning of his sentence to include the period he was held under custody, that completes his jail term of three years which would move the wheels of legal process more swiftly, for his release orders. It has yet to be seen how Hamid’s case shapes up during the forthcoming hearing on November-1st.
 
Amritsar based writer is an Independent Journalist and can be emailed at: rashmitalwarno1@gmail.com

Kargil-V Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum, A Walk Into The Past/By Rashmi Talwar/ Kashmir Images


Screenshot Munshi Aziz Museum Part VDATELINE KARGIL PART V

Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum, A Walk Into The Past 
Rashmi Talwar

The sun became milder taking on a tangerine halo. As we returned to Kargil, I was to learn a Hill-folk jugaad- Reversing the vehicle deep into a waterfall on the road, gave a fabulous car-wash! The trade through silk route was etched along waterways and rivers; Munshi Aziz Bhat was one such towering Silk Route trader, a pioneer, visionary, social entrepreneur and above all a collector.

Sarai- a treasure trove

Along the gushing Suru River, Munshi Aziz Bhat built a Caravan Sarai in 1920 and a wooden bridge over the raging river. The three storied Sarai besides serving as an Inn for travellers and traders from Kashmir, Tibet, China, India and Central Asia, had seven shops set up by Bhat. The ground floor used as stable for rest and feed to transport animals and a comfort zone for exchange of goods, cultures and news. Rich and precious wares along with commodities were bartered or bargained. A treasure trove of these collections was accidently discovered by Bhat’s grandson Ajaz Hussain Munshi. “We were about to raze the old Sarai building but ended up curating its treasures into –‘Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum of Central Asian and Kargil Trade Artefacts’.

The story went like this – “A mason chanced upon a sizeable turquoise in the Sarai building and informed us. My father, who was ill at the time, told us about many such possessions and goods lying in the basement of the Sarai. Around this time a researcher Jacqueline Fewkes came looking for us, she had letters in her possession from my grandfather. That was a turning and starting point of the museum set up in 2004,” Ajaz, its curator tells us, and adds “ In 2005 the museum that was then supported by India Foundation for the Arts and Roots Collective, attracted researcher Latika Gupta to Kargil as its curator. The result was a building designed to look like a thriving old market, above our home!”

Walk into History

I walk the trail to the museum, which is just a few steep steps ascending, shadowed by leaves of fruiting ripe apricots and still-green baby grapes. The view from here is spectacular of mountains overlooking the Suru River.

The museum proved an exceptional glimpse into the Indian and Central Asian trader-culture of 19th and early 20th centuries. Collection of artefacts and mercantile, exhibit the enormous range, apart from services, jingling their merry ways, on many maritime and overland trajectories of Silk Route, by traders. Adding on to the story –“The traders were as varied as their buttons ! – Punjabis and Kashmiris, Afghanis and Persians, Chinese and Tibetans, Spaniards and Somalians, Egyptians and Italians rubbed shoulders, broke bread and bartered and bargained for goods with Dardis, Argons, Baltis, Bohto, Purkis, Tajiks and Uzbeks. One can imagine the loads and varieties of goods that arrived here.

Many such items were stored in the Sarai. We found some 4,000 pieces dating back to 1800s, and set up the exhibits along with my brother, Gulzar Hussain Munshi as Director and Muzammil Hussain Munshi as its outreach programmer,” the Curator of the museum fills in.
Interestingly, “Munshi Aziz Bhat, was once the official petition drafter for Maharaja of Kashmir, before he ventured into trade which was mostly then controlled by Punjabi Sikhs and Hoshiarpuri Hindu Lalas. Kargil Khazana, Resham Raasta and the Sarai, encased the narrative of life in Kargil- a melting pot of trades.” Ajaz explained –“Kargil is a nodal point, equidistance from both Leh and Srinagar, in addition to links with Tibet, China, through Gilgit-Baltistan to Afghanistan, gave it an enviable position in Karakoram ranges lower than Himalayas comparatively being an easier passage for traders,” Ajaz pools in, while showing us horse saddles from British times, bridals, drapings, camel trappings, horse foot nails from ‘Mustang & Sons’ and equine accessories of yore. Besides polo sticks and balls, helmets and gloves.

Plant that preserves

I lift up a dry twig, placed in every glass enclosure of artefacts, clothing, paper testaments -everywhere– “what is this?” “It’s dried Khampa twig to prevent critters, moths, beetles, termite, silver fish and every other bug”, and I learn another hill folk nuskha – prescription.

Memorabilia

The mercantile turned memorabilia is an enduring peek into lives of merchants, horsemen, herders, pilgrims, artisans, nomads, travellers and farmers that despatched and received essentials and the luxurious. Besides this, the path saw many a wayfarer, besides potters, weavers, jewellers, blacksmiths, cooks, porters, even pimps, prostitutes and Princes. “The overland and sea silk routes were famous during the reign of Alexander the Great and Han Dynasty in China and became a transcontinental thoroughfare for goods transported using horses, mules and donkeys, to camels and yaks, besides on foot”, feeds in the curator.

I am completely astonished by packets of chemical dyes of Batakh brand from my hometown Amritsar, from late 19th century, the brand carried through 60s and 70s too.
Munshi holds one of the three jade pieces –“This is a ‘Zehr Mohra’ cup that detects any poison by changing colour of the brew.” Then removing his ring, he pulled a whole yarn of Dhaka Malmal’- one of the most prized fabrics produced in Bangladesh, and made it pass smoothly through the ring.

A gramophone of 1905 by Columbia, a lantern dating to year of Indo-China war of 1962, German petromax lantern, huge stone cauldrons and giant ladles used during festivities, samovars and bukharis from Bukhara, a pair of colourful socks from Yarkand, opium snuff-boxes from all over and their dainty cases are all here.

“We even have documentary proof that the King of Hapur in Skardu owes 6,000 in silver currency to my grandfather,” Ajaz laughs showing us a rare Russian 100 rouble that made its way to Kargil measuring 48 sq inch rectangle.

The artefacts range is extensive, Nanakshahi coins and currencies of the world, jewellery, carpets, hosiery, utensils, clothing, armoury to paintings and manuscripts. Assorted caps – Kashmiri, Karakul, Tajik, Uzbek, Kyrgyz, Mangolian, Turkish, Balti and Glass Shades from Yugoslavia, Germany and England too are displayed in the Museum.

Trends and Happiness quotient

Many types of merchandise set up trends for the elite. If one was to serve Hookah, Yarkand ones were considered the best. If rugs were to be bought they had to be the Kashgar ones, thus silks from Khotan, buttons and combs from Italy, “every item hides a story of its travels” the museum director Gulzar Hussain Munshi believes. Similar were the inclinations for food- as in salt from Akshai Chin, spices from Hind, Rice from Kashmir. It was thus fashionable to serve Tea from Tibet and Apricots from Skardu.

Kargil’s large heartedness is evident in their hospitality, in not over-charging tourists and visitors, their Happiness quotient thus, is high, which manifests itself in the fact that many additions to the museum were free contributions from the local populace, for instance, a recent gift of hand-written Koran along with precious Tibetan manuscripts claimed by owner to be about 600 years old. Ravinder Nath and his wife Madhubala the lone Hindu family of Kargil gifted the family’s prized possession – a “Passport” issued to Ravinder’s grandfather Amar Chand – which reads – Lala Amarchand resident of Jahan Kalan, Hoshiarpur, issued by the order of ‘Her Majesty Counsel General at Kashgar’- British Subject by Law”. It may be one of the rarest of passports. Once the museum attracted attention, the tourism department too promoted it and along with that came the trust. Thus, locals who were suspicious of antique proxies started contributing voluntarily. “No one has ever asked me for money,” Ajaz beams with pride.

Photographic memory

The photographic display of Italian geographer and explorer Giotto Dainelli taken in 1904, of rows of caravans of camels, mules and horses – carrying traders along this historic route, did set the stage for documenting the precious history of the bubbling cauldron of trade. This is amply supplemented by Rupert Wilmot’s collection -‘The lost world of Ladakh Early Photographic journey 1931-34,’ as a feast, to draw and delight generations.

On Heritage track

The incredible wheel of trade may have been clogged by war-boundaries, but the trodden paths have left in their tracks, a treasure chest of exquisite heritage that Kargil sits on, waiting to be explored and showcased for the world.
The scorching heat melts, dipping into light cirrus clouds, the smouldering light of the morn, curls and spirals into a dramatic sky theatre before curtains call. Unquestionably, tomorrow is just a wink away when silk rays will again draft a new Horizon; every snowflake will reveal its story. To inquisitive tourists, descending upon this region to peek into Kargil’s glorious past of Emperors, Kings and Queens, of palaces and forts, sculptors and faiths, savouring its surreal tales and exquisite beauty.

Rashmi Talwar, is an Amritsar based Independent Writer, can be emailed at: rashmitalwarno1@gmail.com

URL:http://dailykashmirimages.com/Details/149180/munshi-aziz-bhat-museum-a-walk-into-the-past?

Photos : KT Hosain Ibn Khalo

Kargil–IV: Preserving History above 8000 feet- ‘Unlock Hunderman’ /By Rashmi Talwar/ Kashmir Images


Screenshot Hunderman Museum corr Part IV.jpgDateline Kargil –IV

Preserving History above 8000 feet- ‘Unlock Hunderman’

Rashmi Talwar

If history be the subject, Museums blaze a trail of past.

August-September are scorching months in #Kargil. Yet people wear full sleeves, even winter attire, unresponsive, unmindful of weather changes or probably wanting to lock the heat and save it for seven months of icy winters. They draw apart curtains and soak in the sun, its warmth succours weary bones from the onslaught of frosty temperatures dipping to -40° C.

Leaving the sizzling sun of the valley, ascending along the hopping Suru River- a tributary of the Mighty Indus, we head to India Pakistan’s LoC (Line of Control), to the first museum in a ‘ghost’ village of ‘#Hunderman Brok’. The ribboned road along menacing cliffs, which once heard and heeded to war clarions, ominous evacuations, sirens, bombs and displacement; manoeuvres a taxing steep gradient to the village.

“Drive along the mountain or we’ll get blown away”, I shout remembering the Sydney skywalk with a handcuffed hand and the chain moving along a railing keeping one safe from being blown off. The hill-folk guffaw at my fears. Suddenly, signboards appear-“Mine Area – Don’t move away from road edges”. It is explained as –‘When India captured these heights occupied by Pakistan in 1971 war, the departing army laid mines’. Deep below, along the river, snakes a thin track of the ‘old silk route’- that connects Gilgit-Baltistan, Yarkand, Tibet and China. It was once a bustling trade route traversed by Kafilas – caravans of horses and mules, Bactrian camels (double- humped) and donkeys that fetched treasures, bartered or bought.

Nearly at the top, we come across MTS (Maggi & Tea Shack), a sure-shot sight in any mountainous remote area of interest. This MTS is different; it has four pairs of binoculars and acts as a guide to peek at LoC peaks and a Pakistani village. No one can stamp the validity about the topography, however, excited tourists spend more than an hour discussing ‘which one’, ‘this one’, ‘that one’ till the fragrance of freshly brewed tea and Maggi instant Noodles wafts from the shack and suddenly everyone is famished. The shack owner knows it.

Just a few yards ahead, village Hunderman Brok, the last forward post on the LoC, appears like pigeon-holes beaded into the mountainside. From 1947 Partition to 1971, the tiny hamlet was under the control of Pakistan, and wrested by India during 1971 war. Many villagers fled to Pakistan, while few who were visiting other parts of Pakistan could never return. Having never seen a moment of tranquillity, a sizeable population from what was left, shifted to upper Hunderman.

According to Muzammil Hussain, co-founder and president of Roots Collective (Non-Profit based in Kargil) who collated oral histories to bring the war-locked territory into the limelight with -‘Unlock Hunderman—Museum of Memories’, people here call themselves ‘Samgrongva – belonging to three places – as they came from Poyen and Karkechu in Kargil town and habituated to Hunderman. Estimates put Hunderman, to be 500-year-old Purgi settlement; however its inhabitants believe it to be older than British and Mughal empires. The village in ruins lays out the perfect foreground to the museum, of life of villagers on the LoC before 1971.

Manipulating a steep trek descending and then ascending, I wish there was a rope bridge slung across to connect the two mountainsides to give tourists an added feeling of ingenuity of mountainous regions. A café added with village preparations and a shop-let to sell indigenous produce, something to bring back home, could be an additional attraction. Setting aside my thoughts we make our way balancing on thin mud tracks built over skeleton of tree trunks beneath, and hunch to enter the dwarf-doorway of the private museum. It looks like a museum within a museum, curated by Muzammil Hussain and co-curated by Ilyas Ansari in Ansari’s ancestral home. “The initiative and support for museum comes from Roots, and CEPT SWS University of Ahmedabad’, Ansari answers our query.

But before the entry, framed prints of a letter in two languages-English and Urdu, penned by Ghulam Hussein, Ilyas’s uncle, to his family, slung with jute strings, catches ones eye. It’s homage to a lost one. Hussein was not in Hunderman when it was conquered by Indian forces. Stuck in Skardu, capital of Gilgit-Baltistan, Pakistan, when all roads to his village were locked, one night, he died a lonely death in 2005 pining for his home and family. His only letter to his sister Hamshira, written in April 1985, from Brolmo village – a mere four kilometres apart, from Hunderman arrived years later. The letter is a pointer of poignant stories of pain of many families of this village, torn apart by war.

The museum itself is a rediscovered story woven with artefacts and memorabilia of a life of two big families before many fled during war in 1971. Ansari takes us outside and points – “You look at that poplar tree; it became our demarcation line for adjoining homes of two brothers who first set foot here and their families spread out in parts of Hunderman and Brolmo, now divided by the LoC. There were then about 200 people within 10 homes. The village has witnessed four wars in 70-years with hundreds of skirmishes and inconceivable moments of horror.

The exhibits are incredible with time wrapped around them, with the background equally fascinating. It opens with a ‘shangkulik’ a unique locking system to ‘unlock the Hunderman’. In the 1960s, Ansari’s grandfather worked as a porter with the Pakistani army. Displayed are-an army helmet for porters, blue-lined white metal cups in varied sizes, a diesel metal canister, an army belt and an all-purpose belt for long hauls with pouches to hold water, dry-fruit and tobacco, along with a kerosene lantern.

Recreation through Stuakpachi – played with twigs and pebbles, Michou-played with cattle bones, along with a hookah, were their indigenously crafted games and pass times. Routine things like painkillers, eye drops, matches, soaps made in Pakistan, and an expensive bottle of perfume evokes wonder. “A Polson’s tin of French coffee was such a prized gift that it remained sealed for years. A coral necklace, unfinished embroideries, exhibited the hurry in which the flight of inhabitants took place,” Ansari describes.

Pakistan manufactured Cobra and cherry blossom boot polish, shared space with army trunk, battle shells, shrapnel, and a tiny box that reads- ‘100 detonators for high explosive’ of Thistle brand, made in Great Britain. Indigenous stone slab and pestle to ground oil of apricot nuts, agricultural tools and clippers, kitchen utensils, spinning wheel shuttles, knitted caps and garments, wicker baskets, wool balls, horns, a large and medium churner and vessel for preparing lassi- sweet buttermilk and butter, large stone cauldron, are aesthetically displayed in nooks, walls and corners of the tiny rooms. An Avlet safety razor made in England, malachite crystals made in Germany, a foot-powder from Karachi, a bow, quiver and indigenous arrows are notable. A tight mashaq – water pouch and a wooden cask stand near the hearth. “It looks Roman in design”, Ansari shakes his head in a ‘I-don’t-really-know’.

I noticed the strategically carved out skylight in each room. “These provide natural light in summers and are used as spouting holes for bukharis – indigenous heaters, in winters”. Pointing to an hidden elf-door within the room, Ansari shows –“This was used to house tiny and new-born kids or billies and lambs to save them from winter’s snows and dropping mercury. These babies were also used to hug for warmth and served as natural Hot-water-bottles,” he laughs.

A number of identity cards of people who once lived there are displayed including Ansari’s grandfather’s first identity card issued by the Jammu and Kashmir government that reads “Permanent Resident of Protected Area”. “Even today, for the small number of villagers left, agriculture, animal rearing is domestically sustaining however portering remains most popular and well-paying. Loyalty to the Indian armed forces is strong. While in 1971 they fled, few who decided to stay, found caves that proved to be bomb shelters. “During later exchanges and especially during Kargil war in 1999 we set up homes in the caves, while our boys rendered portering services to the Indian army”, Ansari explains pointing to caves far away in the mountainside.

Wars and a Major

During the 1965 war, for a period of four months Hunderman was virtually cut off, and assumed the status of ‘No Man’s Land’ owing to a standoff between the Indian and Pakistani armies. The Pakistan army returned to the region after the Tashkent Agreement- when both countries agreed to pull back forces to their pre-conflict positions.

The scarred and scared villagers, who had heard stories of Indian forces impaling children with rocks; when they actually encountered one Major Mansingh of Gorkha Regiment of Indian army, were comforted by his kindness. He is believed to have said –“We are no devils, we are also humans like you.” On the following day, free rations of rice and kerosene were distributed. “Villagers who were agro-pastoralists and provided portering services to the Pakistan army till then, saw and tasted rice for the first time”, Ansari tells us excitedly. “In honour, the village suffixed Mansingh’s name to the village, changing it from ‘Hundarmo Brok’ to ‘Hunder-Man’ Brok. A road in 2005 and electricity in 2006 with medical clinic, school, and aanganwadi centre, sealed a lifelong bond with Indian armed forces for this village, neglected under Pakistan,” the former resident adds.

Dry pit and stadium

Few Hunderman women gathered near the small rivulet between the crags were too shy to talk. However when I pointed to a place, they said it was a dry pit. The toilet is spread with a sandy soil mixture and has a hole below which is a three-walled enclosure. On the excreta, a soil spread ensures faster decomposition and six months later before sowing, the decayed excreta matter is spread in fields and around trees for a lush harvest.
Interestingly, The ascending houses become a virtual stadium as cricket shots resound during winters when the lower field is filled with snow and is flattened, hardened by trampling, turning it into a cricket pitch complete with jeering clapping and applause.

Rupee note

A “one rupee” currency note, in the museum is astonishing for a layperson. “Most such notes are called “Over-Prints” because Pakistan did not have its own Mint in 1947,” a top RBI officer told me once.

The note holds three countries together, it has –“Government of India’, ‘Government of Pakistan’,-‘Hukumat-e-Pakistan’ in Urdu and a stamp of ‘George VI King Emperor’. Interestingly, the year mentioned is 1940 on it, when Pakistan didn’t exist. The explanation goes –“The note was probably minted in year 1940 and superimposed in 1947/48 in Pakistan. These notes consist of Indian note plates engraved (overprinted being a misnomer) with the words ‘Government of Pakistan’ in English and “Hukumat-e-Pakistan” in Urdu added at the top and bottom, respectively, of the watermark area on the front only; the signatures on these notes remain those of Indian banking and finance officials.

#IndiaPak Watsapp group

Families in Skardu (Gilgit Baltistan, Pakistan) and Hunderman and other border villages in India and Pakistan have kept in touch through a Watsapp group “Hum sb kb milenge (When will we all meet), that serves as a lifeline through an erratic internet. Founded in 2014 by Skardu-based journalist Musa Chulunkha, members converse mostly in Balti language”, Hussain Ibn Khalo Editor of local cable channel ‘Kargil Today’ a Balti himself adds with a smile. “I too am a member of the 110-strong group”.

PHOTOS: Hosain Khalo KT Hosain Ibn Khalo

URL: http://dailykashmirimages.com/…/preserving-history-above-80…

Kargil-II Glimpse into the life of Pure Aryans / By Rashmi Talwar/ Kashmir Images


Screenshot Aryans Part IIDateline Kargil –Part II
Glimpse into the life of Pure Aryans 
Rashmi Talwar

Looking at the stars I wonder how many souls would have passed this way, a hot-bed, a melting pot, of central Asian trade, the mysterious silk route that carried communities, seeds, men and material; animals and stuff and forked them to mainland. A land where finest of caboodle, made their journeys, yet some remained unalloyed, basking in the glory of their embryonic purity for thousands of years. Indeed the prospect of meeting ‘Pure’ Aryans remained overwhelming.

Snuggled in our tiny car we set on a 70 Km tour, zooming past village Apachi to Hamboting-La pass perched at 13,202 feet, falling in Kargil’s North-East. Dearth of oxygen cohabiting wind chill, nearly gives me a head-swim. Through astonishing rugged stonescape, protruding rock-hills seemingly scratched by giant paws, along lilting streams, deep gorges, leads us to Batalik sector, bang on LoC ‘Line of Control’ between India and Pakistan.

Amidst serene mossy banks, River Indus (Sindhu River) careens along in hopping waves, like an excited child jumping along an elder. Pockets of greenery lie hidden with contrasting greens hallowed by light coffee coloured rockeries as valley touches fresh glacial melt of freezing sapphire waters of Indus below, lending a romantic aura.

Seeing us, Tsering Gamphil, a ‘Brokpa’ – Brok- mountains; pa- inhabitant; meaning a highlander-approaches, his triangular turquoise earrings bobbing on loose lobes, blue eyes glinting in scorching sun, his heavy moustache lifts to flash a toothy smile. He juts out a rough hand in recognition to my friend Hussain-ibn-Khalo, Editor, Owner of Kargil Today, a local TV Channel, accompanying me. I smile, at the 65-year old Gamphil’s black cap embroidered with “BOY”, and notice a single safety pin holding a bunch of dried flower buds. “Yes I am in Garkone- the professed Pure-Aryan village!”

A cluster of four villages claims to hold a bastion of pure bred Aryans—presumably pure, the last, un-muddied, un-adulterated by outside gene pool. Gamphil, a Surna artist, Surna-musical instrument likened to-Shehnai, is invited to every festival to play to melodious hymns and rhythmic dances of Aryan Brokpas. “I even played Surna on J&K Tableaux on 26th January Republic Day, parade in Delhi,” he tells us. There are seven other artists in this tiny village inhabited by more than 1200 people.

Darchik and, Garkone are lesser known, falling in Kargil sector while Hanu and Dha Aryan villages nestle in Leh- are more frequented due to air connectivity and a greater tourist inflow.
At the confluence of rivers Shyok and Indus in District Kargil, village Darchick claims- “Welcome to the Abode of Red Aryans” emblazoned on a semi-circular gate flanking the entry. I wonder if ‘red’ was a sign of caution! Gamphil tells us –“Some outsiders were refused passage in Darchik recently. They followed their ancient tradition”.

However Garkone village ventures us a welcome with a large swirling Buddhist prayer wheel in midst of the entrance whirled by two young giggly girls. Foreigners are presumably disallowed or allowed only by special Inner Line Permit (ILP) from District Commissioner, in this highly militarised zone. On the way, we see, the battlefront, a portion of Batalik post was wholly destroyed in Kargil war of 1999, there now stands a Mata Rani Mandir and an Evil Subjugation Stupa, built by army on local beliefs of divine call for warding off aggressors. Inhabitants of these Aryan villages are known as ‘Dards’, local parlance – ‘Brokpas’.

Garden of Eden

Garkone, with its splatter of grey rocks flecked with black spots, along pathways and gnome doorways, is a welcoming hamlet, visible as a virtual oasis amongst dull rugged cliffs. An artistic rockscape slanting across as the river meanders between and beneath, enhancing its beauty as swathes of fertile lands break the severity of rock to croon a melody for colours, music and dance, like a mysterious merry ring.

Like Garden of Eden, a stream of crystal clear water swaggers through the village, overhanging grape bunch’s criss-cross branches, constructing natural green tunnelled pathways that run along a stone trail, flanked by rockeries on one side, that hold elf-doorways to elusive homes and habitats of Aryans. Alongside, running rivulet swings lush fields of barley and assortment of luxuriant vegetables. “Our Tomatoes are the reddest”, says Londhup Nawang Dolker owner of ‘Payu Pa’ guest house. “It seems to be a garden of bounty”, the gardener in me responds admiringly.

On the sides of the fields, trees stand laden with ripe orange apricots, green apples and unhardened soft green walnuts. It’s a riot of colours, predominantly orange hues – symbolic of colours of dawn-dusk, the carrot shade of perennial Monthu Tho adorning doors, finds pride of place in Brokpa hat-nests of flowers and the tangerine light of apricots. Garkone is a fertile, warmer, water surplus area, ensconced in lower rock crevices, in an otherwise rainless Ladakh. Primarily being agro-pastoralists they own yaks, goats and sheep, harvest world’s most luscious apricots, varied vegetables, extract oils and seemingly remain uncluttered.

Brokpas

The Brokpas, believed of Indo-Aryan stock, descendants of Dards, settled along Indus River, centuries past and are an enigma for the world’s imagination. Their claims of pure Aryan descent are of deep interest to anthropological research, ethnologists, scholars and backpackers. A popular belief carries of Brokpas as progeny of remnants of the army of Alexander the Great that came to the region over two thousand years ago.

Another strong belief traces their descent from Gilgit (Pakistan).
University of Heidelberg, Germany’s seminal research by Rohit Vohra on Aryans in his book ‘The Religion of the Dards in Ladakh’ and ‘An Ethnography – The Buddhist Dards of Ladakh’ quotes Roman Historians Curtius and Justin who claim invasions of Alexander the Great, along Kunar river in Chitral (Pakistan).

Interestingly, he notes –“The Kalash of Chitral have Caucasian features-sometimes with blonde hair and blue eyes-which gives some credence to their claim, that they descended from five warriors in Alexander the Great’s army. There are only about 4,000 of them and they have remained pagans- religion based on reverence of nature, including origins, history, rituals, and devotions- despite being surrounded by Muslims in Pakistan. The Kalash, relate a story of Alexander’s bacchanal with mountain dwellers claiming descent from Dionysus. They worship a pantheon of gods, make wine, and practice animal sacrifice.”

Aryans, settled along Indus meandering through bedrock, claim to be inhabitants of Gilgit, a region close to Chitral, sharing much of its history and culture with Gilgit- Baltistan in Pakistan. There are numerous similarities between the Kalash and Aryans, including the latter’s facial features, pagan traditions, despite having majorly converted to Buddhism, they have retained their ancient roots. Both communities have prominent blue eyes, colourful attires; once pagans making wines, the concept of animal sacrifice is common to both. The Chaumas festival of Kalash is learnt to be very similar to the Bonanah festival of Aryans, including the finale of spiral dance bidding farewell to the Deity.

Vohra writes- “One of the early migrations, about which there are oral traditions, relates to the arrival of brothers Dulo, Melo and Galo in Aryan-land”. During weddings, the door of the bride’s home is knocked and the wedding party announces “We are from the family of Dulo, Melo and Galo”, who locals believe were from the army of Alexander.

That they are settlers in regions of one of the oldest civilization along the elusive froth of River Indus connected with Indus Valley Civilization, adds sheen to their claims of being ancient Aryans. Incidentally, Dards or Aryans, their pedigree known from the ancient Sanskrit and classical Greek literature, draws besotted German Women- to seek Brokpas for racially pure progeny. Germany has a chequered history of Hitler’s obsession with racial superiority and the master race of Aryans.

Tsering Sumphal Garkon (65), an elder in the village with two sisters as his wives admits-“I know of seven German women, and out of them at least five were thus impregnated by Brokpas to carry the presumable elusive Aryan gene pool to their country.” Munching on a biscuit with his tea, he adds, “The government has banned the practice but still smitten German women pilfer in present times, seeking an elusive pure Aryan seed,”

Film: The Achtung Baby

Indian filmmaker Sanjeev Sivan made a documentary in 2007- “The Achtung Baby – In Search of Purity”. In it, he investigates stories of German women seeking to impregnate themselves with what they consider pure-Aryan sperm in Aryan villages of Ladakh.
Andrea, a German girl in the film, feels she is doing it as a gift for her grandfather who studied Aryans and hinted at an organized system behind the transaction. “I’m paying for what I want.” A village Darchik Aryan- Tsewang Dorji, her paramour, an apparent simpleton claims to have impregnated three German women thus, and is hoping his children would seek him and take him to Germany someday.

Sex is Pure

According to marriage statistics for three subsequent generations, average of 80% marriages were from within Aryan villages. Only in exceptional cases, inter-village marriage in Garkone, Darchik, Hanu and Dha were seen as recent as about 10 years back. “The types of marriages amongst Aryans are numerous, -Monogamy, polygamy, polyandry, endogamy but also group marriages of varying form”, reveals Vohra. “The most common group marriage was of two brothers marrying two sisters where all partners had access to each other”.

Quoting Goldstein: 1971, Vohra writes “An exceptional group marriage was of a father and son sharing a wife. Such were in Katangpa and Auduz households; or an uncle and nephew sharing a wife. Also, if a mother died prior to the children’s marriage and father took a wife then father and son shared the wife and this was a bi-generational marriage.”

Opening up to the world however has brought new connections and about ten Aryans of this exclusive pure population have ventured to marry beyond the Aryan boundary. “Where even Leh Buddhists are least preferred as spouses, Garkone’s Paskit married a Muslim from Nubra Valley; Yangay married a Hindu Nepali driver who converted to Buddhism”, revealed Tsering Dolker, a Garkone girl of marriageable age.

Ajaz Hussain Munshi, curator of ‘Munshi Aziz Bhat Museum of Central Asian and Kargil Trade Artefacts’, a virtual encyclopaedia on Aryan’s ways says –“Since many of the Aryans converted to Buddhism, they were able to retain their culture, practices, rituals etc. While, those who converted to Islam, lost their heritage as Islam is a forbidding faith for music, singing, dancing, idol making. Hence, ancient pagan rituals of Buddhist Aryans are still intact and are followed.

Among Buddhist Aryans sexual rituals are freely exhibited at Bononah festival (Big Harvest Festival), celebrated annually, each time in a different village. The celebration in Dha is followed by Garkone and then in Ganoks (Pakistan) but after the conversion of inhabitants of Ganoks to Islam, the celebrations there were discontinued, thus the year of Ganoks’s turn falls vacant. During festival, a barley (sattu) wine brew (Changg) from still green grains holds a vital place.

Strong Sweet- smelling, flowers Thizim Kaliman being the most essential, are brought from pastures to decorate hats of men-women and hymns of the origin of the world are sung to melodious music, following the second crop’s harvest and threshing. Additionally, it heralds the return of shepherds from glacial heights.” Huru, a dish made with roasted barley or Sattu cooked in hot water or namkeen (salty) chai to form dough with yak’s butter, has an intoxicating effect when fermented for a day.

During Bononah, dances in memory of ancestors are performed and along with hymns of happiness, prosperity, bounty, are sung hymns with sexual connotations and accompanying amorous dances. Singing competitions are held between group of women and men and obscene questions-answers are exchanged.

Men kiss women they like and the husband or father is not to take offence. The festival is closely guarded; permitting no outsider into the village during the celebration, as the village is purified. Free sex is practised. Sexual hymns in riddle form are sung between groups of men and women. These are supposed to release forces and heighten the atmosphere of the festival. Dances with sexual movement heighten the same effect. Hymns of sexual connotations are sung addressed to Aryan deity Yanding along with dough figures, decked walls, balcony & pillar drawings as a part of fertility cult. Corresponding Hymns and songs are a secret not to be revealed to an outsider…… ( TO BE CONCLUDED )

PHOTOS: Hosain Ibn Khalo & Tsering Sonam Garkone 
Amritsar based writer can be emailed at : rashmitalwarno1@gmail.com

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Amritsar Based writer can be contacted at email: rashmitalwarno1@gmail.com

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