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| Source: www.reuters.com |
The Sun was shining bright,
forcing the dark grey clouds to run for cover thus lifting their shadow from
the meadow that sprawled around the hostel. The darkness that had spread all across
was suddenly wiped away, waking up the soft green grass that glistened in the
morning dew as the touch of the first rays kissed the blue, yellow and purple
wild flowers making them blush and spread their fragrance around
The meadow had never looked as
beautiful as it did this morning, thought Rukhsana as she combed her long
tresses standing by the window. She allowed her gaze to travel as far as it
would dare to go, making her feel the pasture stretched till the horizon just
like the ones back at home. The thought of home, brought a tear to her eye.
Quickly she wiped it away; the last thing she wanted was to have Mansi her
roommate see her cry. She had seen enough of it already.
But Mansi had been busy since
morning packing her bags. She scampered around the room, hunting for the
slipper she seemed to have lost months before and her favourite pearl earring
which had disappeared from her shelf the previous evening.
“How on earth do you expect to
find your things in this mess?” called out Rukhsana looking around her.
The
room was an unusual sight with half of it being spick and span with everything
in order while the other half seemed to be ravaged by a tornado. The bed could
not been seen under the humongous pile of clothes that perennially stayed piled
on it; the table and chair were filled with books that threatened to topple
over at any moment. The floor was littered with wedges, heels and pumps of
which Rukhsana had lost count months before. The dressing table was covered
with cosmetics and accessories that seemed to be there more for display than
actual use. That Mansi kept adding to the museum was something she had never
understood.
“I have to find them, they are
my absolute favourite, how can I go home without them” wailed Mansi making
her roommate roll her eyes. Everything that got lost soon enough became Mansi’s
favourite.
Quietly Rukhsana slipped out, wading through the melee that had taken birth across rooms outside and in
the corridors. She pulled her dupatta close to her throat, stifling a
sob as she made her way through the commotion. Girls were running across rooms,
packing their bags and exchanging addresses.
“Ruks, are you done with your
packing? When do you leave” a random voice which she thought belonged to
Hetal called out. She nodded vigorously murmuring a vague reply and opened the
main door of the hostel to get away from the happiness and the excitement that
smothered her within the four walls.
“You know, I am so looking
forward to the silence and solitude that awaits me in the hills. I find the
city so boring. It would be so much fun to spend an entire weekend at a hill
station with friends” she heard a voice as she made her way towards the
meadow.
“Silence….Boring…” the
words triggered off the memories that she tried so hard to stifle. Everyday.
Silence had always been deathly
for her and her family. The uncertainty that it brought along had strangled whatever
little peace they had every single day.
Solitude. There had been more
than enough of it where she came from, the home she missed, and the village she
loved more than anything else. Days and days of solitude could be found in
their isolated land, because that was all that they had to give them company;
to suffocate them much more than the lack of food and water could possibly do.
Boring…their life was anything
but that. The crash and crackle of gunfire kept them on their toes, making them
play hide and seek with their own lives. One wrong hiding place and pellets of
bullets could shower over them. She had seen it happen to her cousin Ibrahim
right in front of her eyes. All they
could do when there was firing was sit in their hiding places, usually their
thatched roof huts and pray. Pray until silence took over; the same deathly
silence that made them wonder if a tempest was waiting for darkness to fall;
waiting to strike when they fell into a disturbed sleep. They would gladly take
boredom any day, but they were never fortunate enough to experience it.
Friends…she had no idea what that
meant until she had come to Delhi for her college education. All she had known
through her life till then were enemies. Foes who lurked in the shadows and
opened fire the moment they got a chance. Not caring if it were a child that
got caught in their fire; all they cared were for its identity to be destroyed.
Favourites…nobody in her village
of two hundred and fifty had known what it was like to own more than a pair of
torn shoes. She looked down at her own Kolhapuri Chappals and winced
remembering the day she had bought them with the little money her Abu had given
her. Slipping them on for the first time, all the while aware that her Abu
would walk bare foot for a few months in order to let her cover hers.
Going home…she had kept a
straight face and murmured a reply back in the corridor. How could she tell
them what it meant to go home for her? Unlike the girls who were busy waiting
for their trains and buses to take them home to a summer vacation full of
birthday parties, shopping, movies and eating out, home for her was her
thatched roof hut, the framed photos of her brother Rahim and her cousin
Ibrahim, the constant shelling along the barbed wires which surrounded her
village and the crouching under the charpai each time there was a new
bout of firing regardless of day or night.
Partying…she had never known what
it meant. Their village plunged into darkness every night, a single light
burning could spell disaster for them. They could not even enjoy a meal under
the starlit sky, what if a stray bullet made it their last supper?
A nippy wind enveloped around her
making her wrap her dupatta around her head, reminding her of the hijab she
wore back at home. She was fortunate to have parents who had a forward outlook
towards life, who had taken the tough decision of battling against all odds to
have her study in the city, who had asked her to be one among the others and
experience what they would never be able to- Freedom.
The main doors opened, and the
girls poured out, waving out madly as each made way to their own destination.
She suddenly felt a movement that made her turn around. Mansi stood behind with
her suitcase, ready to go home.
“Why aren’t you ready yet? We
will be late for the train” she said, perching herself beside Rukhsana.
“Train… but I never go
anywhere… I always stay here… you know that” said Rukhsana looking
confused.
“Not this year…nor next…not
till I am in your life. I cannot take you to Urusa even if I wanted to… but I
can take you home…my home. Your tickets have been booked, and I have worked
with the Principal to inform your Abu”
Rukshana did not know how to react. She turned around and hugged her friend; the meadow rustling in the background as if breaking into a song and dance; the sound of artillery that had thudded through her mind, slowly fading away.
Along the LOC, Urusa is a
village closest to the border on the Indian side. Cut off from the rest of the
world, there are no buses or any form of transport that can connect it to the
closest villages/towns Uri and Baramullah anymore.
