To Kashmir and Back

Yunus Dar | Kashmir

I decided not to cancel my ticket to Kashmir, which I had booked a few days before the fateful day of August 5. I arrived at the Srinagar airport on the morning of Eid-ul-Zuha. As I stepped out of the airport, I had no idea about how I would reach my home in south Kashmir. In the absence of all communication I had not been able to share my flight details with my family.

Desolate market in Kakapora Pulwama

But there, outside the Srinagar airport, reclining against the pillar was my younger brother. Based on our telephone conversation of two weeks ago when I mentioned to my parents that I plan to come home for Eid, he had taken a chance. He came to the airport in time for the arrival of the first Delhi-Srinagar flight, a time table that all Kashmiris with families outside the Valley know by heart.

I hugged my brother. Not wishing to start any awkward conversation in a public place crawling with security forces I asked the most innocuous question, ‘How long would you have waited?’

‘Till the last flight,’ he said.

In normal circumstances we would have cracked a joke, as brothers tend to do to avoid any display of sentimentality. But we just hugged each other once again.

We left the airport on our 40-minute journey home. Paramilitary personnel lined up the airport road, armed with full crowd control gear, closely watching all the vehicles crossing the road. My brother told me how he had been stopped at least six times while coming to the airport, despite having started at the crack of dawn, when the security is a bit lax and traffic sparse.

We were stopped at least a dozen times on our short journey. There was a check point at every kilometre, secured with concertina wires, leaving a tiny gap for vehicles to squeeze through. The deserted roads brought to mind the disaster, end of the world kind of Hollywood films, where empty streets stand testimony to the times gone by.

The imagery changed as we exited the city boundaries of Srinagar. Unlike the city, there was movement of people here; walking silently, as if going for a funeral. Minding their business, faces downcast, every one seemed like an island to himself. I looked quizzically towards my brother.

‘Eid namaz,’ he said.

In sharp contrast to the mood on the streets was the welcome I received at home. Having been unable to communicate with me for nearly a week,