Opinion G20 in Kashmir: A photo-op inside a darkness
As someone born in Kashmir, I suffer with the people of my land. They have suffered too much, for too long
The G20 Tourism Working Group meeting in Srinagar began on May 20. (Express Photo by Shuaib Masoodi) I was born in Kashmir. And this week, I went back to my birthplace. May 21 was the anniversary of the assassination of Mirwaiz Moluvi Mohammad Farooq. On May 20, the G20 Tourism Working Group meeting in Srinagar began. There were multi-tier security arrangements all over since it was the first international event since the abrogation of Article 370 four years ago. The venue was Sher-e-Kashmir International Convention Centre and 60 delegates from 27 countries were in attendance.
A few days ago, world leaders were in Hiroshima for the G7 meet where Prime Minister Narendra Modi met Britain’s PM Rishi Sunak and Brazil’s President Lula da Silva on the sidelines. PM Modi talked of dialogue and diplomacy in the context of Ukraine. Words that ring hollow given the strife and violence at home, especially in Kashmir, in the Northeast and many parts of this land. From there, Modi dashed off to Papua New Guinea where he met Prime Minister James Marape. The image was on the frontpage of Indian newspapers — Marape almost prostrating before Modi. Another person who made it to the front page is US President Joe Biden asking for an autograph of the star, Modi. Australian PM Anthony Albanese recalled how he was met by 90,000 people at the Narendra Modi Stadium, where the two stood hand-in-hand in Gujarat earlier this year.
Princess Jahanara, the daughter of Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan was inspired by Kashmir to write a couplet in Farsi which has since become immortal: Agar Firdaus bar roo e zamin ast/Hameem asto hameen asto hameen ast/ (If on earth there was a paradise/ It is this it is this it is this).
As someone born in Kashmir, I suffer with the people of my land. I identify with the family of Mirwaiz Moluvi Farooq who was gunned down in his office by two assailants 33 years ago. Who sent them? We will never know. When the Mirwaiz’s dead body was being taken home from Soura Hospital, who ordered the CRPF to fire at the pall-bearing crowds which killed 60 people (according to the official count)? Bullets rained on the dead body and on the youthful carriers.
A G20 subgroup meeting was held to “show off” India’s crown jewel to visitors. In his poem ‘Ai Wadi e Kashmir’, Jagan Nath Azad said of Kashmir “Tu Hind ke maatthe pe hai ek taaj e drakhshaan” (“You are the radiant crown on Hind’s forehead”).
My father went to Kashmir as the Director of Education. While he toured the land on horseback, our home became the hub of culture — frequented by poets, writers, artists from all over the country. Kashmiri Pandits from many parts of India were in our home, reciting exquisite Urdu poetry: Brij Narayan Chakbast, Gopinath Aman and Anand Narain Mulla and many others. My personal treasure is Jagan Nath Azad’s handwritten poem. It is falling apart at the folds, but I present two barely readable lines: Taasir wo ek teri hawaon ko mili hai/ Jo khaak ko tiryaq karey zehr ko akseer/ (Your breeze has the ability/ To make dust rejuvenate, to transform poison to elixir).
Kashmir was universally beloved by writers from everywhere in the Subcontinent. Its present condition was predicted by two of its many lovers, Allama Iqbal and Faiz Ahmed Faiz.
Iqbal wrote: Aaj woh Kashmir hai mahkoom o majboor o faqeer/ Kal jisey ahl e nazar kehtey the Iran e Sagheer/ (Today that Kashmir is crushed, helpless, beggared/ Who people of vision called ‘smaller Iran’).
And Faiz Sahib wrote: Nisar mein teri galiyon pe ai watan ke Jahan/Chali hai rasm ke koi na sar uttha ke chale (I bow to your streets, O my country/ Where custom decrees none may raise their head).
So soon after his death anniversary (May 21), when I think of Mirwaiz Moluvi Mohammad Farooq, the 45-year-old spiritual leader who was gunned down for bringing enlightenment to our quom, other images also come to mind. A vice-chancellor deeply respected and loved, Professor Mushir-ul-Haq had invited me with my daughter to visit Srinagar in 1990, weeks before he was brutally killed. I think of Moo-e-Mubarak, the Prophet’s relic, stolen from the precincts of Hazratbal and the Mirwaiz’s effort for its restoration. I think of thousands of the disappearances of boys and men and their plight in detention cells.
My daughter is in London reading the Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali who wrote his immortal anthology, A Country Without a Post Office. It defines my Kashmir: Everything is finished, nothing remains/I must force silence to be a mirror/ Its raining as I write this, I have no prayer/ It’s just a shout held in.
I have many prayers for the land of my birth.
The writer is former member, Planning Commission
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