kashmir

The hand that today holds a mug of coffee
pines to drink the nun-chai once more.
As I sit today beside the window in my room,
my feet long to walk up to the Dal’s shore.

Beyond the window, in a garden, stand the vast Gulmohours;
the summers having brought their orange flowers to full bloom.
It reminds me of the expansive chinars, with their claw-shaped leaves and huge trunks,
standing magnificently in Srinagar, just outside my room.

Sitting beside the window, on perfectly silent nights such as this,
I yearn to listen the waves of Dal and Nigeen lapping at the shores
But all I hear is the occasional sound of a vehicle passing… perhaps someone
going for a party or an office cab to pick up the night-shift employees.

I look up at the night sky, trying to spot the stars on it.
Sadly, the stars don’t shine here as bright as in the valley
where I would see the moon shining from behind the clouds
like a bride peeps from her veil shyly.

As I step out, I expect to see the Dargah standing pure and white
the mountains at its back, the Dal at its side.
Moving towards the office, I still feel the presence of the Hari parbat
looming at me, as it overlooks the entire Srinagar.

But I fail to see any of it
there is no dargah, no Hari parbat, no Dal, no Jhelum…
only a maze of flyovers and expressways
A modern city, with skyscrapers and the ever increasing slums.

While walking on the roads nowadays,
my eyes keep searching for the “masala-roti” vendors.
The orange chutney on lavasa still makes my mouth water…
but finding none of them, I settle for the aloo chat sellers.

As soon as I sit to have my dinner
my hands ready to dig into the rajma-chawal ma has prepared
She hands me a spoon so I can eat “properly”
ignorant she is, to the Kashmiri eating habits I have savored.

Out with my friends for the evenings at Khan chacha’s
I have my once-favorite chicken tikka and mutton fried in butter.
It instantly reminds me of the Tujh I had in Khayaam;
That heavenly dish, which I know is no longer available for my platter.

Often, sitting idle, I remember the talks we would have in office
the livid images are back…a smile crosses my lips and rests there
the madness of the newsroom, the fights, the leg-pulling
but I know none of it will ever be the same, over is my share.

These are just glimpses of what I feel;
mere scenes in that larger picture of nostalgia.
I wish I could be back and wish it with all my heart
but I am aware that that’s not how life goes.

Like a traveler who visits a place and promises to return back but is never able to
my heart too yearns never to leave Kashmir
yet my soul knows that there are far greater heights to scale
and I walk towards them, with a dim promise to return back simmering in me.

Whether I am able to return is what Destiny knows best
but the days I spent and the life I had here
would always remain treasured in a corner of my heart
these would be the stories I would share with my grand kids.