You return from the Kashmir valley with a sense of overwhelming melancholia: it is a beautiful but tortured land. What should have been the Switzerland of the sub-continent is a depressed place. The large army presence and the fear of the terrorist has created a universe where anger and resentment co-exist uneasily with traditional Kashmiri hospitality. I am in downtown Srinagar, in the separatist heartland, when a bike rider accosts me: “why have you come from India to cover the elections? What use are these elections without any resolution to the Kashmir issue? I will boycott your elections!” I argue that 70 per cent voted in the first phase of the polls, but the man is unrelenting. “These figures are all cooked up. We don’t believe them, we want azaadi,” And then as a parting shot, says to me, ‘I dare you to show what I told you on television,’. I say I will, but only if he is also ready to condemn the terrorist violence. He drives off.
Sadly, this cycle of anger and alienation is nowhere close to ending soon. An election will not end it; a regime change alone is no answer to a complex problem that has festered for decades. And yet, many right thinking Kashmiris are convinced that the gun is no solution either. As one young man tells me over a cup of coffee, ‘I lost my childhood, two generations of Kashmiris have lost their future, I don’t want my children to suffer like this.’ Yes, the constituency for peace is strong; it needs to be built upon and nurtured by a strong and caring state to convince people that they can live with dignity. I am shocked to find that the flood relief has been so paltry; Rs 75,000 for a fully broken house, Rs 12,500 if partially affected. In which other part of the country would that be considered adequate? Clearly, the floods have only added to the sense of victimhood. The Centre which has said that the additional funds will be distributed only when a new government is elected has much to answer for. In the meantime, many Kashmiris must spend the winter without a roof over their head,
And yet, there is hope: hope that the young of Kashmir will push for a new dawn. I am invited by a bright young radio jockey Nasir to be on his morning radio show. I instantly accept the invitation. It’s the only FM channel in Srinagar. Nasir brings it out almost single-handedly from the third floor of a rather ramshackled building where the power goes on and off. His spirit is undaunted. As he plays my favourite songs, as we chat about the elections, he strikes me as a symbol of a Kashmir longing to break free for the demons of the past. ‘I hope one day we have dozens of FM channels, cinema theatres and places to go out and enjoy,’ he says with a smile. I hope so too, Nasir. I sure hope so.
