6/6/2022

to you, from the slopes of Shivalik





Nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi



"you should see my city in autumn," i say to an old friend in his new apartment in Gurgaon.

In the bastion of the mighty Dogras, nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi - daughter of the sun

and there i was, standing on the old bridge overlooking Bagh-e-Bahu, "you should see the great Tawi during heavy rains, you should see her might when no one is looking"

the very might, of a son, that saved the king of the serpents, and in return the father crowned him the lord of the virtuous slopes of Shivalik

"she flows here from kailash kund," i tell him with a smile, "to the land of my father, of his brother, and his sister"

the land where the maharaja once saw a beast and his prey - bowing together, quenching their thirst in the month of June; free from shackles

"you should come on a sunday, and have some Rajma," as we take out the foreign bread from a local joint.

"maybe we can have some khatta meat too, if you decide to stay," i say to him as i take another bite.

for long have our forefathers told us to take pride in the soil of our birth.

they know of the threads that bind us to the place that has come before us.

some escape, some never come back, and some carry with them, always, the colour of their soil.

before i left, i too, stood on the old bridge - on my way to the old city; bowing to the Goddess at Bawe, as she looked on, ever present -- in the land of the Dogras, in her ever lasting abode.

"you should come see my city in December," i say to him as i take a last bite.

Nestled between two hills flows the river Tawi - daughter of the sun, nourishing land of the Dogras




@writeweird

in Jammu: the city of temples, there is a house.

On the other side of Tawi, past the old bridge, i sit in my memory;

she's talking to me, "earn so i can be free," as my heart drowns in summer.

"it's unbearable," i say -- "the weather hasn't been kind to you"

i wait for her to say something but she's busy again - "i have so much to do.. why don't you settle here and make my life easier," she says with a forced smile.

On the other side of Tawi, past the old bridge, i sit in my memory;

perhaps one day i can give her the world, the one she is promised.

here on the foothills of the mighty Himalayas, on the other side of the tunnel, i wonder.

perhaps i can leave while i still can, younger than i remember, or have i been old and it's merely a dream?

have the city swallowed my memories to keep her relevance alive.

is she just a figment of her many tangled roads, the tree sitting on the three hills, and disjointed neighborhoods?

by the river Tawi - where i once spent the evening swimming in the sweet embrace of liquor, and in ***** of a welcoming morrow.

overlooking the new bridge, thinking to myself, 'how beautiful is home today'.

or making out in the backseat of a confidant's car as we travel through the sidhra road, and she says to me, "do you think this will never end?"

and before i can tell her the truth - i see a fleeting glimpse of silver; and there i am -- in tomorrow -- far from the edges of the mighty Himalayas.

i take out my phone, i need to see what time it is, and there on the screen, it says it's 32 degrees of summer in jammu, still -- and i burst into tears.

On the other side of Tawi, past the old bridge, i am my memory.

why do men die for other men ?
what compels them to give up their lives for the lives of their fellow men ?

is it love ? is it duty ? or is it just plain madness ? is it that bond of blood ? or a promise to be better ? or is it simply what being a human is ?


the same men capable of destroying a million lives in pursuit of their own ideology ? the same men who for the purpose of their own greed and need can ignore the very definitions of civility and liberty and justice.


can we still call them men ?


what is happening at this hour in this nation, a nation which is thousands of years old and in making; isn't different from what has happened in the past and unfortunately that is going to happen in the unsuspecting future.

people are turning to an ideology that not only imprisons the free bird in the sky, but also retaliates if it so chooses to lay on a different branch.

diversity isn't celebrated anymore, but rather is frowned upon by the masses, who believe that past holds no relevance over the future.

acceptance, and the very creed upon which the great men who came before us, and made us who we are today - their legacy and wisdom is being demolished, like cards in the winds; and just like the structures of the ancient, for they no longer are painted with the colours we are familiar with today.


sheep and wolves alike, are being chased by the blood hounds, cornering every whisper with words of the system, a system that has been diseased from the inside, infecting the very veins of this great nation that has stood the test of age and it's many a poisons for millennia and more.


bit by bit the great walls of knowledge and of the enlightened spirits are being razed down by a mere fool in different costumes, performing in a circus build upon the ashes of the innocent and the innocence of the communities that now long for blood.


the very nature of this great and grave divide, is unnatural, passed down by the same set of hands that once pulled the chains and carried with them - forcefully, a plight of millions, suppressed and then set aside fanatically, all in the name of a devotional creed.

lizards in boxes pretending to be voices of the free and humane, casting their spells on the fragile and a blind audience, numb by all the back and forth between the gods, and as always, only the peasant suffers.


how many more homes must vanish before we realise there's no magic in the disappearing of colours, and the despairing remains of the one's gone, painted across the streets in black and white, begging for somebody to give them their proper funeral.

it is men who take life, animals don't **** for their sins, they never have, for they don't know what it's like to be tamed by fire.

they'd rather burn, than become more like us.

maybe that tells it all, and maybe that is why, the devil may have horns and hoofs, but it never haunts and hunts the wild.


we are what we love, but we become who we hate, always - in the end, until something worse comes around to make things better.

Flooded and doomed alone I stand
Helplessly watching my people fall out of my hand
I wish I could quaff down this copious water
And save them all from this clutter

It takes me back to the bloodshed
When innocent Kashmiris time and again bled
For a war that thrived for my land and soil
Helplessly watching it made my heart coil

I wish to break into a million pieces
When I watch these sorrowful bruised faces
But I am the king of the north
I need to stand tall and face the wrath.

But oh Allah, tell me why do my people suffer?
Can you give me the power to buffer?
I, Jammu & Kashmir plead you to glorify us all
We cannot take another fall

I dream of a day full of joy
Where guns are never replicated even as a toy
I dream of freedom from all bad omen
Please bless each animal, child, man and women.

The people of Pakistan and India are welcome on my land
Only with friendly non-armed hands.
You have no rights to claim me
I am the creator’s property, you shouldn't break me.