Padma Shri Nek Chand

Padma Shri Nek Chand is dead is an illusion. Nek Chand is alive and will continue to live till eternity.  A person who gave life to rocks can never die.Under the nose of Punjab / Haryana High Court and Civil Secretariat, Nek Chand the Genius gave the planned city a big surprise in the form of  the world famous Rock Garden in early seventies. The then Chief Engineer and the then Head of the UT did not honour his invitation to open the Rock Garden. Nek Chand was delighted to receive me and my elder brother at the auspicious occasion. He was delighted to pose for a photograph (Black & White) with us. He told us that he used to visit all village fairs and pay young boys 10paisa - 20 paisa coin to collect bangle pieces around the  bangle seller at these fairs. He used to carry sackful bangle pieces personally to the site of the Garden in making. When Chandigarah was in making, all other PWD employees but for  the honest Nek Chand made their fortune. Nek Chand was an eyesore and laughing stock among his colleagues. He was assigned the charge of the keeper of dead stock like empty tar coal drums, set cement bags, fused tube lights and other useless articles, little knowing that the naked hands of Nek Chand would infuse life in the set cement bags and the like. Tar coal drums placed one over the other fortified the  area meant for junkyard. The Rock Garden within was finally a surprise to the authorities without the permission of whom even position of the brick in one's kitchen needed their  permission.  

My Bicycle

I was six. The World War Second had come to an end. Father gave us a pleasant surprise. He arrived in along with a new bicycle. It was Hercules made in England. Each part of the vehicle was engraved with the word ‘Hercules made in England'. The bicycle was purchased from the wholesale merchant at Hari Singh High Street, second shop on the corner of the lane leading to Hanuman Mandir, for rupees forty-nine and eight annas. The saddle was attached with a toolbox, carrying a few wrenches , solution tube and a few rubber patches. The frame of the bicycle had arrangement to fix one small pump.

The scene was festive. An astrologer was consulted in advance to look for the auspicious day. The news of the new arrival reached neighbours, friends and relations. The evening was unlike all other ordinary evenings. People poured in to congratulate. Mother changed ath-athoer of the ‘dejhore’. She changed her sari too. The new ath-athoer and the sari had come from her mother.

The bicycle was garlanded. The whole family offered prayers at Kathleshwaer Mandir, the local temple and expressed gratitude to Lord Shanker.. The next day ‘satidiv’ prashad was distributed amongst neighbours and relations. It worked as an announcement of the purchase.. The week turned out as the week of celebration. The inmates were thrilled to entertain the guests. The local baker Maheshwar Nath was instructed to be in readiness. Being at number three, the first day, I did not get any chance to touch the bicycle. I had to be contented with a look from distance. I could not resist the feel of its touch any longer. All others, tired, went to bed. I waited until they took to snoring. Stealthily I availed of the chance to satiate my longing for the touch.

People around used to borrow our bicycle. It gave us a momentary feel of being from the privileged class. The facility could be availed by the restricted few on holidays only.

The Bicycle was the sole property of our father. No other family member had any right on it. I usually stealthily used to steal an opportunity for a joyride when my father would go for a nap.

To carry someone on the carrier and to cycle after dusk without light were legal offences. Besides, managing law and order, the police usually used to arrest the law offenders for carrying double seat or for cycling without light after dusk. The accused was charge sheeted in the court of law and fined to the extent of rupees two to three. At times the matter was compounded without any challan for one or two annas that would not go to the government treasury.

A token tax of one rupee and two annas was charged by the Municipal authorities. At times the authorities would come out on the road to boost the revenue collection. The brass token in exchange was screwed on the handle of the bike. The head of the collection team was our distant neighbour and so our bike had never attained the honour of the fixation of the token.

 1954, I joined first-year of the four-year degree course at Amarsingh College , Srinagar . The Principal of the college, Sahibzada Mohmud Ahmad used to come to the college on a bicyle of green colour. His peon Mahmud would always be in readiness to takeover the bicycle. While dusting the bicycle, he would look around with an air of authority. Professor N.L.Darbari, Professor Rehman Rahi, Professor T.N.Kilam, Professor Aslam Khan and a few more professors did not have facility of the caretaker. We the students would often discuss the quality, the colour and condition of the bicycles of the privileged professors. Many others were either not such affluent or did not know cycling.

 After a lot of pleas, to facilitate my education, I was handed the ownership of the bicycle that once rested with my father. The night that followed the auspicious day in my life, somehow became too lengthy for me. The whole night I did not get even a wink of sleep. Reveries flashed across my mind. At last the day dawned. The day was a long awaited one in my life. While cycling to college, my eyes were fixed on the row houses along the road instead on the road itself. Four rupees as parking charges per month  was an allied worry to me. I somehow managed to dig out some relation with the keeper Vesh Nath at the parking booth and escaped the liability.

To be an owner of a cycle was not a smooth sail. A number of times I had to land in police lockup for carrying another person along with or cycling without light.

 1960, I purchased one Raleigh Cycle made in India from Duran Cycle at Exchange Road Srinagar for rupees two hundred ten. This time it was Raleigh Cycle made in India. The owner of the shop, Durani Brij Nath was kind enough to provide me with installment facility. A monthly installment of ten rupees was fixed. My friend J.L.Pandita (retired DIG police) also went to Duran Cycle. He was refused the installment facility for want of a guarantor. On my guarantee, Pandita became my equal.

Maqbool the mechanic at the shop had an  additional assignment of collection of the installments. He was feeling obliged for smooth and regular installment of rupees ten each. Within eleven months the interest free finance was liquidated.

 Both of us, the bicycle and me lived in a close harmony for a number of years. It stood by me in sun and shower. It accompanied me to Zainapore, Verinagh and many other places. It served me well during my post graduation from 1963-65. It saved me eight annas a day, the to and fro bus fare to the university. It added not to my personality only but swelled my pocket too. Now I could attend more tuition. For its smooth behavior it had endeared itself to me. I had developed a lot of love for it. Its service in period of adversity was immense. It charged me nothing. It was unlike today’s Maruti, which does not buzz an inch unless I fill its belly with costly gasoline. Had the Bike not been stolen, I would love to give it a feel of joy ride in the selfish Maruti.

Encounter

Today the 17^th May 2015, headline on most of the TV Channels was about the death of Manoj in an encounter. The Police claim that he was wanted criminal and he opened fire when asked to surrender. His family members deny the Police report and claim that it was murder of an innocent in a fake encounter. Besides, they said that there was no complaint against him at any police station.

I recalled an event narrated by a police inspector in the year 1988.  Those days my friend retired DIG J L Pandita was posted as SP Control Room Srinagar. I often used to visit him after my working hours in his office. One day one Inspector Police a Sardar ji, posted at PCR Srinagar after his training at Punjab Police Academy, Phillaur narrated an interesting event on encounter.

At Phillaur some juniors with one or two stars asked him as to how many murders he committed to become an Inspector of Police. He was surprised and told them that he is supposed to check murders and not to commit murders. They were surprised to know that in J&K State people get promotions without fake encounters. They said that in their state, when a new SSP takes charge of the district, he manipulates fake encounters to be in the News on the front page to qualify for promotion out of turn. The modus operandi is a set formula like (a+b) whole square. A petty goonda is pampered by the concerned SHO until he feels that he is very close to police and gets encouraged to commit heinous crimes to earn notoriety in the society. He knows not that the Police maintains record of his criminal activities in its daily diaries. One day the public heaves a sigh of relief when the head line of the national paper reads that the notorious criminal was eliminated by the police in an encounter. The one star officer gains one more star and so the one with two or three. The SSP gets promoted to leave the district Head Quarter for the next to qualify for promotion. . .

1989 Bashir Haroon at the age of 13 innocently boarded a matador at Exhibition Crossing, Srinagar in response to the call from its conductor for ‘Kupwoer-Apuer’(Kupwara & across the border).  Farooq Abdullah’s regime seemed to be hand in glove with the Organizers of the mayhem as no police or Traffic Officer en route a distance of more than 200 km crossing a number of district Headquarters without route permit checked the documents of the driver.

Bashir crossed the border illegally, little knowing the consequences. Three month stay in POK and he was back to the valley. After his return, he felt repentant for his childish act and did not indulge in any unlawful act as reported by Bashir.

1995, he was apprehended and detained under PSA for nine months.

After his release, he was a peaceful citizen of India dedicated to his small business as a fruit vender.

He was assured protection against the active militants by Sharma Sahib, SSP BSF. Sharma Sahib often used to purchase fruit from him at market price.   Sharma Sahib had almost tamed Bashir. Even today Bashir has soft corner for Sharma Sahib.

One day Sharma Sahib along with his contingent came to Bashir and prepared him for one act play. Bashir and a few of his colleagues were each provided with a mask and AK47 without magazines. A deserted Kashmiri Pundit house was selected as the studio for shooting the film.

Sharma Sahib was script playwright, director and producer of the film; all-in-one.

Bashir and his associates were positioned at different positions on the windows of the house as directed and finally surrendered and fled from the scene as unidentified militants. Electronic and Print Media took it for real encounter. People around ran helter-skelter to escape any stray bullet. Transport both public and private went off the road instantaneously.

Electronic Media covered the scene live and the Print Media made a Headline of it the next day. Sharma Sahib and his associates qualified for commendation letters from the then Home Minister of India and soon got promotion to the next higher step.

'Baki sub theek hai'

Mid eighties at Sadiq Nagar, Delhi, one student of sixth class boasted his trickery for copying essay on the cow in his examination. He had concealed the smuggled paper in his geometry box. He had already paid the invigilator to let him copy. I noticed many mistakes in the text and told him that besides many mistakes he had written wrongly that the cow has two years instead of two ears. The boy said that he already scored hundred percent marks in the paper. We in the valley had 'A' class education that sustained us in exile. The Cow culture has taken over Kashmir to make it at par with Sadiq Nagar Delhi and integral part of India. 'Kacher Gav' (Brown Cow' was issued admission card and roll number slip for taking entrance test for technical education. Pir Sahab, the erstwhile chairman for technical education was jailed in the recent past for selling question papers on whole sale to retailers. 'Halat tushvish nak hain ta hum under control hain-Baki sub theek hai' Allah CM sahab ko rakhu bunavay'

‘Haya ye chuna Habhea Kadal’

Characters:
D Sabh; Makhanlal Saraf (Saraf Sabh)
And
S Narayan (T Sabh)
Besides,
Narayan Swami
And
Soom Nath Sumbli (S Sabh)
Azima, the boatman ferrying people from one bank to the other of the River Jehlum
Venue: 1.Kala Kendra Dramatic Club at Shiwala mandir Chota Bazar.
2. Rama Krishna Temple within the Shiwala Mandir premises
3. Sumbli Tea Stall Regal Chowk
4. Road from Regal Chowk to Neelam Chowk
5. kanyakadal Bridge
6. Habbakadal Bridge.
Except Swami the rest were the theatrical doyens of the Kala Kendra Dramatic Club at Shiwala Mandir, Chotta Bazar, Srinagar.

Rama Krishna Temple within the Shiwala Mandir premises
Early seventies. Sunday morning the entire summer world was bright and fresh and full of life. Cheerfulness was in every face. Summer green all around gave the valley look of a wonderland of joy-dreamy, restful, and inviting.
After hectic rehearsal, before retiring for their respective homes, as usual, D Sabh, Saraf Sabh and T Sabh called on Narayan Swami (Triple MA) the keeper of the Rama Krishna Temple in the premises of Shiwala Mandir. Usually the Swami used to refresh them with a cup of coffee, but on the day, he along with the routine cup of coffee, entertained them with a little sweet pudding they had never tasted before. They liked it. The Swami refused to give them more on health grounds. Little caring for their health, the three could not resist the temptation to have more. In the meantime, the Swami was going in and out intermittently to attend to his routine work. They seized an opportunity when the Swami remained out for a longer period. Took almost one kilogram of pudding from the tin container nearby, wrapped it into a few news papers and proceeded to share the booty with their fourth ‘kalakar’ S Sabh, who had started a part-time venture of a tea stall at Regal periphery.
By the time the three reached the tea stall, they had continually swallowed their saliva.
Sumbli Tea Stall Regal Chowk
Sumbli Sabh was delighted to see the untimely and unexpected visit of his friends. Exchanged pleasantries. The three revealed their venture and all the four finished the pudding to its last lick. Soon with double dose, the three Sabhs started to feel giddy.
Now they felt that the Swami had played some mischief with them. Instantly a resolution was passed in unison. As per the resolution, they were to go to the Swami and ask him for the ingredients of the pudding. But the million dollar question was how to go.
Soon a full-tonga was requisitioned from the Regal Chowk. Now the problem was how to mount the tonga. Again an instant meeting was held and finally it was decided to arrange for a steady ladder to ascend the tonga.
One of the Sabhs felt that his trousers were of its own coming down. He pulled his trousers up time and again that were maintaining status co. Their erratic actions bothered their well-wishers around. Before any scene could crop up to entertain passersby, they bundled the three on the tonga and directed the tongawalla to Neelam Chowk.
The tongawalla obliged Saraf Sabh and left him at Chota Bazaar Crossing, while the other two were helped by the tongawalla to alight from the tonga at Neelam road proceeding to Shivala Mandir. En route to Shivala mandir, they were to cross a small drain hardly six inches wide. They took it for the River Jhelum. Seeing no boat around, knowing well their inability to swim, they gave repeated calls to Azima to ferry them across the ‘river’. Somehow they reached Narayan Swamy. Surprised! He never expected that the little dose of pudding should aggravate their imbalance to such an extent. The two confessed their guilt and instantaneous herbal treatment saved them from permanent disability that could be caused by the excess dose of the ‘bangh’ pudding.

It was already dusk, Saraf Sabh was trying to cross over the railing of Kanyakadal Bridge. People around, fans of the handsome artist rushed and saved him from an attempt to suicide. They probed and learnt that Saraf Sabh had wrongly taken kanyakadal for Habbakadal and was trying to cross over to the pedestrian passage to escape any accident.
When pulled back, Saraf Sabh said: “Haya ye chuna Habhea Kadal,
Tela mai watnaviv Habhkadal tanie. Tetie peth ha gachea bhea panaie.” (Is it not Habbakadal? Kindly take me to Habbakadal. Therefrom, I shall go of my own)
Some of his fans escorted him up to Habbakadal Bridge. Walking slowly and steadily the pedestrian path on his left, he finally reached the other end of the path. Near the police beat, he continued to mark time (kadam tal- march without moving forward) for hours together. Realizing that walk of a few hours and still the signboard of kapoor Brothers was maintaining status co distance, exhausted, he finally preferred to make the police beat his rest house.
The last shopkeeper who closed his shop at 12 in the night was Mir Provision Store. He presumed that Saraf Sabh was doing some yogic and tantric exercise and preferred not to disturb him.
(I did not change the initials of Sarf Sabh, with his permission)

‘Bea Haa Aas Panun’ (I have recovered my lost money or I earned enough)

Deserted Kashmiri Pundit House once live with hustle & bustle

Quote:

“World is silent, though Kashmir problem being an international issue, where Kashmir engaged in non violent freedom struggle, are victim of Indian brutalities.”

Unquote: Most of the so called Area Commanders of the yesteryears shunned gun and took to different sources of income to sustain themselves. One such Area Commander Syed Aijaz Ahmad got settled in Muzfarabad and is engaged in transborder trade.  I questioned him on whose direction he picked up the gun and on whose dictation he shunned it.  Hilal Kachuer, the Area Commander Habbakadal took to driving school. Some say, Pakistan stopped supply of guns to JKLF as it proved a futile exercise for them. The world can’t be fooled. Brutalities inflicted on fellow Kashmiri can’t go unpunished. The Nature is unbiased. Those who created hell of peaceful Kashmir are bound to live in the changed Kashmir changed by them. No power on earth has control over Nature. They have to bear with its pros and cons. Midway going from violence to non violence has no relevance. Its converse could have been meaningful.

‘Bea haa aas panun’ A losing gambler once recovered his lost money or won enough, preferred to quit. When asked as to why he preferred not to continue, he said:” Bea haa aas panun’.

Gun-toting zealots and their leaders amassed enough of ill gotten property from loot-khasoot. With the exit of Kashmiri Pundits, they are either left with the option of looting amongst themselves or to be nonviolent. It is not change of their head and heart, but compulsion. Investment of Pakistan on them has gone down the drain. Once again Pakistan feels that she has been cheated. 1965 her precious jawans were sold and this time their costly guns were used to loot fellow brethren.

That is why the World prefers to remain silent.

Under abnormal conditions, while in jails or in hideouts the economical disproportionate prosperity of the initiators of the turmoil is the base for my belief and suspicion. Self imposed Civil Commission of Enquiry under the chairmanship of advocate Mian Abdul Qayum, President Bar Association Kashmir and Ashraf Bedar; retired IGP can prove trusted scanners.

(Khudhi ko ker bulund itna ki khudh bundhy say khudh puchay beta tairee reza kiya hai)

‘Pesuea navi’ (Distribute the cards afresh).

‘Pesuea navi’ (Distribute the cards afresh).
In Kashmiri, there is a proverb ‘Pesuea navi’ (Distribute the cards afresh). Another proverb is ‘Merie merie futch’ (Though always the first, but always pushed to the wall; futchalie means the last and Meir means the first). Both these proverbs apply to me. 
They want to take a ‘U-turn’ to avoid errors and omissions and let me settle again in the valley. With very hard labour we constructed our dwellings there with ‘attached bathroom fitted with an English commode’. I have seen Professor Chaman Lal Saproo carrying wooden planks on his bicycle at Chaneapora; Scientist the late Dr. Chaman lal Bhat carrying cement bag in the tri part of his bicycle frame. I have seen Dr. B L Saproo, HOD Botany Kashmir University holding the other end of ‘rundha’ (the plane) assisting his carpenter to smoothen the wooden planks. All became owners of their dwellings in new colonies with attached bathroom for the first time in their life, little knowing that they will be thrown out and shall become again ‘futchalie’ –homeless, and shall have to ‘peesuen navee’start afresh. 
I am sure, that had I not been thrown out, I too like Kumar Ji Wanchoo would have joined their procession to cry ‘Our demand’ ‘murta kiya nea kurta’. And with no loss of life and time, they could have achieved their nefarious end in shortest possible time. March 1989, I too raised JKLF banner across the road at Chotta Bazar. JKLF teenagers rushed into my office with one meter green strip of cloth, a thin rope and asked me for one chalk to write JKLF on it and wanted to put it across the road. I gave them three meter green cloth and a thick rope lest I be accused of its giving way under any circumstances. Triloki Nath Ambardar too joined their procession to save his life but was shot dead while leading their procession. My friend Bansi Lal Kaw also joined them; I was not an exception, I too would have joined them, but I had left Kashmir on 16th January 1990, three days before mass migration. Now having become again owner of a set with an attached bathroom, my President seems to be hobnobbing for my becoming ‘futchalie once again and start there afresh to ‘ piesuen navee’. By now we have become experts in (‘navie piesuen’ te featchalie banuenus munz) starting afresh and becoming homeless again and again. 
No political empowerment will save me from ‘navie piesuen’  te featchalie banuenus munz.My presidents have been members of many Apex Bodies, but an exercise in futility. Hriday Nath Wanchoo despite being human right activist was mercilessly shot dead.