“Tell the whole world what they are doing to us for we can’t “, said father when my cousins and I left home last time. We usually don’t talk much. My father is not like those usual fathers who possesses the art of expressing his love. He always keeps his feelings repressed, deep down in his heart but somewhere, amidst all this I learnt the art of understanding him and his deepest emotions. I learnt to hear him even when he didn’t say a word and when he did, my heart learnt to comprehend the intricacies of it. It’s been a month since I left home and trust me when I say not a day goes by when the words he uttered don’t resonate in my heart. Every night, I see his face trying to tell me a tale. A tale of tyranny and despair. An ache that he tries to hide behind his face but this heart, I told you, had learnt every art of comprehending emotions since a tender age. You see, I matured quite early. And I don’t regret it. After all, I’m a Kashmiri, an ardent Kashmiri and have seen things I shouldn’t have. I have died a thousand deaths and still managed to survive. Survived to keep promises. Promises to let all of you know it’s our 50th day of seige. Don’t turn a blind eye on it. Just don’t.
B.A Hons. English Jamia Millia Islamia