After 300 years of cruel rule in India, British Army managed to march out of the country with a shot fire and seven casualties. A shot fire and seven casualties. But! Indians ended up uprooting 15 million of its own population, killing 1 or 2 million of its own people, raping 75,000 women of its own land and partitioning its own country.  1947 was that candle in Indian history, that lit up the sky with freedom from slavery but put its grounds in dark killing its integrity. 1947 killed the coexistence in India, at a glance.

I was eleven when one morning pitaji rushed to my bedroom. I was seeing him after two days. But he did not care to me and was walking here and there. Soon, he got the sandook from the almirah, and started packing. Before I could ask him the reason maa and chichi came in with her jewelleries and other belongings. We were going somewhere I knew but where and why? And what was the reason of the rush. Things were not right as we were at the edge of getting freedom from British rule, I had learnt from the elders. Before I could utter a word, maa caressed me and said, “beta, we cannot tell you the everything now… we have to leave Karachi, we will go to some other part of the country, that is the thing for now.”, that was enough to shake my grounds, “maa, we got independent, then why are they making us move?” maa was terrified. Never in the past years had that I had saw her worried like this. After Second World War, independence became our fate as British Empire was out of resources to run the cruelty and the fight for freedom had ignited. We were going to be a democratic country after 300 years of slavery. But I saw no happiness in her eyes; her words were shivery instead, ”it is not the British, we failed to keep good relations with the other religions of our country, we will be divided into two countries from now on, don’t you remember me telling you about the new region, Pakistan?”, Maa tried to wrap the conversation but I was confused, “ yes, you had told me but why we have to shift?,” I wanted the ask more but the noises  outside interrupted me. Maa sensed my insecurity somehow, “this is a land of muslims and we are hindus we cannot stay here any long, this is going to be Pakistan and we are Indians.” Pitaji joined us but not for talking, “betaji, we will let you understand each and everything but not now, this is a crucial time, people are killing each other,,,, we are not safe here.” He was stressed and so were the other family member but I could not really get the reason, “I obey you, pitaji,,,, but this is our hometown, I have lived here with ashfaq from the time I was born, why would he kill me?”, by the time I completed my question wiping my tears pitaji was gone, he was busy. Maa promised to tell me about it on our way and left me to get ready.

But I wasn’t happy. But then! I had to follow my elders. I stared my room for some time and then I went to close the window, I did not want dust to fell in. site of the street had all my answers. There were dead bodies and… blood. That was all I could see. I was unaware of the reason again, but I got the fact that we were not safe. I locked the door of my room, kissed it and promised to come back, one day.

For next 15 minutes, we waited in the hall. Pitaji and chachaji went to check for safety. We were strictly told to stay home. maa, chichi, rupa, dadi, ashwin and me. I was crying, all that while. At one time when the riots outside accelerated, Maa sat down to match my height and held my shoulder tightly, “promise me one thing,,, you will not leave my hand. Our own people are going to be harsh on us, they will attach us,,, there is chance,,, but you won’t lose the grip on me, promise?” I promised and she hugged me with her lively smile and teary eyes. I was strengthened.

“paras, you go with chachaji and your cousins, we will come in the next trip.”, Pitaji said when he came back. “but why?”, I was anxious. “betaji, we have got only one tanga, you people leave and we will follow.”, he made me understand but that was not enough for me, “I will come with maa, I won’t lose the grip”, I announced.  Maa held me again, “yes, you never will. But we are family and we have to act according to what comes forth.”, she advised but I was stubborn, “I will not…. Leave your hands,”.   She, with all her grace, put through her words that were unmatchable, “your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. Think of everyone’s safety and leave,,,, I will grab you again once you escape the darkness of today.”

I obeyed… and left. The time I saw her waving from the tanga, she looked divine. We boarded the train but they did not come. My anxiety and fear grew every second. Chachaji told us they would come in the next train. And they did come, Pitaji and his associates. Pitaji did not meet me till we reach our new house in Amritsar. “Your maa and chachi stayed in the camp, the violence had advanced. They will come with the other migrants.” Pitaji told us. He had actually… lied to us. they never came. Maa and chachi. They never came.

Today, after 70 years, I am a historian and a professor. I tell my students not just the fighting spirit of our patriots but the sacrifices done our women. Our own people are going to be harsh on us. my pitaji killed maa that day. your safety is my responsibility and my dignity is your obedience. She died to save me and her dignity. My safety was in moving out of my hometown because few people suddenly thought that our motherland needed division to survive and my mother’s dignity was in dying because all thought it to be better to kill their own ladies than to find them brutally raped by other religion.

Everything was done by everybody for religion, regardless of being a Hindu or Muslim. Both killed, raped, looted and separated their ways. They fought for freedom together for ages, and then they fought with each other to feel free. And that is how we got independent… independent of?

I was just half awake when a voice encroached my peaceful morning. It was my mother’s, it took me a minute to figure it out.

Next! I grabbed my half fallen blanket, covered my face and tried to sleep. But, the noises did not let me. This time, they were more than one. I stepped down the bed finally, and crossed that distance till living room which seemed to be a mile away. We had some guests and maa was talking to them, or I can say screaming with them. I rubbed my eyes to clear the picture and there I saw; maa, masi, masa and two others. I greeted them, all of them, but they kind of ignored me amid their serious discussion. That day I realised that you might be the best son or you are home for just 3 days or you were a scholar all your life, you will just be ignored if there is a serious conversation going on. And when I say serious, it is not about the cold war between India and China or about the monsoon in Delhi, it was about a neighbour’s wedding. I stood there thinking for a while and then went straight towards the washroom. The voices were so clear from there, thanks to our compact 2BHK apartment. I chose to hear them.

“You won’t believe Meenu, I told his mother straight that how she could agree for this marriage. She just walked away, couldn’t say a word.” Maa said to masi.

“I think there is something wrong with Anup. He is MBA, earns lakhs per month, is good looking, then why this girl? There must be something we don’t know.” masi replied.

 “Yes, she is not even rich.” said masa. This much was enough to tense me. I was suddenly breathing heavily. I had come home for a week for Anup’s wedding. He is not just a neighbour but my childhood friend. We were similar. Went to same school, graduated from same college, I went Bangalore to pursue career in IT while he post graduated with MBA. Last night I was busy celebrating with Anup and other friends. But this morning snatched my hangover. I knew what they were talking about, why they were talking so and why they did not like Anup’s wife. But I prayed not to hear those exact words. But they continued.

“She is an MBA too, they were batch mates…” said an unknown voice.

“But she is too dark, couldn’t you see. There must be other girls in his batch”, I heard maa.

“Yes, you know I couldn’t even get her face, she just camouflaged with the lights”, said masi.

For the next few minutes, all I could hear were laughs. I couldn’t take anymore. They kept on saying when I joined the room, this time without caring about being ignored.

“So you people are talking about Priya”, I sat beside maa. All the faces stared me for a while and then maa said, “Anup is your best friend, couldn’t you tell him to find a good girlfriend.” And the laughs continued. “And why do you people think she is not a good girl?”, I added.

“This generation is so blind about relationships, Raghu think about his kids they will be dark too.” Masi replied to me. “So what masi, even your children are dark, because masa is, does it make any difference to their personality?”, and I crossed the line for them. “Beta, I am a man, head of the family but a woman… needs to be pretty.” said masa.

“So it is not about kids, then what? About being a girl. So, Priya is MBA earns equally like Anup, she has mentally supported Anup when he was down after uncle’s death, and they make a good duo with their compatibility. They have taken responsibilities of both the family way before the marriage and haven’t failed yet. She is better in fact best choice for Anup for she loves him and he reciprocates”, I took a deep breath. “Love lasts for days, but there are other things too, how would he manage with her, I mean how he would love her?” said masa. “Are you talking about sex?” I replied, to which maa frowned but I did not stop, “Let it be a private topic for them.” “But what about family status, you don’t know how her mother is going to answer people.” said masi.

“Which people? Whom should she answer? People like you? Maa? People like us?”

 There was a silence. No! They did not get my words. It is just that… they faced the mirror and stood staring to what they are.

I looked around the room to find my place; on the left side of the door was a supplanted centre table full of baggage, next to it was a maroon polished almirah that touched the other wall, attached to which was the floral carved wooden double bed full with sleepers and next to that was my sister sitting on the floor stitching her blouse. There was an old computer table on my right that now served as another baggage counter. I found myself in middle of nowhere. Middle! That clicked me and I settled on the floor near the almirah.

Somewhere I felt middle-class to be a social name for poverty, I realised this when I glanced the room for the last time before I took a deep breath to start. And the moment I took out the nail clipper to cut my nails a sharp but curious voice held me in between, “you can’t cut nails at night.” And I faced up to see my cousin on the bed. How did I overlook her while observing the room? I thought... and then I overlooked her one more time. “You DON’T cut nails at night.” she was restless this time. “Yes you don’t”, a voice with more authority came this time; it was my sister’s. 

I continued cutting my long dirty nails and asked them the reason for not doing so at that hour of the night. And for no surprise they were ready with the answers.

Cousin: one loses money if they cut nails at night.

Me: whose money?

Cousin: areyy! Your money, you fool.

Me: who told you this?

Cousin: I know.

Me: how?

Sister: you would have known it too if you listen to our elders... you are a girl...

There is a time you know you need to take the blame and call off the conversation because; if you stretch it anymore it can get deadly. It was that time. I nodded and ignored them at the same time.

I had a sleep. NOT GOOD. NOT SWEET-DREAMY. JUST- SLEEP. It was so because I got to sleep amid various snoring as our tiny middle-class home had no soundproof rooms or in better terms... the doors didn’t close due to seepage.

Tujhko uda kar ke!

Tujhko uda kar ke!

Tujhko uda kar ke le jaaenge badri ki dulhaniya...

I woke up confused to whether I was dreaming of an item song. But! It was television. Drawing room and my bedroom, which was not exclusively mine, were happened to be planned diagonally opposite, separated by a small dining. And slowly as I gained conscience the song was accompanied by other background scores...

 Nani: roti banao jaldi jaldi tiffin bharna hai.

Ma- aai thamb! Ban rahi roti, tu bas.

Mami- kab jate hai chinu aor saha kam par...

And it went on. It was not every day that we had this many people in our house but Chinu’s birthday was some occasion for them to reunite. It was pleasing to meet all, it always was. But to SLEEP, to HEAR, to RESIDE, it was always clumsy. 

I waited for ten long minutes to use the tommilet. And yes! It takes a lot of effort to wait... for toilet ... in the morning. Then I brushed my teeth with cousin Dinky, Parrot Chikki and one other at the backyard.

I stepped into the 7x4 feet kitchen to find three women working in team; one rolling the flour dough balls, other was making parathas and the last one, was cooking sabzi. The moment, yes the moment I took a spoon of boiled egg in my mouth, my nani turned to me, “pehle nahana chaiye tujhe!”

I kept the plate back in the platform sighed and raised my voice against it. I said, “why?” and next, maa gave me an angry look that was enough for me to leave the kitchen that very moment.

I ate my breakfast hearing advices, hopes, stories and what not. But mainly advices... DON’T BE LATE, YOU GIRLS SHOULD COME HOME BEFORE DARK, EAT LITTLE MORE YOU LOOK THIN, WHY DON’T YOU CARE FOR YOU FACE YOU LOOK HORRIBLE, STOP WASTING SO MUCH TIME ON FITNESS YOU ARE NOT FAT BUT WORRY FOR YOUR FACE YOU HAVE TO GET MARRIED.

Maa’s continuous hold on you through her 'KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT' look let go the moment and you successfully clear that level according to her when you put a smile at your face and node a yes... all the time. And it was an escape.

And when you think that everything in your life from now on would be better, you just miss the fact that you have a boss for whom you work.

With a hell hectic day of two urgent assignments that day, I was blessed to have a senior female employee who was always ready to give me a detailed speech on the fact that I was a girl and I should be safe.

HER LECTURE:

You should take care of yourself, that worker was staring at you.... I think you work well only when boss pays attention on you.... you should not get emotionally attached to boss; he has a flirty nature... take care of what you wear... I am concerned for you, otherwise I wouldn’t have told you all this... you are like my daughter... I am just advising you... you are grown up, but it’s my duty...

I heard everyone. Instead of disagreeing, I ignored every single word that was told to me. I am done hearing you. Now HEAR ME, HEAR ME. YES I AM A GIRL AND I KNOW IT. I KNOW HOW TO BREATHE, HOW TO DRIVE, HOW TO EAT, HOW TO SIT, WHAT TO WEAR, WHERE TO GO AND WITH WHOM, HOW TO BEHAVE AT THE WORK PLACE, HOW TO WORK, HOW TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF AND HOW TO BE SURE ABOUT MY SAFETY.. AND EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW THESE THINGS, IT IS MY PROBLEM NOT YOURS, ALL I KNOW IS I AM A GIRL AND NOT A MACHINE WHO WILL ACT YOUR WAY JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT ME THAT WAY.

But this time the reason that kept me shut was just being tired of hearing those things and because it was not bothering my work.

Eight at night, in a busy main road, I was driving my scooty when I heard some boys yelling and abusing badly, they were behind me on their bike... Like advised I didn’t turn and kept going. When I heard a female voice loud, I sank in fear, but I gained my courage to turn for another girl and I saw a scooty fallen on the road. The yelling boys were nowhere to be found. There were two girls on the road. One of them told me that those boys were following them from sometime, they were drunk and were asking them to stop and when they didn’t, one of the boys kicked the girl on the back seat and drove off. The girl was not injured physically but mentally, she was not saying anything and was only breathing heavily.

The girls had worn scarf covering their whole face, neck, chest and even stomach, just their eyes were visible. They were fully dressed with jeans and top on. I helped them clean the dust and asked them to complain, to which they said, “Nai baba! Bach gaye na, bas. Marna thode hai complain kar ke”

For the first time in the whole day I regretted something, regretted not turning at the correct time. I could have caught them or at least I could have seen the number plate on their bike. And it also made me think that- you say what you want to say to a person and go off but don’t realise what impact it makes on that person. The way those girls responded, I realised, they were not fainthearted but they too were a victim of hearing things that girls SHOULD NOT DO and were the obedient Indian females- who didn’t complain.

It counts as a bad manner to listen, interfere or publicise other’s talk. But it doesn’t fit in as a moral when you are travelling by train. In fact, I like it when unknown people sit together and talk about anything to everything just to pass the time. It is believed that people of my generation are involved with their gadget_freak_social_media_life. But! It’s hell not true, not with me at least... especially when the guy opposite you is a handsome army man. A tall, perfectly fair and perfectly built up guy... with lips more pink than usual. And it interests you even more when he is from Kashmir.

I was on my way to Bhopal when I heard this catchy conversation the jawaan was having with a lady (seemed to be in her forties) who was sitting beside him, a cool multitasking college dude next to him again who was talking & playing candy crush and a retired physics professor who was seated next to me.

The professor: I toured Kashmir last year with my beta, bahu and grandson. She surely is a heaven. (by she, he meant Kashmir.)

The lady: Is it safe out there? (What!)

The jawaan: Of course, ma’am. Yes, we can’t deny, there are still some restricted areas, kya kare yeh jung... picha nahi chod rahi. Nearly 11 lakh travellers visited Jammu & Kashmir in 2014, of which only 50,000 were from foreign countries. You must visit ma’am. (Damn, he talks like a dream.)

The cool dude: What is your job? Have you ever been in the border security? (That’s a good one, bro.)

The jawaan: No. It’s been 6 years I am living army. I have worked as security for ministers; have guarded many occasions like Delhi parade. Initially I was in Kashmir but later they sent me to Delhi. Now, I work in headquarters. (Mark his words... he said living army, not serving)

The cool dude: So, you serve Indian Army, that makes it obvious you have no issues with Indian government, but there are many who want a free Kashmir even today... how do you see this? (The dude is more than just cool, I see.)

The jawaan: Haha, I work for India not the government. Well, I love my country, the things that has happened and that are still happening are the after results of adverse opinions, conflicts and much more... Kashmir has suffered a lot, a lot more than what you and I can imagine, but no one alone but everything together was responsible. So I don’t blame people in Kashmir for thinking that way but I try they understand my point. (Deep.)

The lady: It’s really pleasing to see people of your age dedicated towards the country.

The jawaan: There are so many like me out there, ma’am. (Oh man, his smile.)

Pause.

The professor: You are going home or headquarters?

The jawaan: Filhaal, I am going home, I had been in Nagpur for a relatives wedding. I will be home for two days and will then return to cant.

The lady: Where do you live in Kashmir, beta?

The jawaan: Gulmarg. It’s a beautiful hill station. I am born & brought up there. You all can come and visit.

This time he looked at everyone including me. (OMG. Has he seen me gazing at him?)

The professor: I dint get to visit Gulmarg.

The cool dude: It lies near the LOC. (he is still playing.)

The professor: Yeah yeah.

The lady: There must be a Muslim dominating population.

The jawaan: Ji. The whole Kashmir is.

The cool dude: There are other Kashmiri with you in headquarters?

The jawaan: Not in headquarters. But there were many in my batch.

The professor: Is there any quota for Muslims in army?

The jawaan: laugh. There are no quotas.

The lady: Is there any discrimination that Muslims face?

The jawaan: Discrimination? Ma’am this is Indian army, our religions doesn’t matter. If it matters somewhere than only for celebrating our festivals together when we are away from our family. There are so many Muslims in our army, I myself am a Muslim... I have never experienced any discrimination or harassment for being a Muslim or for being from Kashmir.

The professor nodded in support, The cool dude was busy playing but did a hmm to contribute and The lady was stunned for some unknown reason.

The lady: You are musalmaan?

The jawaan: Ji, ma’am. Asraf Ali.

The professor: Tell me more about Gulmarg. Is it safe to travel...

And their conversation went on. They kept on discussing the army, Kashmir, government and I kept on listening to them but by this time my focus had completely shifted to The lady. Suddenly, she was not saying anything, had got shifted towards the window, and was not even looking at them.

This made me restless. Just a few moments ago he was a pleasing young man dedicated to country, he was interesting to listen to and he also was a beta. And being all this... all that mattered for her at last was... that he was a Muslim. He dint react. He didn’t say a single word to her again throughout the journey. May be, he dint care...may be, he was used to this... may be, it dint bother him... may be... may not be. I kept on thinking, I keep thinking even today.

It bothers me even today. The question might not hurt the person who said and the one who answered... but it hurts me.

Why is it necessary for us to know who is who, who is born as what? Isn’t it enough to know what one does and how right or wrong one is with whatever one does?

It is not just about Muslims, but I wonder how many of us Indians ask this one question to how many other Indians... We sadden them, hurt them and we may even provoke them...