By; Naseer Khan
I had to rest my case and rust my pen for a long period, before i realised, enough is enough and one must break the ice now. More, truly because, I personally believe writing is an act of social service. Writing must be an act of resistance and in a socialist democracy, media of writing and speech is the fourth pillar. The success of a democracy lies in the robust network of its institutions. Writing is an institution, like other forms of expression, and the health of a society is truly reflected by the health of writing and scholarship it produces. For a writer, writing is activism of the highest order. If the writing doesn’t serve this end, it ceases it is better to be abandoned. If journalism doesn’t fall in the tradition of speaking to power and taking it head on to the task of those who influence public policy and spending- the only commitment – that above all things, the public institutions must be made accountable towards the social well-being of the common people- journalism loses the influence.
Another reason that compelled me to bury my pen under the pile of certain archaic things: is the painful realisation that the great tradition of reading has died. We are in an age of such a technology, where it is difficult to focus on a single thing. And ‘ focus’ is the key word that enables reading. There is a growing unease around us that nobody reads. People don’t have time to read and l have heard from many friends and even sometimes, I felt it too, to ask myself, ‘ ‘who cares?’ And this is what happens, when we don’t read, we don’t care because we are metaphorically dead. We may be breathing, drinking and eating but this doesn’t mean we are living. To be actually living necessarily brings the principle of caring. And care is the step towards love and love is the ultimate way to realise our goals. So, while writing can be harsh, its ultimate goal must be to create a sense of love and belonging.
Another fallout of the death of reading is the death of criticism. Criticism greatly serves the purpose of a successful democracy. Criticism is a great analytical creative act of looking into things from the vintage point of objectivity, truth and beauty. In the words of T.S Eliot, “Honest criticism is directed at poetry and not at the poet.” It implies as a critic, the job of a writer, (since a writer is a critic at the same time) who rests himself upon the power of the pen and power of word, loses the effect once the critic in him dies. He loses his voice as he gives up the sting of his pen. I don’t mean any malicious intent but the honest task of criticism to improve a piece of a work. I mean, writing or criticism is not sycophancy. It makes no compromise when it comes to serving the community and the inheritors of pen and public voice must not be slaves to flattering and kowtowing.
Let me bring the prelude to the focal point of my article. A point, l want to highlight. The nucleus of the argument is the district of Bandipora. My hometown, proverbially famous for three A’s – Alim, Adab, Aab. But, my inquiry is not about any of the three things that I as the resident of Bandipora beat my chest and boast about. My beating of the chest is over the collective loss of our voice. To me Bandipora is a district of broken roads, bridges and promises – a disjointed connectivity. Probably of all the places or districts in Kashmir, it is the most neglected, hugely unrepresented, and remotely displaced from any political memory. If you are visiting this place for the first time, you are traveling to the travesty of trials and patience. If you are driving, you have a heart in your mouth, as you are not only being put to a nerve control but to the precision of limbs and senses, as you get diverted to narrow strips and passages that open up like tight trousers around tired legs. If you are a patient, Allah blesses you… I wish the ambulance was never to ferry you from such a place. A journey on this road- is a somersault in the tolerance. The sufferers are the people who make the daily movement. For them, the daily movement is not the pleasure of game lodge walking and watching the wilderness of the place (an experience of a white traveller across the African Savannahs, but the curse of daily mobility for earning and survival). – By the way, Bandipora still holds a claim to a natural beauty despite the slow and catastrophic loss of environment like other places; yet, the place still has something left that can hunt imagination. And if everything gets demure with time, one thing that definitely outstays: it is the travesty of travel and displeasure of trying to reach somewhere in the nick of time amid the adversary of disjointed connectivity.
From Srinagar to Bandipora, the distance is only sixty kilometres. But these sixty kilometres break the waist. It broke my waist, when I was a college going student. We would take the Nowgam route then. We were driven into compounds and pathways, like ants to the bills. It took three hours to reach Srinagar in buses that would pack passengers like apples in a crate.
Twenty five years down the line, in an age of great acceleration and speed, too great a stretch of time, to change the place from a town to a district, nothing practical on ground has moved other than the Deputy Commissioner Complex that raises a hope against hope. Twenty five years down the line, when the country has built strong roads and wonderful machinery, Bandipora district continues to be on a ventilator from a point of view of a common man, who walks on the broken roads, bridges, culverts and promises as he turns into the dark alleys and divergence. In an age of wonderful machinery that rips the stony mountains and overnight raises isles in the bays, the small and critical connection that in terms of the human body is like a stunt to the heart, addressing the issue of blockade, is still under some experimentation of engineering. If you are a resident of Aragam, you are virtually cut-off, because the critical connecting bridge that connects you to the district headquarter is still under consideration from the last seven year I guess so). If you have to travel from Hajin to Bandipora, you have to risk your neck and walk on a tightrope where a slight lack of concentration as a driver can push you to the brown waters of Jhelum.
Twenty five years down the line, it takes approximately three hours to reach Srinagar and vice-versa. The critical junction point near Naninara Sumbal is still under- construction. It is under construction from almost a year or so and by time, the massive flyover on the ring road with somef far structures with roots inside the depths of Jhelum river have been erected like the age old chinar trees. There is no urgency to complete this small but vital junction on Srinagar Bandipora highway because the people to whom it connects are ‘ invisible poor’ and are not part of mega dream mega projects: and, because the people have accepted the new low… To be driven inside alleys, where you need precision and patience. And when you lose it, you endup catching up with one another. This is the road where you meet impatient drivers and compulsive passengers throwing volleys and abuses. There is no urgency in addressing the growing frustration. Is it because the district falls away from the official landscape or if it is: the sufferers are the poor and marginalized mutes who have forgotten the art to speak up for themselves like the autumnal foliage.
The district has three MLA’s and I am sure they must be gravely concerned because they owe to the people more than anyone else. They must be having sleepless nights while they see their people suffer. The district has a development commissioner and I believe that as a public servant, he/ she must be putting all eggs in a basket to bring an end to the misery of the people who l think suffer too much a syndrome of gentleness that they normalise all kinds of divulging and convulging. The common man matters in a democracy but the common man has become a laughing stock with his wishes that he wishes were horses. Some people say the district is ‘invisible.’ Visibility is a cut out task for public representatives. Without meaning any impudence or discredit to anybody; who is doing his best, the need to push the district out of this invisibility and bring it to the official landscape is the collective responsibility of all. To that end, we need to break the normalised quiet and learn the true art of speaking and writing with any undue obeisance and unnecessary use of adjectives like ‘ worthy’ and ‘visionary’ while addressing public servants. The language of truth is polite but bitter and sometimes must be bold and defiant.
Footnote: During a college function, one of the deputy commissioners was asked a question: What impressed you the most about the place? His answer was sincere but stunning. He replied:
” It is a great place to rest and sleep.”
About Author: Naseer Khan is a Teacher in the Department of Higher education J&K.
(NOTE: The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of Kashmir Dot Com, its editorial staff, or its affiliates. KDC does not endorse or guarantee the accuracy of any claims made in this opinion piece.)
