By: Imran Ghazi
Intelligentsia scorn me, to them I am a ruffian, and they refer to me as the lumpen proletariat. They are all learned scholars, poets, linguists, writers; they are mirror of our society. When I and my friends were slaughtered on the streets some Rahi lost his way in the commotion, and found himself in a hall were some Gyan Peeth award was given to him by someone whose hands were smeared with our dirty blood. He accepted the award with hands folded in benediction, feeling at last he has found his way not knowing Rahi has been lost in wilderness forever. When men of intellect stoop so low I do what I know best, yes I pelt stones in despair. I have one question for all you learned men .Do those Shawls of honour have smell of our blood and warmth of the breath of a dying stone pelter? By the way was it not the proletariat who brought a revolution,an old news paper I found with” Sulla Masala”talks about that. How many of you have heard the word sodomy ‘’Astagfirullah’’ cheap word from a cheap stone pelter,this is what some of my friends had to face in police station S.R.Gunj,in presence of S.H.O and the D.S.P,they were no Ram lal or Shyam lal,but musalman saeb. The whole episode was filmed on their mobile cameras, all this in the name of teaching us a lesson. Everything is fair in love and war, but I think there is a word in your civilised world that you call morality, is this punishment moral, ethical, is it human, perhaps new city police chief who is as his name suggests always awake will have the answer or it is during these trying times his conscience takes a nap. Did you ever condemn it even verbally in your hamams ,no never, for boys who were assaulted brutally were not your kids, they were the dirt of the street and deserved to be trampled under the repressive feet of the monsters in uniform. Yes I did what I know best, I pelted stones in solidarity with my friends, for I may be filth of the street but can not condone the bestiality. I and my fellow stone pelters are in our early teens, post 90 generation, we heard about revolution from our elders, we were not part of it, but are the products of revolution. Did not you choke the towns and cities of the valley in millions, in search of Azadi in early nineties? Who are lying in numerous martyrs graveyards across the valley. Were they not your sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and friends? Have you forgotten them or you suffer from selective amnesia, you remember them when it suits you and abuse them when you like. You made us aware of what revolution is during Ragda2008. Who was on the streets for Muzaffarabad march ,Pampore, TRC, it was you. You came out not in thousands but lakhs and that in spite of all the restrictions imposed by the government. Who coined the slogan ‘’Bharat ka tiranga ye Ragda’’. You led and we over enthusiastic teens followed you. Then god knows why you made a beeline to the polling booths during assembly elections. We learned the lesson of freedom from you, alas you forgot, but you taught us so well that yearning for freedom is not in our hearts but our soul. Why are you raising your eyebrows, why this frown on your face. You talk about alternate ways of protest, how many of you participated in the torch processions, signature campaigns, and candle light vigils. I bet if you are asked to clap thrice in your bedrooms as form of resistance to Indian occupation you will not, even that will be left to the petty stone pelters like us. When was the last time you did something for the freedom movement? Moot point is you are all hypocrites, yes a nation of hypocrites. You talk of sacrifices rendered during last twenty years, what is your active contribution. It is our raw courage, which you presume I buy from 2500 paid to me by some agency that acts as a fig leaf to cover your cowardice and hypocrisy. Come out of your hypocrisy, I am a cancer for your development, have balls to tell me the same on my face. Why do you take part in our funerals, why, leave our bodies without bath and a shroud to be devoured by vultures .Don’t you raise the slogan” Martyr your blood will bring revolution.” Never will our blood bring about a revolution for there are no seekers of revolution. We are stone pelters it is our fate to die like this in gutters, from gutters we emerge, in gutters we live and it is the gutter that embraces us when we die. You be at peace in your castles you masters of inaction, in Kashmiri we call you “na karnike seh”. Be men and come out openly in favour of status quo or pre 90 position. Who are you afraid of? The gun wielding elders are gone; they are all in the martyr’s graveyard sleeping blissfully. Why are you confusing the world, you don’t need freedom and you wont get it, until you deserve it. Your self interest has sucked you up, you are in a rat race for making green bucks, castles, cars, careers, path to freedom is not yours, and you have gone astray. You need a course correction. You need a Bakshi (ii) who will provide you Rabab ,Kabab, Sharab and Shabab, this is what you strive for and take my word you will achieve this and no power on earth can stop your march, for you are committed and wedded to this cause. Enough of arguments, after all I am a stone pelter I can not win an argument with you, for you are learned men. It is clear to me my countrymen that I am an impediment to your progress, it pains me, I don’t want you to be backward, I want you to prosper. What then is the solution? I can not stoop to your level nor can you rise to my level. Don’t you worry I have a solution. Let there be a role reversal for a day, you be the stone pelters and we the perennial stone pelters the target. I will gather all my friends at Eidgah and you stone us to death, we will take all your stones with a smile on our lips and a tear in our eyes, smile we will for your prosperity and tears will roll, for we won’t be there to see the smile on your lips when you achieve your prosperity. Having stoned us don’t you think you won, it is we who have won for once from masters of inaction you have become men of action, and did not we pelt stones all our lives just to make you act. One last request my countrymen, please do not make a graveyard for us, for you will make a ritual of visiting it every year along with our respected leaders , who will come separately, as they come to our funerals individually, strange not even our blood unites them. They say unity is possible only on principles, true how can blood of a stone pelter or chastity and honour of a common Kashmiri woman be a principle to unite on, and it must be some high principle. Even if you bury us don’t ever visit our graves for old habits don’t die we will rise from our graves and pelt stones on sight of a Hypocrite. Tell my mother I will miss her, for I had two Homes Street and her lap, and yes her lap was comforting but it was the street that was my calling. As everything in the hospital room is becoming hazy and death is waiting to embrace me, I remember a couplet by some Iqbal, I read on the back of an auto rickshaw of a fellow stone pelter. jis khak Ke Zameer Main ho Atish Chinar Mumkin Naheen Ki Sard Ho Woh khake Arjmund. Is it true my country………….
Intelligentsia scorn me, to them I am a ruffian, and they refer to me as the lumpen proletariat. They are all learned scholars, poets, linguists, writers; they are mirror of our society. When I and my friends were slaughtered on the streets some Rahi lost his way in the commotion, and found himself in a hall were some Gyan Peeth award was given to him by someone whose hands were smeared with our dirty blood. He accepted the award with hands folded in benediction, feeling at last he has found his way not knowing Rahi has been lost in wilderness forever. When men of intellect stoop so low I do what I know best, yes I pelt stones in despair. I have one question for all you learned men .Do those Shawls of honour have smell of our blood and warmth of the breath of a dying stone pelter? By the way was it not the proletariat who brought a revolution,an old news paper I found with” Sulla Masala”talks about that. How many of you have heard the word sodomy ‘’Astagfirullah’’ cheap word from a cheap stone pelter,this is what some of my friends had to face in police station S.R.Gunj,in presence of S.H.O and the D.S.P,they were no Ram lal or Shyam lal,but musalman saeb. The whole episode was filmed on their mobile cameras, all this in the name of teaching us a lesson. Everything is fair in love and war, but I think there is a word in your civilised world that you call morality, is this punishment moral, ethical, is it human, perhaps new city police chief who is as his name suggests always awake will have the answer or it is during these trying times his conscience takes a nap. Did you ever condemn it even verbally in your hamams ,no never, for boys who were assaulted brutally were not your kids, they were the dirt of the street and deserved to be trampled under the repressive feet of the monsters in uniform. Yes I did what I know best, I pelted stones in solidarity with my friends, for I may be filth of the street but can not condone the bestiality. I and my fellow stone pelters are in our early teens, post 90 generation, we heard about revolution from our elders, we were not part of it, but are the products of revolution. Did not you choke the towns and cities of the valley in millions, in search of Azadi in early nineties? Who are lying in numerous martyrs graveyards across the valley. Were they not your sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and friends? Have you forgotten them or you suffer from selective amnesia, you remember them when it suits you and abuse them when you like. You made us aware of what revolution is during Ragda2008. Who was on the streets for Muzaffarabad march ,Pampore, TRC, it was you. You came out not in thousands but lakhs and that in spite of all the restrictions imposed by the government. Who coined the slogan ‘’Bharat ka tiranga ye Ragda’’. You led and we over enthusiastic teens followed you. Then god knows why you made a beeline to the polling booths during assembly elections. We learned the lesson of freedom from you, alas you forgot, but you taught us so well that yearning for freedom is not in our hearts but our soul. Why are you raising your eyebrows, why this frown on your face. You talk about alternate ways of protest, how many of you participated in the torch processions, signature campaigns, and candle light vigils. I bet if you are asked to clap thrice in your bedrooms as form of resistance to Indian occupation you will not, even that will be left to the petty stone pelters like us. When was the last time you did something for the freedom movement? Moot point is you are all hypocrites, yes a nation of hypocrites. You talk of sacrifices rendered during last twenty years, what is your active contribution. It is our raw courage, which you presume I buy from 2500 paid to me by some agency that acts as a fig leaf to cover your cowardice and hypocrisy. Come out of your hypocrisy, I am a cancer for your development, have balls to tell me the same on my face. Why do you take part in our funerals, why, leave our bodies without bath and a shroud to be devoured by vultures .Don’t you raise the slogan” Martyr your blood will bring revolution.” Never will our blood bring about a revolution for there are no seekers of revolution. We are stone pelters it is our fate to die like this in gutters, from gutters we emerge, in gutters we live and it is the gutter that embraces us when we die. You be at peace in your castles you masters of inaction, in Kashmiri we call you “na karnike seh”. Be men and come out openly in favour of status quo or pre 90 position. Who are you afraid of? The gun wielding elders are gone; they are all in the martyr’s graveyard sleeping blissfully. Why are you confusing the world, you don’t need freedom and you wont get it, until you deserve it. Your self interest has sucked you up, you are in a rat race for making green bucks, castles, cars, careers, path to freedom is not yours, and you have gone astray. You need a course correction. You need a Bakshi (ii) who will provide you Rabab ,Kabab, Sharab and Shabab, this is what you strive for and take my word you will achieve this and no power on earth can stop your march, for you are committed and wedded to this cause. Enough of arguments, after all I am a stone pelter I can not win an argument with you, for you are learned men. It is clear to me my countrymen that I am an impediment to your progress, it pains me, I don’t want you to be backward, I want you to prosper. What then is the solution? I can not stoop to your level nor can you rise to my level. Don’t you worry I have a solution. Let there be a role reversal for a day, you be the stone pelters and we the perennial stone pelters the target. I will gather all my friends at Eidgah and you stone us to death, we will take all your stones with a smile on our lips and a tear in our eyes, smile we will for your prosperity and tears will roll, for we won’t be there to see the smile on your lips when you achieve your prosperity. Having stoned us don’t you think you won, it is we who have won for once from masters of inaction you have become men of action, and did not we pelt stones all our lives just to make you act. One last request my countrymen, please do not make a graveyard for us, for you will make a ritual of visiting it every year along with our respected leaders , who will come separately, as they come to our funerals individually, strange not even our blood unites them. They say unity is possible only on principles, true how can blood of a stone pelter or chastity and honour of a common Kashmiri woman be a principle to unite on, and it must be some high principle. Even if you bury us don’t ever visit our graves for old habits don’t die we will rise from our graves and pelt stones on sight of a Hypocrite. Tell my mother I will miss her, for I had two Homes Street and her lap, and yes her lap was comforting but it was the street that was my calling. As everything in the hospital room is becoming hazy and death is waiting to embrace me, I remember a couplet by some Iqbal, I read on the back of an auto rickshaw of a fellow stone pelter. jis khak Ke Zameer Main ho Atish Chinar Mumkin Naheen Ki Sard Ho Woh khake Arjmund. Is it true my country………….
