Kashmir: The Indices Of Green & Blue

Written by Azaan Javaid

Caller- Hello! - Azaana, uman ava jahnam (Azaan, I wish they end up in hell)

Me – Kyoho gai (what happened to you?)

Caller - Mooddai ha karukh Kharab, wallah ha osus paraan nafal vainnuk tain (They have ruined

my mood, I swear by God I was praying for them up until now)

Me – Cze kortha emi mojoob phone (Did you call for the purpose of telling me this)

Caller - Ahanu (Yes)

Me- Kya gai, myei kith parzeha zah nafal (have you ever thought of praying for me instead)

Caller – Yuna chuna waqt kaige karnas (This is not the time to be the ‘wise guy’)

Alas! Pakistan was defeated by their cricketing arch rivals, India, on the eve of 2011 Cricket

world cup semi finals. Speaking on the other side of the phone line was a close acquaintance, a

student of engineering in a university in Europe. I felt guilty the very moment he hung up on me

in disgust. He probably got angry as I couldn’t provide him any solace which he had intended to

look for before he decided to call me. Instead, I tried to crack some wise jokes even though the

intention was to ease out some tension, clearly unable to understand the intensity of his

displeasure over the way things unfolded that night.

But that was me. I have never been a cricket enthusiast. Not that I don’t like the game. I very

much love cricket - the sport for gentlemen, but at a level when I am playing and not only

cheering. I have always found it illogical to root for teams whose victories or losses do not

affect people tangibly. That has a lot to do with my quiet nature; I am yet to cry out loud on

seeing my team win matches or even share hugs. Handshakes - yes, they have been abundant

in number but anything more than that has been impossibility for me.

Just as I sat down on the couch of the studio apartment, the after effects of that night began to

seep in. Firecrackers exploding in the streets of southern Mumbai seemed much louder than I

expected. A rowdy gang of bikers stopped right outside the building, high on victory and alcohol

they were waving the tri colored flag. Not to my disappointment, the chanting was no where

close to patriot songs. At that point of time I wouldn’t have minded ultra patriotic and jingoistic

hymns. All I could hear was the unparliamentary mention of the mothers and sisters of the

defeated team. I remembered a particular test match at that moment which was played

between the same teams few years ago. Shahid Afridi, the only reason a majority of Kashmiri’s

watch cricket had hit 4 sixes off Harbhajan Singh’s bowling in a single over. An over joyous teen

in the moment of ecstasy had used an unpleasant word after the fourth six was hit. The whole

shop was full of men from all spheres of life, the young, the old, employees: government, non

government, the civilians and the police. All stared at him till he became conscious. After

people regained their temporary loss of interest in the match, he slyly walked out of the shop,

embarrassed perhaps.

Alas! In Mumbai, on the second of April 2011 no mercy was shown. By no means am I

suggesting that Kashmiris are more ‘civilized’ than their counterparts in the subcontinent. But I

remember moments of joy in Kashmir which had rather different manifestations. The fastest

century in one day cricket, the highest individual score of 194 and from what my elders tell me

the six that was hit from the last ball of the innings. However it wouldn’t be fair to say that only

Kashmiri people know how to truly appreciate a victory or a good cricketing day. In the first 20-

20 world cup finals I, along with a group of close friends (Non Kashmiris), went to a food court

to watch the grand finale. The place was full of students all over from India and abroad.

Without exaggeration, the number of Indian fans surpassed the number of opposition fans with

the ratio of almost a 1000 to one. That time I didn’t even know who Misbah was (the last man

standing against the Indian onslaught). At that time I considered myself to be the most

disinterested person in the whole crowd, but the experience was suffocating to an extent that I

wanted to cheer out loud in defiance. I wondered how long would a cricket-enthusiast Kashmiri

last if placed in my situation. It was the month of Ramadan, and as a part of standards of

breaking the fast, all Muslims pray to their God for things they desire, both tangible and

intangible. Just when I was about to break mine, I paused and said, “Today you know exactly

what I want.” (Of course not loud enough to be heard by others) Later that evening all hopes

were lost. The cheers and happiness were all around. Real happiness I must say; something we

had a very little experience of. The very moment people root for their national teams, in

Kashmir Article 144 is imposed. This is an occupation of not only the lands, but also of voices,

thoughts and feelings of the people. So much so, a Kashmiri becomes so conscious of the

support that it makes him/her feels like an occupied citizen even when he/she is not even in

Kashmir.

Three years later a newspaper with the largest readership in India carried an article which

suggested that the support for Pakistan is because of the fault line among Kashmiris. The article

said that the support for the men in green cuts through all ‘castes’, political ideologies, the so

called mainstream political parties, the pro-independence and the ones who didn’t care much

for politics, all according to the author supported the men in green. The reason given by the

author was that a cricket victory over India is the only way Kashmiri people can assert some

power over what they believe an oppressive presence. The article further suggested that

oppression on Kashmiris and the reaction resulting from it manifests itself in cricket matches

only; however Kashmiris have no love lost for the plurality India has. I disagree. In a place

where the number of unmarked graves runs in thousands, I would say to cheer for a team does

not top the 'To-do list' of the bereaved families.

Coming back to the night of 2nd April, Facebook statuses of the Indian cricket fans were all

gaga. Kashmiris on the other hand were silent, while some were furious and some chose to

empathize with the defeated cricketers. Some mentors and elders advised the youth not to be

disheartened. “Gindnas manz gaisna vadnus khasun” said one. (We should not cry foul after a

loss). My cell phone started to ring again. Messages (read taunts) from my friends came

splashing like the monsoon rains. I was drowned in my thoughts so I chose not to respond.

The loud bangs of firecrackers refused to mellow. They drowned every other voice, except the

one inside me. That night after I had made peace with myself I knew there will be someone in

more trouble than anyone else I know. Brother of a friend. I called the same friend to inquire

about the situation. He answered rather angrily. “You are as stupid as everyone else, what is

wrong with you people? It’s a game and we aren’t even playing. You know in ancient Rome,

Gladiators were made to fight which provided entertainment for the masses so that the people

would forget the main issues plaguing their society, just like modern day sports. You people are

jobless, including my brother” he said. Two days later when India lifted the world cup I called

him again “Hay kashrin kyazi yotha azaab, ahanu kotha karav bardash” (why are kashmiris in so

much pain and trouble? How much will we tolerate?) said the cricket hating philosopher. The

dark humor and the sarcastic overtone can be understood by Kashmiri’s better than anyone

else. It is funny how one can explain almost everything to everyone but not to oneself.

Just when distress was knocking my door, I saw a status update by a well known Kashmiri

blogger known for his satirical pieces. It said “Kashmir will be a sad place tonight”. I failed to

figure out what was about the status that relieved me almost immediately. But today I do.

It is not about winning or losing, it never was at least for me.Its not even about a cricket team,

its always been about the idea behind the team. It was about being together in sadness and the

moments of joy. It has always been about the stand, a well preserved secret, something which

only we know. It was about the sense of sharing something common, something we can

associate with. Kashmiris, other than pain and humiliation, have not shared much. This perhaps

is one of those last things we share.