Rind posh mal...

December 31, 2005

Once again we are late. It’s already 9am. It’s terribly cold as well and so I sit in the kitchen with a kangri well-placed under my phiran. Beside me is the usual and everyday figure, Haji smoking on hukkah. He has been here for over a year now. He doesn’t go home. He feels safe in the shelter of an influential Kashmiri. But here too he is not very relaxed. He lives in constant fear. Zamman kaka informs that Haji generally spends sleepless nights getting up at least five times through the night to check if the doors are properly locked. Last year Haji lost one of his sons in a military operation. He was a militant. The other son is in the security forces. And Haji is at the vertex of this triangle. Militants suspect him of helping security forces, while the police and the army have their eye on him for he is the father of a slain militant. You greet him and he greets you back with a smile. But behind that smile his troubled past that’s still haunting him is hardly concealed.
Quyum saab has left and so we hire a taxi and drive to Srinagar. It’s 31st and so a reason to party which basically means drinking. The diea of coming to town was basically to meet Javed Jalib, an old acquaintance and quite a colourful (can say literally too: with white complexion and red hair he wears a bright red jacket with blue pants and white shoes) person to be with. After walking a bit through Poloview and parks around we decide to move to probably the sole bar in town (I can’t remember the name so forgive me for that). Openly drinking is still a taboo in the Valley. But there are a couple of wine shops in town and considerable crowd can be seen at the counters. Liquor is to Kashmir, what sex is to India. Everybody does it but in their bedrooms.
The security is heavy at the bar. But then security is heavy anywhere you go in Kashmir. For that matter, the forces are only happy to see Kashmiris drinking. There are remote chances of a drunkard turning a militant. The guard at the gate asks us, “Koi asala to nahi hai aapke paas?” We say, “Asala to nahi par Masla hai chahiye.” We share a laugh and move on. It’s a small rickety bar, but full of youngsters sipping on beer. We spend the next two hours talking and its time rush home now.
Midway we stop at Harwan and are greeted by huge tents and decorations at the police station. We are informed that it’s all part of the preperation for the New Year bash. The folk musicians could be there anytime and so the munshi insists that we must stay back and enjoy the musical evening, the first of its kind in Kashmir. First of its kind because the stressed out men in the police and the forces are never treated to such niceties in Kashmir. They are just expected to do their duty in harsh conditions and wait for holidays as relief. Faisal says, “I want maximum work from my men and for that to happen they also need such relief.” But we have to rush home as it’s getting dark. We wish the men a happy new year and move on.
At home the bonfire is ready. Leaping flames fighting the biting cold, around sit red faces in crimson light roasting Kasher Kokar, glasses of Old Monk rising in a toast (forgive me for this sentence). Couldn’t have imagined a better New Year. But probably the best was yet to come. At around 9:30pm we suddenly decided to visit Harwan. Cramped in a Scorpio some 10-12 of us reach Harwan where we see the party is in full flow. The village folk band has been playing for an hour now and the policemen are dancing in full masti to the tune of ‘Rind posh mal…’ We too join the fun and in a while almost everybody is dancing. The singers are tired but are being forced to keep singing as who knows when this fun would visit again. And finally an eventful day ends with, as usual, a heavy meal.

[ This is for those who know Amit Sengupta: Many Kashmiris I met also knew Amitda. And the perception is that he is a medico. You know ‘Doctor saab’]