He was Kashmir
The sounds of guns and rage were synchronizing with each other, and a voice struck me. It belonged to someone I admired. “Son, does someone die when he’s ill? No. When he gets shot by some devil?Not at all. It’s when he loses his humanity and the people around him care about him no more, and he gets forgotten.” I opened my eyes. It was morning already. I saw children playing as I drew curtains of my window and smiled. "Is this what you wished for, Qasim?"
My name is Amir and I’m a doctor, just like my mother. I belong to a place where everything is in
chaos. Ah, I still remember clearly when mom would never allow me to go out to play. 'I hate to stay home', every time I would say. She would reply, “You can play here fine.” with a smile. That smile of her was filled with emotions I never understood back then.
One day I managed to run out when she wasn’t around. I was delighted to play with my ball. I saw two boys. They looked like foreigners. They took my ball, and when I politely asked for it back, they beat me up and said, “Know your place! How dare you tell us what you want? What we do is right”. I went home, scared and angry. Mom was standing at the threshold. I didn’t know how to face her. She slapped me but I could see tears in her eyes. Then she treated my wounds. I wanted to say sorry but I couldn’t.
After a year, I started school. I saw those boys. I wanted to hit them and make them pay. But over time, I realized that there was a group of kids who supported them. The reason being that they belonged to Hindu community. No one went against them, although they were so few. Even the teachers never helped us against their bullying. I wanted badly, so badly, to make them suffer. With these thoughts, I carried on.
But in grade 5, an incident changed my life. Ah, that day I picked a fight against one of those bullies.
He had taken my lunch every day since 2nd grade, and sometimes he would take my books too. I kicked him hard like every student wanted (other than his group that wasn’t around). But one of the boys, Qasim went to him with a first aid box and treated him. But why? He bullied Qasim too. I was puzzled.
After a while, Qasim grabbed my hand and started with, “Run!” I ran. “Hey, but why?” He said, “You will be in trouble otherwise”. What a weirdo. Why is he helping me? He does not seem to be a Hindu nor a bad person. These thoughts went through my mind. Then he took a lunch box out of his bag and went back. I discreetly followed him. I was horrified to see that he was giving it to that bully boy and apologizing for my action.
The bully boy made fun of him and forgave me. On the way home, I caught him from his shirt collar and said, “Why did you help him, you coward?” But he just smiled. “He would have caused you more trouble, then.” I got angry. “So what you mean is that we should praise him? Bow in front of him? I am a human. I have dignity too, you know.” “I don’t know, but I love humans. I don’t know what to do with my kindness”. I threw him down and yelled, “You’re an idiot, that’s all.”
I couldn’t sleep all night. I couldn’t. His answers. ‘He is just like mom’ as mom would always get angry when I fought with someone. Next day, I overheard someone say Qasim’s father had been killed by Hindus for selling cow’s meat. Even then, How can he defend them? I started spying on him and he, even realizing that, never said a word.
One day he came to me and gave an offer, “Let’s become friends. Although I am an introvert, and I am always alone, but I like you, Amir. You may look like a furious animal but your heart is so pure”. I rejected, of course. From that day on, he started sitting next to me. I had never asked him to. He would try to share lunch, which I would always reject. But he was persistent and I gave up eventually. In him I found my best friend. He taught me how to love humans, and one day I asked him, “Don’t you want revenge for your father, Qasim?” His eyes filled up with tears. He replied, “Allah Almighty is the one who will do that. Otherwise there will be no difference between me and those who killed him.”
Then, in college, I heard a news that made me scream. I couldn’t control myself. Qasim had been hit by a bullet from the Kashmiri army on his way to Ja’amia Mosque and he was fighting for his life! I ran to the hospital. My eyes brimming with tears and anger that I had never felt for a long time. When I reached there, Qasim had passed away. It felt unreal when the doctor told me. I fainted. Mom took me back home. I stayed locked up in my room for a month. I stopped talking to everyone. Mom
always tried to cheer me up. “But I don’t want to live here anymore, something is wrong with this place. What Qasim had said was not wrong. Then why did he die? I should have been the
one. I hated Hindus! I should have died.” These thoughts always circled my mind.
Then my father came home from Egypt after a year. He talked to me. He started reciting verses from Quran. “Allah is with the Sabereen (patient). You are confused.” He said “Stand up and find your answers. Sitting around won’t bring out anything”
“But dad-”
After another month of fighting internal battles, I stepped out of my home. I restarted college. I wanted to complete Qasim’s legacy so I worked hard and got admitted into medical college. Even now I’m a little confused, but at least, I can understand my mom’s definition of death. She was
right this whole time. With all this power in my beliefs, regrets and confusion, I am moving to an
uncharted territory. Nowadays, as people are fighting for freedom, I am striving to treat people’s
wounds; physical ones and of their souls. I wish this place to become the one where everyone lives
happily, without any division, just as you dreamed of, Qasim. A place where these children can play with others. I can feel Qasim’s thoughts floating inside me often.
Oh! I have to rush to my mom. I am doing my best, Qasim. Until the day I see you again, I will
make sure you are proud of me. With these thoughts I am signing out.
Anam Zahra
(Batch of 2022)
My name is Amir and I’m a doctor, just like my mother. I belong to a place where everything is in
chaos. Ah, I still remember clearly when mom would never allow me to go out to play. 'I hate to stay home', every time I would say. She would reply, “You can play here fine.” with a smile. That smile of her was filled with emotions I never understood back then.
One day I managed to run out when she wasn’t around. I was delighted to play with my ball. I saw two boys. They looked like foreigners. They took my ball, and when I politely asked for it back, they beat me up and said, “Know your place! How dare you tell us what you want? What we do is right”. I went home, scared and angry. Mom was standing at the threshold. I didn’t know how to face her. She slapped me but I could see tears in her eyes. Then she treated my wounds. I wanted to say sorry but I couldn’t.
After a year, I started school. I saw those boys. I wanted to hit them and make them pay. But over time, I realized that there was a group of kids who supported them. The reason being that they belonged to Hindu community. No one went against them, although they were so few. Even the teachers never helped us against their bullying. I wanted badly, so badly, to make them suffer. With these thoughts, I carried on.
But in grade 5, an incident changed my life. Ah, that day I picked a fight against one of those bullies.
He had taken my lunch every day since 2nd grade, and sometimes he would take my books too. I kicked him hard like every student wanted (other than his group that wasn’t around). But one of the boys, Qasim went to him with a first aid box and treated him. But why? He bullied Qasim too. I was puzzled.
After a while, Qasim grabbed my hand and started with, “Run!” I ran. “Hey, but why?” He said, “You will be in trouble otherwise”. What a weirdo. Why is he helping me? He does not seem to be a Hindu nor a bad person. These thoughts went through my mind. Then he took a lunch box out of his bag and went back. I discreetly followed him. I was horrified to see that he was giving it to that bully boy and apologizing for my action.
The bully boy made fun of him and forgave me. On the way home, I caught him from his shirt collar and said, “Why did you help him, you coward?” But he just smiled. “He would have caused you more trouble, then.” I got angry. “So what you mean is that we should praise him? Bow in front of him? I am a human. I have dignity too, you know.” “I don’t know, but I love humans. I don’t know what to do with my kindness”. I threw him down and yelled, “You’re an idiot, that’s all.”
I couldn’t sleep all night. I couldn’t. His answers. ‘He is just like mom’ as mom would always get angry when I fought with someone. Next day, I overheard someone say Qasim’s father had been killed by Hindus for selling cow’s meat. Even then, How can he defend them? I started spying on him and he, even realizing that, never said a word.
One day he came to me and gave an offer, “Let’s become friends. Although I am an introvert, and I am always alone, but I like you, Amir. You may look like a furious animal but your heart is so pure”. I rejected, of course. From that day on, he started sitting next to me. I had never asked him to. He would try to share lunch, which I would always reject. But he was persistent and I gave up eventually. In him I found my best friend. He taught me how to love humans, and one day I asked him, “Don’t you want revenge for your father, Qasim?” His eyes filled up with tears. He replied, “Allah Almighty is the one who will do that. Otherwise there will be no difference between me and those who killed him.”
Then, in college, I heard a news that made me scream. I couldn’t control myself. Qasim had been hit by a bullet from the Kashmiri army on his way to Ja’amia Mosque and he was fighting for his life! I ran to the hospital. My eyes brimming with tears and anger that I had never felt for a long time. When I reached there, Qasim had passed away. It felt unreal when the doctor told me. I fainted. Mom took me back home. I stayed locked up in my room for a month. I stopped talking to everyone. Mom
always tried to cheer me up. “But I don’t want to live here anymore, something is wrong with this place. What Qasim had said was not wrong. Then why did he die? I should have been the
one. I hated Hindus! I should have died.” These thoughts always circled my mind.
Then my father came home from Egypt after a year. He talked to me. He started reciting verses from Quran. “Allah is with the Sabereen (patient). You are confused.” He said “Stand up and find your answers. Sitting around won’t bring out anything”
“But dad-”
After another month of fighting internal battles, I stepped out of my home. I restarted college. I wanted to complete Qasim’s legacy so I worked hard and got admitted into medical college. Even now I’m a little confused, but at least, I can understand my mom’s definition of death. She was
right this whole time. With all this power in my beliefs, regrets and confusion, I am moving to an
uncharted territory. Nowadays, as people are fighting for freedom, I am striving to treat people’s
wounds; physical ones and of their souls. I wish this place to become the one where everyone lives
happily, without any division, just as you dreamed of, Qasim. A place where these children can play with others. I can feel Qasim’s thoughts floating inside me often.
Oh! I have to rush to my mom. I am doing my best, Qasim. Until the day I see you again, I will
make sure you are proud of me. With these thoughts I am signing out.
(Batch of 2022)
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