Lal Chowk, Kashmir's Red Square has always entertained me. It is an important part of paradise. At least for a person like me, who frequent it thrice a day.
You can get lost in the labyrinth of its narrow lanes and by-lanes that all converge at Ghanta Gher (Clock Tower), encounter people who mirror each other in complexion, experience bliss amidst hundreds of lined shops and street vendors. However, the moment violence returns to this area one can't help but run home with a silent resolve not to visit this place again or at least take diversions.
But it is Lal Chowk's Clock Tower that pulls you back.
For years, it has stood tranquil, while time passed. From the scent of roses to the pungency of gunpowder, it has seen everything. So it is likely that anything related to Kashmir should be invoked under the auspices of Lal Chowk - the main square of Srinagar city.
When I was young, I would wonder if I could climb this tower. I would imagine how the city would look like while I being standing atop of it. But I would not come up to its base. I would not touch its pedestal. It was taken over by the soldiers. Just like as other parts of the valley. I would always see a hit man who would rest his gun on a small window of clock tower ready to pull the trigger from the pigeon hole. And I would feel unrestness on the face of every passer by who would stride out fastly near the tower.
During the first twenty years of my life, the clock never showed correct time. I don't know when it stopped working. Maybe it didn't need to. Its sheer existence felt as if some old member of your family was watching you. You could never do anything wrong before its presence. I remember, as a college student, watching my colleague extinguishing his cigarette and doing the top button of his shirt. Then, as we would pass past from the Lal Chowk, he would say, "Somehow, I cannot smoke in front of this tower. It reminds me of my old grandfather, who died of bullet wounds in Lal Chowk."
Lal Chowk always reminds me of a sea shore with Ghantagher a lighthouse. Guiding ships to safety. The two decades of tyranny saw the lighthouse intact, but ships going haywire. Soldiers had consolidated their position beneath, surrounded it with razor wires and sand bags, and would parade the children of Ghantagher before their grandfather.
It was exactly the same place where Kashmir’s PM Sheikh Abdullah and Indian PM Jawaharlal Nehru would one day promise moon to Kashmiris. And it was the same place where ignominy would daily welcome the generations of Kashmiris for future.
Then something changed this year. The clocktower began to display correct time. And by that time, the needle that had stopped ticking got revitalized. Young men started raising their fists in the air. Demanding end of their ignominy. Bare chests asked for independence of Red Square or bullets.
The clock tower of Kashmir that withstood the assault of 62-year-old conflict and occupation saw a revolution. Every year it saw soldiers erecting their country's flag atop it. It would have hated it as much as Red Fort of Delhi would have hated a British flag atop it.
It would have felt Indian flag as a dagger drawn deeper into its head while troops fired bullets around its shadows.
However, two months back, The Red square finally fell to its subjects.
The moment the land revocation order was made public, passions soared. Thousands of people danced to drumbeats, brandished torches and burst crackers in the Lal Chowk.
The ecstatic people from across the city chanted "Azadi, Azadi…" at the Ghanta Ghar pedestal before hoisting two green flags atop the tower and hanging a cable of fire crackers around it.
The grandfather would have enjoyed the welcome, felt elevated and honored with soldiers no more capturing its plinth.
The sounds of cheering and sloganeering near the Lal Chowk where people gathered mixed with those of firecrackers and torches that were followed by demonstrations to and fro around it.
The crowd booed the soldiers, pledged to spill blood for blood and promised to set Kashmir free from the chains of slavery.
Many were wrapped in the green flag; some wore the green and white shirts, and had their fingers forming 'V' meaning victory while they danced around a bonfire of crackers with the smoke and din of happiness enveloping the air.
"Change is in the air", Azadi, Azadi" they kept on repeating.
The clock tower was set free.
But two months after, it has again come under the slavery.
In the hindsight, a barbed wire again envelop its feet.
Back then, it wasn't numb.
You can get lost in the labyrinth of its narrow lanes and by-lanes that all converge at Ghanta Gher (Clock Tower), encounter people who mirror each other in complexion, experience bliss amidst hundreds of lined shops and street vendors. However, the moment violence returns to this area one can't help but run home with a silent resolve not to visit this place again or at least take diversions.
But it is Lal Chowk's Clock Tower that pulls you back.
When I was young, I would wonder if I could climb this tower. I would imagine how the city would look like while I being standing atop of it. But I would not come up to its base. I would not touch its pedestal. It was taken over by the soldiers. Just like as other parts of the valley. I would always see a hit man who would rest his gun on a small window of clock tower ready to pull the trigger from the pigeon hole. And I would feel unrestness on the face of every passer by who would stride out fastly near the tower.
During the first twenty years of my life, the clock never showed correct time. I don't know when it stopped working. Maybe it didn't need to. Its sheer existence felt as if some old member of your family was watching you. You could never do anything wrong before its presence. I remember, as a college student, watching my colleague extinguishing his cigarette and doing the top button of his shirt. Then, as we would pass past from the Lal Chowk, he would say, "Somehow, I cannot smoke in front of this tower. It reminds me of my old grandfather, who died of bullet wounds in Lal Chowk."
Lal Chowk always reminds me of a sea shore with Ghantagher a lighthouse. Guiding ships to safety. The two decades of tyranny saw the lighthouse intact, but ships going haywire. Soldiers had consolidated their position beneath, surrounded it with razor wires and sand bags, and would parade the children of Ghantagher before their grandfather.
It was exactly the same place where Kashmir’s PM Sheikh Abdullah and Indian PM Jawaharlal Nehru would one day promise moon to Kashmiris. And it was the same place where ignominy would daily welcome the generations of Kashmiris for future.
Then something changed this year. The clocktower began to display correct time. And by that time, the needle that had stopped ticking got revitalized. Young men started raising their fists in the air. Demanding end of their ignominy. Bare chests asked for independence of Red Square or bullets.
The clock tower of Kashmir that withstood the assault of 62-year-old conflict and occupation saw a revolution. Every year it saw soldiers erecting their country's flag atop it. It would have hated it as much as Red Fort of Delhi would have hated a British flag atop it.
It would have felt Indian flag as a dagger drawn deeper into its head while troops fired bullets around its shadows.
However, two months back, The Red square finally fell to its subjects.
The moment the land revocation order was made public, passions soared. Thousands of people danced to drumbeats, brandished torches and burst crackers in the Lal Chowk.
The ecstatic people from across the city chanted "Azadi, Azadi…" at the Ghanta Ghar pedestal before hoisting two green flags atop the tower and hanging a cable of fire crackers around it.
The grandfather would have enjoyed the welcome, felt elevated and honored with soldiers no more capturing its plinth.
The sounds of cheering and sloganeering near the Lal Chowk where people gathered mixed with those of firecrackers and torches that were followed by demonstrations to and fro around it.
The crowd booed the soldiers, pledged to spill blood for blood and promised to set Kashmir free from the chains of slavery.
Many were wrapped in the green flag; some wore the green and white shirts, and had their fingers forming 'V' meaning victory while they danced around a bonfire of crackers with the smoke and din of happiness enveloping the air.
"Change is in the air", Azadi, Azadi" they kept on repeating.
The clock tower was set free.
But two months after, it has again come under the slavery.
In the hindsight, a barbed wire again envelop its feet.
Back then, it wasn't numb.
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