A Kashmiri Pandit Daughter's Memoir
From My Heart to Paper
Chapter One · A Kashmiri Pandit Daughter's Memoir
Namaskar Mahara
This is Dr Archana, and you are about to dive deep into the emotions and experiences I am sharing as a Kashmiri Pandit daughter. For a long time, I have been thinking about converting my thoughts and memories to pen and paper. I tried, and here is a piece of my writing, and I hope you enjoy strolling down the memory lane.
Now Only in Photographs
Wondering how the little girl with golden curly hair has grown up into a lady over the past 36 years. From listening to stories from my Dadi maa (lovingly called Bhaabi) to now finding and exploring the less talked-about, forgotten stories.
From the time I gained a sense of understanding, I grew up in a rented one room with all things set up in that little space that was indeed bigger than today's 3 BHK flats. The side shelf acted as the kitchen, and the little bed was the bedroom. There was less space, but immense peace.
Talking about the home where my grandparents lived, where my dad was born, where my Maa was introduced as the bride, where my brother was born, that home is now only in memories.
The home was luxurious, a four-story where all my grandparents brothers and he lived peacefully. I do not remember anything about that home except the narrations and old photographs. Every home was happy with peace and financial stability.
"There was less space — but immense peace."
A Child's Hands
As a child, I know how we survived in one room, using a Laltin — a lantern with a wick and kerosene oil — to light up the darkness. The biggest fear was to accidentally break the glass, and it happened so many times.
The breaking of the glass was followed by a little scolding and worry about buying the new one. The little hands and mind used to think of innovations to fix that crack in the glass.
No doubt life was a bit of a struggle, but it was worth it.
Do you know how diamonds are made? They are made from carbon, enduring a lot of pressure, thus transforming into a Diamond. And I agree, we all have become glittering Diamonds in our ways, and I am proud of that.
That Became a Tent
Talking about some of the happier collections of memories, including going to Matamal, that was Kakin's (Nani Maa's) home. That four-storey building in Kashmir had become just a tent in Jiri, the place where migrants were set up in tents.
I remember, Kakin used to be a thin, slim figure filled with lots of love and care. I was fortunate enough to see her, but that was not for long. She suffered from illness and later went to Bagvanas Nisch (Heaven in the arms of the Almighty). Now the Matamal is Mama's home, still beautiful and filled with love and care.
Maa's Voice in the Dark
My childhood was beautiful, filled with struggle, courage, love and maturity. I grew up listening to childhood stories from my loving mother. The stories on repeat included Sankisaer and Ennz Peench baey Mombhat.
In winter nights when we were rolled inside warm blankets, mother used to tell these stories. It was a big treat for the ears — listening carefully, laughing and falling asleep in Maa's arms. That was one of the best times I cherished.
Bhaabi also used to tell stories when there were chats about the hot summer. She was not adapted to hot summers, as most Kashmiris had grown up in Kashmir's cool weather. Due to migration in the 1990s, all this changed. The challenge was there for survival and building everything from scratch.
All this was impossible, but we shone like silver lightning against a dark sky. For me, I can write a thousand pages on the life experiences, culture, emotions and our pride. I will keep sharing the memories.
Stay tuned for the next chapter. Till then —
Namaskar Stay Safe and Healthy - BinduRoop