Waiting For Good News- Inside Graves?

That April did not come?

An eventful month in which everything would happen

Nostalgia by ZGM

Let April Come, yes, let April come’ this sentence I often heard in my childhood. I often heard two shopkeepers, one a tailor and another a darner in our Mohalla whose shops were across the road talking about the coming April. They exchanged their ideas aloud that would attract the attention of any passer-by, many a time they would get interested in their conversation and sit on either of the shops and listen to their discourse. The passer-by besides listening to them would also enjoy a puff of smoke from the hubble-bubble- that often roared in their shops. The hubble-bubble had magic in it; it would draw even the reluctant towards it and make him participate in the political discussions that often was part of life in our town. Those days a house without a hubble-bubble was seen as a house without life- the hubble-bubble, tobacco casket, and a Kang or Kangri with burning embers were important parts of all social discourses.

I often heard this sentence echoing in barbers shop. In my wildest dreams, I could not imagine what was going to happen in the coming April. I had by then experienced barely ten Aprils of my life. I knew many things happened in the month of April; most of the people would remove oil-soaked old newspapers from their latticed windows which painfully glued on them at the end of Autumn-  the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. I knew hordes of swallows descended in the city- and their graceful flights across the deserted roads filled our hearts with the job. For mention in the Holy Book and having heard stories about the role of the bird in Islamic history this small bluish-black bird with pointed wings and forked tail were birds of reverence for us. I do not remember a single occasion when children would aim their catapults at these birds- yes poor sparrow would often be our targets. I knew in April cuckoos, bulbul, hoopoes and many colourful birds would reappear after having migrated during winters and start making nests in the bushes and crevices of houses underneath ornate balconies- the architecture that perhaps had travelled to us from Arabia. It was the time when birds started laying eggs- and we started searching for nests in bushes for seeing blue, green, multicoloured small eggs in them. It used to be a great pastime for us to look for eggs of birds in the nests- but we never attempted to touch them as we were told that touch of human rots the egg and destroys live in it- this indoctrination perhaps had been done to save the eggs getting destroyed by children. Those days’ children believed as the gospel truth that elders told them.

April we knew was the season for blossoms- it was the season when starkly naked mud roofs after showers would bloom in beautiful colors- purple, pink, white and magenta iris woul tranform  roofs of our houses  into royal gardens.  April was the month of joy and jubilation for us- it was the month we would get promoted to the next class. It was the month we purchased new books; got new uniforms stitched and purchased new school bags.

Yes,  my peers and I eagerly waited for this month for it having all joy in stock for us – but what was important about this month for the tailor, the needle worker and the Barber of my Mohalla. Why were they waiting for this month so eagerly? They were no school going children- they were not to be promoted to the next class, they were not going to get new uniforms stitched, and they were not going to meet new friends in school.

It was a jigsaw puzzle for me what made them so often to say April was coming. What was in April for them?

There were very few shops in our locality those days- and there was hardly any shopkeeper who had a brisk business- most of them would idle their time on each others shop. They often talked politics. Some talked about Sheikh Abdullah’s detention, and some debated over the return of Mirwaiz Muhammad Yusuf Shah. Many castigated Bakshi Ghulam Muhammad for imprisoning his leader and some hailed him for having unlocked Mirwaiz Manzil latched under orders from Sheikh Abdullah. It was Radio Tradkhal that provided the idling shopkeepers with grist for discussions. Those days’ people religiously listened to musical programmes and dramas from Radio Kashmir but tuned in Azad Kashmir Radio for news- and people faithfully believed in news from Azad Kashmir Radio.

During those dreary long winter vacations, most of us would also idle our time on the ‘on shop fronts. Shop of a copper smith was my regular haunt – the shop owner was an encyclopaedia of information about Kashmir politics. As I realized later he was a staunch supporter of the Muslim Conference; he often talked about political astuteness of Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah; he talked about dedication and commitment of Choudary Ghulam Abbas, Allah Rakha Sagar, Mistry Muhammad Yaqoob and many other leaders from Jammu. He often praised articulation of Muhammad Yusuf Qureshi and hailed sacrifices of Abdul Salam Dalal. Like most of the people in our town, he religiously listened to news from Azad Kashmir- and believed in every word aired from the station.

Like all other people in our locality, he was also waiting for the month of April. Thereby hangs a tale about this April. In one of its popular programmes from Azad Kashmir mentioned that   Kashmir dispute would end in the month of April- Srinagar and Rawalpindi will be reconnected.  This announcement picked by  ‘ladishahs’ (troubadour)  in Srinagar – thus he sang  April Pati Chuh Dan Daka Dan”. The verse that children also sang full throat in the lanes and by-lanes had spawned all kinds of speculation about the cherished April. Some believed that there will be a decisive war between India and Pakistan in the coming month, some believed that the United Nation’s will play its role, and the two Kashmiris will get one, and there will be freedom.

Many April’s came and passed but that April they waited for never came.  The generation that waited for that April passed through the portals of death. On deathbed, many breathed their lost whisperings in the ears of their children to announce it to them at their graves when that April comes. The generation got buried in the graveyard, but the dead in the graves are still waiting to hear for generation next to announce at their graves – that the April they waited for his come.

Published in Greater Kashmir  May 25, 2008