Home coming for desi ‘patriots’

Recently when Omar Abdullah declared that he would turn Beerwah into a model constituency after turning Ganderbal into Singapore, Facebook jihadis lynched him with barrage of comments, smirks, abuses and lek lek. Had Zuckerberg added a Kangir in the list of emoticons, they would have thrown tot tot soor all over his face.  One of the Facebook jihadis wrote: “This putrid clump of dung mold is the sole reason for Kashmir’s downfall…” Another one said: “Even as a CM he could not take care of basic infrastructure development in Ganderbal”. And yet someone quipped: “Bas kar ab rulaya ga kya?” Most amusing comments were, of course, in Kashmiri language, like this one: “Trith waldi taas” (Apologies to Omar, this is quite difficult to translate. For better paraphrasing consult either All is Sagar or Ek Tha Lone).
Political analyst Mohammad Waseem, says, “Reading these heavy loaded comments one can understand why Omar prefers Twitter over Facebook. On Twitter he gets regular supply of Amul butter from his Indian followers and Kashmiri acolytes which keep him in good mental health.” Then can we say, twitter therapy is working well for baby Abdullah.
Reportedly, Mufti Sayeed has promised to keep Kashmir as a ‘crown of India’. He is believed to be working on special silver Tra’m on which this crown will be presented to his aeshnaav (political relatives) in Nagpur. Meanwhile, Mr Drabu has been dispatched to make Mufti’s aeshnaav understand what the trath isKasheer and how to use the alla dalla crown properly. Mufti has also announced that he will provide land from his property for a ‘composite township’ to rehabilitate among others the Bollywood Pandit Mr Anupam Kher, who has been lately suffering from acute siyasi parishh.
When I asked our Gul Kak if Kashmiri Pandits will return back, he replied after rubbing naas to his left-over teeth, “Hahaha! Are you kidding me! Do you expect Anupump Kharr to leave Bollywood and read news bulletin on DD Kashir!” Gul Kak’s wisdom is as famous as Farooq Abdullah’s disco dance, so let us wait and watch.
Last week a delegation of Association of Pro-India Kashmiris (APrIK) met some Sangh Parivar members in New Delhi. After submitting a memo the general secretary of APrIK, Mr Row-heal Khueshnaseeb (RK) requested that Certificate of Shudh Deshbakhti be issued to all the APrIK members so that they are not trolled by Sangh Parivar Bakhts on Internet anymore.
Speaking to the press RK said: “I feel sad when people label me as anti-national because of my being a Kashmiri. Didn’t they see how strongly I supported the Indian team and tweeted on every ball during the world cup games, yet they don’t trust me. I am APrIK, please”.
After the meeting, APrIK members were seen chanting: Sangh Sangh Jiyen Ge, Sangh Sangh Marenge. That such educated elite Kashmiris knocked on their door for Shudh Deshbakhti Certificate, Sangh Parivar must be really feeling proud.
Baby Abdullah was quick to tweet: nobody should question @RK and other @APrIK members on their Indian-ness. They are more Indian than NC-PDP combined. RK has reportedly re-tweeted it and sent pictures of spring flowers to Baby Abdullah as mark of thanks. Karan Johar has reportedly approached the duo for Dostana 3.
Speaking during the Sounth festival, one of the members of APrIK Mr. Khali Bag had said: “We are a tiny minority in Kashmir and we have always been a face-saving constituency for India, as such it is responsibility of the Indian state to provided us with a sense of security”.
When asked do they feel threatened in Kashmir, Khali Bag replied, “I don’t think we feel any threat from Kashmiris”.
“Then why do you need security”, asked a journalist.
“Because it is cool,” Khali Bag replied.
Published in Kashmir Reader on 16 April 2015: http://www.kashmirreader.com/home-coming-for-desi-patriots/

Now all Kashmiri girls flaunt their Drabu account

During the recent pro-azadi rally in Kulgam, JKLF chairman Mohammad Yasin Malik said PDP’s marriage with RSS is a dangerous thing for Kashmiris. Most of the people will agree to that. He also said something else: On the one hand they [PDP] are marrying RSS and on the other hand they are saying they have an extra-marital affair with Hurriyat. This is debatable.
Now that this marriage metaphor is much in vogue, let us talk about it.
If PDP-Hurriyat is an extra-marital affair then PDP-BJP is a legal marriage? And naturally, PDP and BJP can have coitus without any shame and produce as many babies as possible, even without bothering about diapers, as Mr Drabu has already made them tax-free.
But the problem is that since Kashmir is a culturally and politically conservative place, any baby born out of extra-marital affair would be a disgrace. So, it is always advisable to avoid picking up wrong numbers and flirting with dangerous guys.
Now let us turn to the budget 2015. Mr Drabu is a talented person. I have been hearing this rumour from many days now.  But after going through his budget it seems he really has some talent. For example he presented women-friendly things: Baby girls will get good money, some 6.5 lakh of it when they will turn 21 years old. This is a noble mission. But we cannot avoid imagining certain scenarios:
Scenario no. 1:
Girl: Daddy, please get my phone recharged when you come home.
Daddy: What recharge! [Father is angry because he is stuck in traffic jam at Pantha Chowk]. How much you talk on phone. I am recharging your damn phone every day. [He hangs up]
Girl: Hello, hello…
The girl’s face assumes a sad expression and she says with a sigh, “Wai Khudai kar gass bu akwu” (Oh God! When shall I turn 21!)
Scenario no. 2:
Woman: I think we should marry off Saima Jan after she completes her graduation.
Husband: What is the hurry?
Woman: She is turning 21 next month after that we can withdraw money from her Drabu account.
Husband looks at his wife with a sneering expression and says, “You women folk are half-brained! We will open a fixed account in JK Bank with that money at a 10 percent interest a year”.
Women: Oh! I didn’t realize that. It is a terrific idea. You are genius. [she pours another cup of nun chai to him]
Scenario no. 3:
Girl: Janu, I cannot live without you. If my parents say no to our marriage I will commit suicide. We have lot of pesticide at home [the product she is talking about has no connection with Altaf Bukhari].
Boy: Hahaha, paagal ladki. Suicide times are over. We will run away and live happily ever after on your Drabu account.
Girl: I think I am okay at my home [she hangs up in a huff].
Scenario no. 4:
Boy’s father: My son is a KAS officer. It is not sahaal kathh. He has yezath among neighbours and relatives. Your daughter is like my own daughter, whatever she brings with her will be for her own good.
Girl’s father nods courteously and says:  But 10 lakh is too big an amount for us to arrange.
Boy’s father: Hahaha! What are you saying! She must have that Drabu account? Doesn’t she? [Asks curiously]
Scenario no. 5:
A women and her daughter walks through their neighbourhood with big shopping bags. Two women from a distance comment in hushed tones.
Women A: Look at their bags they have bought a lot of stuff from Lal Chowk.
Women B: Hmmm [making a face], they must have spent from her Drabu account.
Scenario no. 6:
At a tuition centre a grumpy female cleric in black hijab asks a girl.
Cleric: Why didn’t you clear your fees yet?
Girl: Ma’am, daddy did not receive his salary yet.
Cleric: So what! [A glowering expression on her face] We are not your naukar here. Why don’t you withdraw money from your Drabu account?  What is that for, then?
Published in Kashmir Reader on 26.03.2014: http://www.kashmirreader.com/now-all-kashmiri-girls-flaunt-their-drabu-account/

The Portfolio Alliance of State

So, finally the “Alliance of Conviction” and much sought-after ministerial portfolios have become public now and our old azadi-boy-turned-something-something Mr Sajad is no more a lone wolf. He has joined the pack and we congratulate him as his Dil ki Muraad has been fulfilled. We want to tell him: Don’t worry, just keep Imran Ansari in good humour and your Quran kasamwali YouTube video nightmare will be sorted out soon. After all, IT minister would make good friends with Technology minister. I know we Kashmiris have a bad habit of name calling masquerading as humour, and it is bad that naughty Facebook jihadis have already started calling you Gabbi Manister, Wazeer-e-Pashu Paalan, and some even spread bizarre rumours that you will feature in Bollywood version of Doctor Dolittle and speak in British accent with animals. But you know all politicians get the same treatment, so better get used to it.
That foreign educated Sajad has assumed the charge of Mohakam-e-Science and Technology, it will be a great boost for Sher-e-Kashmir Institute of Advanced Sciences who have been working on space exploration projects since 1975 Sheikh-Indira Accord. Very soon Kashmiri scientists will be able to send superior races of Kashmir to Mars on a one-way ticket. We heard from our sources (who monitor Kashmir) that many ministers have already booked tickets for their relatives. Our sources also informed us that Sajad has entered several book contracts with Random House and Oxford University Press to complete his Achievable trilogy: “Achievable Ministry” and “Achievable Tarangiri”.
We also heard that Naeem Akhtar has been rummaging through his old floppy discs and hard drives which contain his 1001 opinion pieces. Since he will be sorting out the mess called Mohkam-e-Education it wouldn’t be humanly possible to edit the whole content on hard drives, so a position is open for a proof-reader. Remunerations are high (weekly wazwaan at Papa II bungalow), and the work is also not much. You just have to replace the 72 pseudonyms with the single name and edit out anything politically incorrect.
Javid Mustafa Mir likes shopping on Flipkart, and we heard that he recently ordered life size pictures of old guy Mikhail Kalashnikov and Sylvester Stallone. These framed life size pictures will hung in his new office along with his own photo in which he has posed like a Rambo. We heard his mandate is to generate revenue for Kashmir and we think if Rambo can do anything, Javed too can do anything.
Now that our precious and dwindling forests have been handed over to Mr. Bali Baghat, we hope he is not allowed to do Qazi Afzal 2008 in any milli baghat. Lest, boys won’t take much time to jig on their favourite song Ragdo Ragdo.
To the chairman J&K Bank we want to say: stop worrying unnecessarily and take it easy. Mr Drabu has explicitly said: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
In the meantime, JKLF, Hurriyat (G), Hurriyat (M), and Hurriyat (et al.) have warned they will fight tooth and nail against nefarious designs of RSS and its collaborators in Kashmir, even if they have to talk to each other in compulsion.  Responding to the pro-resistance groups’ warning, the top police officials have assured that they have placed fool-proof security arrangements and nobody will be allowed to walk the talk. When asked about the threat posed by notorious Facebook and Tweeter jihadis, the police spokesman said, “We don’t give a damn!”
Meanwhile, few young enterprising Kashmiris have decided to set up ‘Forum for Advanced Research in Tarangiri Studies’. They will meet regularly on Facebook page named FARTS. On every other Sunday, the three-member executive council of FARTS will meet at Coffee Arabica to discuss who makes the best Cappuccino.
Published in Kashmir Reader on 5.3.2015.

We are International Kashir

Guys it is now official: Kashmir is international. If you don’t believe me ask Dr Pervez Kaul, our swine flu rakhshak!  But this is nothing new. Weren’t we destined to be international? Remember, internationally famous Nehru took Kashmir to the international body and then Kashmir became an international dispute. We were born international, you see. And in between we had some international interventions on Kashmir but then Punjabis and Bengalis decided they will rather fight a national dhangal in Dhaka and call it a day. And, moving forward we had an international blunder in 1975 when the internationally tall lion of Kashmir acknowledged it was better pawing at cupcakes in a national barn.
It is so incredible, actually. There seems to be a fetish for everything international in Kashmir. We have international schools, international airport, and even international trade centre in Pampore. So addicted we are to the international that the word has entered our Kashmiri vernacular also, as in “international gandh”, “international trath”, “international leakh”, “international jaalsaaz”, “international bekil” etc. You think I am making it up! Go just walk around and see how internationally people talk in Kashmir. They will tell you about everything from American wars to Afghan warriors, from Hindustanich saazish to international Yahoodi saazish. They are just awesome international experts on everything.
As you already know we are famous for all things international, we get all kinds of international diseases also, like swine flu. But, fellas, you need not to worry, we also have international level health care system in place. It works like this: unfortunately you get infected because you thought Kashmir was internationally known as paradise on earth and on paradise no one falls ill, so you take a famous Tata bus and you reach the government hospital. After you enter the building, you feel enchanting lavender and lemony aromas welcome your nostrils and you feel 50% cured already, and then you reach a counter where people line up decently and silently in a queue. After a little wait in the queue you come face to face with an ever smiling internationally professional receptionist, she greets you with a soft voice: Good Morning, how can I help you. Now you are 60% cured already. Then she writes your details, courteously passes on a card to you and says: Please, proceed to the room no. 7. Outside the room no. 7 an internationally professional gentleman takes your card and asks you to have a seat so politely that you feel 80% cured now. Everything around is internationally neat and clean that you don’t need to see the doctor anymore as the remaining 20% cure is provided by the people in the hall with their international deaid kangir.
So internationally best is our health care system that David Cameron sent a delegation to Kashmir to study how we manage it, and lessons learnt from here by the delegation, were used to improve UK’s NHS.
Published on 26.02.2015 in Kashmir Reader: http://kashmirreader.com/we-are-international-kashir-35096

The PK Writers of Kashmir

Let us talk about writers, Kashmiri writers I mean. I know a few of them, through Facebook of course. They are there like writing cool stuff all the time. But let us not talk about the published ones like Wahi M, Bushi P, Shy-Naaz B or Seed-Heart G. Instead let us meet our PKs aka Promising Kashmiris; yes promising, because they promised us long ago they will write a book and then publish it and then speak at Jaipur Literally Carnival, or if possible in cold breeze of Harud they promised to speak in Kashmiri also. Though, they promised not to speak in Sount, because there is obnoxious Tount in it.
So, among promising Kashmiris aka PK’s I introduce you to Aa-Riff A. Prey. I am afraid to reveal his real name so let us call him Mr. AAP. This tall, brawny PK has a penchant for riff, and psychological thrill. For example, when Raw-full Parta wrote his memoir called My Honey-Moon Has Clouds, AAP almost ripped his moon off, leaving it oozing with blood. In his memoir RP went around crying: my blood is red. But AAP wrote back: no it is blue, Raw-full Parta.
AAP is a PK and grapevine has it that AAP is presently working on a Freudian novel loosely based on Brokeback Mountain. It will show how RP secretly fancies Bit Karate by describing the latter’s shaven face, pomaded hair, strapping body, and slick spectacles in his write ups. We eagerly wait for AAP’s debut novel: Raw-full’s Karat-e-Dil.
Our second PK is Same-here But. Again to be on the safer side, I am distorting his name, too. SB is not your run-of-the-mill writer; he is Burj al vocabulary. If AAP’s writing is a long Gold Flake, SB’s is Classic menthol, subtle and sublime. Just the other day somebody informed me that SB uses an intelligent app that automatically changes a commonly used word in your write up into a most uncommonly used one. Isn’t that damn terrific, otherwise how else Kashmiris are going to learn new words. He is our real Koshur Kot and our best wishes are with him and as our Ded, Boab and Kaken says Lasin ti Phalin like his bourgeoning vocabulary. We can assure him we are all set with the latest edition of Oxford English dictionary to read his debut novel whenever it is published. As they say in Arabic: Shukran-Jazilan, Bit-Tawfiq, Habibi.
The third PK too is a promising Kashmiri but let us call him Feel-Rose Rather for our own safety. He is young and slender but poet of a man. Recently he was seen roaming around the cold dingy alleys of Dalgate for his new story ‘50 Shades of Gay’. Spoiler alert: the protagonist of the story is Fancy and he hails from Dalgate and wears a dark red lipstick and waves his delicate right hand to male pedestrians. Good news is that because FR is a promising Kashmiri he has promised that this time he won’t compare anything Californian with Kashmir, that means Zabarwan hills won’t be Sierra Nevada nor will Californian breeze cover the pungent odours of the Dal lake. After all, it would be an implausible comparison. Can we imagine American’s crap in their lakes.
We shouldn’t be gender biased, right. Then, female PKs should find mention here, also. But I am weak-hearted to upset their grumpy boyfriends. You know Kashmiri lovers are too possessive and it is not hard to imagine them yelling at me: How dare you write about my Jiger Gosh. So, let us take a caution and leave their Jiger Gosh for now.
Published in Kashmir Reader on 19.02.2015:

The Tale of Me and Me Too Gentlemen

It so happened that on a lazy afternoon when air over Pratap Park was tart and dry, a certain lanky guy from the city named Buchuss and his chubby friend from a town Butichuss entered into a long conversation. It was long like Srinagar-Jammu highway with its terrifying hairpin bends, vertigo inducing long slopes and deathly gorges and what not. They were our normal Kashur Nawjawaan. But with beautiful coveted degrees from MERC and, true to their acquired wisdom, on most of the human issues they were no babes in the woods. They spoke about Kashmiri politics (suggested tweaks in this policy and that policy of resistance movement, cursed pro-accession politicians plague in their portly bellies) and then about Kashmiri traffic (built wonderful dreamland of flyovers and four lane roads behind their eyes) and then about Kashmiri culture (wondered how come Kaken and Ded got addicted to Star Plus and Colors, and how nice of the girls wearing long chiffon abayas lately).

All of a sudden a scurrying damsel in ash-grey sweatshirt and denim jeans behind the park railings arrested their attention. On the sweatshirt of the lady flashed in black letters: I Don’t Care a Dime! They carefully navigated the hairpin bend of their tête-à-tête highway. As the sight of the charming beauty trailed off, their demurring faces assumed an expression of abrupt seriousness.

‘Kasheer gai waraan’ (Kashmir has gone to the dogs), said Buchuss.

Yi chui karaan sourui Hindustan’ (India engineers all this mischief), reasoned Butichuss.

They pouted their mouths in a nod of agreement. ‘Just because of these patloon lasses’, a man-sitting close by interjected, ‘the flood drowned us all.’

They pouted their mouths again. Some time passed.

‘I think Bub should retire now’, suggested Butichuss.

‘No’ said Buchuss, ‘Bub is needed now more than ever. Right wing monkeys hover dangerously over our heads.’

‘Hmm. You’re right we need to get united urgently and present a strong resistance against these monkeys,’ replied Buchuss.

For next ten minutes, they talked about unity, strength and resistance. They recalled a moral tale in their middle school textbook about a man and his five sons and the task of breaking the bundle of twigs. In their eyes and minds, everything was clear: Kashmir needed unity, more than ever. Now. They nodded in agreement about everything they said with their peculiar puckered up faces.

A spell of silence followed. During this time they yawned, kept looking around in vague expressions at scurrying pedestrians and overcrowded and honking public buses, took drags at shared cigarette, and broke winds in surreptitious discomfiture. The spell of their smoky dragging silence was broken by a stout middle-aged man sitting at the earshot from them. From the movement of his jaw, it seemed as if under his horse teeth innocent roasted chickpeas were being mercilessly crushed.

‘Only if our country cousins desist from lining to polling booths, we could make India dance’, the man said with a vague expression.

‘I think you are right, baaya’, said Buchuss, nodding his head.

Butichuss’s face turned colour, his breath paced up and his eyes darted the green of the park in nervous movements.

‘I think you are unfair here,’ Butichuss protested.

‘Why! This is true. You got to accept the fact. It is the country dwellers who make our resistance weak’.

‘Most of the mujahids come from villages, what about that?’ snapped Butichuss.

Their conversational highway suddenly hit a vertigo inducing long slope and their ride veered dangerously close to the edge of a deathly gorge.

The chickpea chewing man had his back to them and his face was now working like a smiling goat.

And all of a sudden Buchuss yelled out at Butichuss, ‘You should shut your stinking rustic mouth.’

‘You should just get lost with your snooty city ass,’ Butichuss yelled back.

In the sleepy air of Pratap Park their voices skirled and stirred the dreamy tranquility of the catnapping commoners. In their half-woken state the commoners checked the source of the noise, said feebly, ‘Yiman kya rov’ (What is wrong with them!) and went back to their forty winks.

Gasping MERC buddies didn’t talk for good five minutes. But as the day seemed to fall, they scrambled themselves up, stretched their bodies, and looked around. The chickpea guy had disappeared.

‘Where to drink tea today?’ said Butichuss in a reconciliatory tone.

‘I don’t have money, Wallah. Today’s tea is on you’, said Buchuss with a timid smile.

Through the Abi Guzar lane they walked with their arms around each other’s shoulders, and settling down on flat chairs of coffee house, Buchuss asked, ‘So…’


First piece of my Kashmir Laundry column in Kashmir Reader newspaper; published on 29.01.2015

Link: http://kashmirreader.com/the-tale-of-me-and-me-also-gentlemen-32468