Reminiscences

Omair Bhat 

Years pass by like wafts of musk when a wave of damp air blows in, but memories stay etched against one’s remembrance like a heavy stroke of miniaturists brush. And among the memories are reminiscences of happiness that these passing years have blessed me – requisite, and eventful.

Happiness ranges between degrees of emotions and rationales of love. It is non-synonymous, too. Joy, hailed as synonym of happiness, is short lived, flimsy, an ephemeral feel that lives with us until we cajole ourselves into remembering that we are joyous.

I have found happiness in remembering, and reminding myself the moments I had shared with all, at home in Kashmir. Rewinding the time, reminiscent of the passing of years happiness was everything that was related to the name Kashmir.

Happiness was being with my mother, head resting in her lap , her fingers flitting freely through my hair, ruffled; my eyes searching calm in her sunken eyes and hers, hope, in mine. Happiness was being scolded by her when I would wake up late in the afternoon hours while at home; happiness was, also, when I was chided by my moustached father- a fine portrait of military man (he had his moustaches shaven clean long ago, and he is a soft hearted teacher not a military man) for wandering about in the lawn when lunch was being served on the table in the sultry Sunday afternoon hours of June.

Happiness was, love notwithstanding, when I was asked to mow the grass in the lawn, and I would dither and finally refuse to with a brazen frankness , “No, I won’t” , almost blurting out.

Happiness was when I would hear call for prayers five times a day back home, without paying a reverential attention to the blares that would swirl in the air like the winter loos of this desert where I get to listen no such voices but howls of vulpine haunts; happiness was when I begin liking the voice to the fullest after listening to it at home after as many months of self imposed academic exile, feeding my restlessness a reveling feel of being at home, at ease, peace, in solace and love.

Happiness was being with my madcap friends back home, bartering guffaws for explicit humour, exchanging chuckles for sane talks, sighs and tears for tales of massacres, and innocent killings.

Happiness was in passing comments out of sheer joy, and little bit of insanity too to the poor girls who would pass by when we, lads full of hormones, traces of beard sprouting on our faces acne (vulgaris) strewn all over, stretch our scurvy ridden body, flexing our fatigued muscles, blinking our eyes, while standing slanted against the iron railings near THE BUND, Srinagar.

Happiness was all around insincerity of one season and harshness of the other. Memories last longer, only years escape our hands.

(A budding poet, voracious reader and an aspiring author, Omair Bhat is a valley based paramedic student in Rajasthan)