Generation of Conflict

Rifat Mohidin

O’ Us the Children born in conflict, grown in conflict, wish to live life other than conflict.
 
I had only heard the stories of disastrous past from my elders when i was a child. But when I am feeling the pain, I realize now, how life is to be lived in a conflict.  For the people of Kashmir freedom refers to survival, happiness refers to curfew free time. They wish less than they deserve but still they don’t get what they want. We are fed up of war, we want to live in peace, and live a life with dignity and honour.
 
I am not an expert on politics, but I want to share my feelings, I feel the pain like others do. We are no doubt known for picking up stones but we are not stonehearted, we too have emotions. I can’t keep the burden on my heart; I know people will understand me, my emotions, and my feelings because they are my own. But one question always strikes my mind, Will Kashmir be a happy place ever again?
Like others I too cherished many dreams: of becoming a doctor, engineer, scholar, philosopher or a journalist. Without realizing the fact that I live in a place where dreams are caged, where people live in their own fantasy of freedom and in the middle of this I forgot that I am a Child of conflict. Alas! I was only a dreamer and I can’t even dream big. It is not only me but the story of thousands of children of my generation. They may be feeling the same pain, but it is in our destiny and we have to walk through. It’s not our madness, but there is story behind, in each case.

It was a gloomy morning and as usual I was sitting in my room thinking about my fate. Suddenly, I heard a cry and it seemed like everyone running out of their homes. I opened the window only to see a wailing mother whose son was being carried in a funeral decorated with flowers to lay him to rest for eternity. She was crying her heart out, beating her chest, calling her son to come back, tears were rolling out from everyone’s eyes. I felt that stones, birds and the sky all were numb; the cries of mother were unbearable for everyone. I realized her pain, and I suddenly felt down on my knees and wept. The boy who got killed was my classmate. We knew each other very well. His picture is still clear before my eyes. This incident impacted me psychologically; I am still not able to come out of the trauma. I gave up eating, sleeping for days together; it took me time to recover.

He was like a flower who was yet to bloom fully but it was trampled- what was his fault that he was a Kashmiri, or he wanted his rights, he craved for justice. This thing is haunting me till now. Life seems to be too short here, death seems to be near. Not a single day passes without bloodshed, everyone is a victim here. Wishes are lost now, there seems to be no ambition left before the fear of death. Everyone fears who will be the next. We are lost in every sphere- morally, politically, academically, economically, humanly but who cares. Our daily life depends on Calendars now issued by someone else. Ours generation seems to be more effected now, from our birth we are still and numb with fear, living in the same state of agony. All our dreams seem to be shattered .We have lost the routine of life; we hardly know what we are going to do next moment.

We want to live for our dreams but that seems very unlikely now. Ours is the generation which has only seen killings, arrests, molestations, harassments, bullets, stones and encounters. Unfortunately, we are too helpless to help ourselves and our beloved ones too. We are too weak to stand again, too weak to dream more, to talk and to cry. Even death seems stale. I ask you all, we are caught in between the conflict, what should we do? We want to live like others do, we want to walk like others walk, we are too young to get killed, we want justice, we want peace, we have no dreams, we have no aims… please let’s live… let us live… let us live.

(Rifat Mohidin is student of mass communication And multimedia production 1st year.)

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About theparallelpost
The language of words is more heavenly than the language of tongues and lips. The Parallel Post is a forum to offer a space for people who dare to speak through their words. The intention is to create an environment to share in words what we perceive in our minds...

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