In the depths of my heart, a pain lingers, an ache that stems from the partition of my family, my home, and my identity. I am a victim of history’s cruel twist, born into a family torn apart when Kashmir fell under the occupation of India and Pakistan. The once serene land of my ancestors became a battleground for power, leaving behind a trail of sorrow and separation.
As I look upon the maps that delineate the division of my ancestral land, I cannot help but feel the weight of this tragic division. A ceasefire line, etched on papers of land revenue, marked the painful separation of my family’s homes and our sacred family graveyard. The physical boundaries that now stand serve as a constant reminder of the broken bonds and lost connections.
Yearning for solace and a sense of belonging, I find myself longing to visit my ancestral hometown of Uri in Kashmir. It is there that the roots of my existence lie, where the stories of my ancestors are whispered in the wind. But alas, a visit to my homeland remains but a distant dream, shackled by the burden of political strife and territorial disputes.
With every passing day, I witness the suffering of my fellow Kashmiris, caught in the crossfire of political ambitions. Their cries for freedom and justice echo through the valleys, carried away by the wind of despair. The pain is not mine alone; it is a collective anguish felt by a people yearning for peace and resolution.
In the year 2024, I beseech India and Pakistan to rise above their differences and engage in dialogue with the people of Kashmir. It is time to put an end to the suffering, the bloodshed, and the unyielding sorrow. Let us not forget that true progress lies in seeking harmony and understanding, not in territorial conquest.
While the world clamors for control over Kashmir, it is the Kashmiris themselves who have become forgotten, mere pawns in a grand game. We are caught between the desire for freedom and the longing for home, uncertain of where to find solace. The pursuit of freedom becomes an elusive concept, an abstract ideal that slips through our fingers like sand.
But despite the pain and uncertainty, I still believe in the power of hope. I hold onto the belief that freedom is not an illusion, that home is not an intangible concept. It may be lost for now, but it can be found again. I am a partitioned life, forever connected to Srinagar, Muzaffarabad, and even Dallas Texas.
This is my personal story, deeply rooted in the pain of separation and longing for my ancestral home. It is important to note that my words are not driven by political beliefs, but rather by a plea for understanding and compassion on humanitarian grounds. I appeal to peace-making institutions and peace-loving individuals to recognize the depth of my emotions, beyond any political agenda.
As I reflect upon the passing years, I am filled with an overwhelming desire to meet my kith and kin in my ancestral hometown. At 73 years old, in the twilight of my life, the longing to finally embrace my family and witness the land of my forefathers grows stronger with each passing day.
I understand the complexities of the situation and the challenges that lie ahead. However, I humbly ask if there is any possibility, any ray of hope, for me to fulfill this lifelong dream. My heart yearns to connect with my roots, to seek solace in the presence of my loved ones, and to find closure amidst the land that holds the memories of generations before me.
In the spirit of humanity and compassion, I implore those in positions of power and influence to consider the profound impact such a visit would have on my life. It is not a request driven by political motives, but rather a plea for the fulfillment of a fundamental human need – the need to find solace, belonging, and closure in the embrace of family and the land of my ancestors.
As I stand at the threshold of my final years, I urge the world to see my plea through the lens of compassion, understanding, and the pursuit of peace. In this age of discord and division, let us come together to bridge the gaps that separate us and create opportunities for healing, reconciliation, and unity.
Let my story be a testament to the power of empathy, transcending borders and ideologies. May it serve as a reminder that behind every political dispute lies the beating heart of a human being, yearning for connection and resolution. I hope, against all odds, that my wish to visit my ancestral home town can become a reality, bringing solace and joy in these twilight years of my life.
