Sixth Element

Avanti Sopory

When I began to write this piece, I wasn’t sure what to write. Should it be about the idyllic memories of childhood or the secret corners of my gutted house or of the fear that lounged in the corridors and rooms of my erstwhile house or the books that I left behind on my school table in the hope that I would return to them after my winter break of 1989? 

What I left behind is the nothingness of things. Idiosyncratic memories of life, which seem paltry in the presence of nothingness. My room had two windows with khatambandh shutters, and then in Delhi I had no window. In the kitchen garden of my house I had sprinkled sugar crystals along with the root of kohl-knol, to enjoy a sweet harvest, and then I had a shared balcony. The newly constructed cobblestone path leading towards the door of my old house had some friendly foliage on it, and now footwear lay dishevelled in the battered corridor of the rented room. While my Srinagar house entertained endless guest, there was a restrain on guests visiting a family of five in my rented room in Delhi. The aged books in the top room of my old house needed more space, and then there were a few shelves in the single rented room to be shared for clothes, books, and all such oddities of life.

Time, and it superficially healed very well.  Over the next three decades I earned my share of respectful roti, kapda and makaan. I enjoyed the view from multiple windows, I grew and cultivated the fruits of labour, I entertained guests with open arms and I could arrange my books by size, genre, colour and authors. Yet, all of this could not bring me to a sense of stability and security. I live with this fear of sitting in a train which is not headed towards my destination. I am on-board a state-of-art flight but the navigation is lost. I feel I am in the middle of a ship, which has lost the anchor and is afloat without a compass.

The first time, this feeling hit home was when my school mates headed to their ‘hometown’ during the summer or winter break. In the following years, I often heard this word “hometown”, from multiple people. ‘Home’, ‘native place’, ‘birth place’ were the other expressions of belonging for people who had a hometown. Then that little voice inside me hinted at my accomplished life journey – 

Cry for what you petty self,

Trod over a million saffrons yourself,

Yet, you wander for a wild flower,

That now grows in a land turned sour.

‘Home’ is a wild flower I am aching for. It grows in a forbidden land, which is farther than my thoughts and nearer than my present. I wish to steal that wild flower, put it in a vase and imbue my house with the purity and rawness of its emotions. I wish the flower would overshoot and swarm my rented abode with its wildness. I wish her roots to drench in the warmth of my native land. I wish the nerves of the wild flower would emit the comfort of my hometown. I do not wish to disengage with my umbilical cord. This is my anchor, which is my hometown.

After the unfortunate exodus from Kashmir, Kashmiris did not waste time and they displayed unabashed profailantism. With pure grit and fervour, Kashmiris world over achieved success in all fields. They are globe-trotters, world-travellers, global-citizens and hold positions of repute and honour. As a community, Kashmiri’s vaunt about their glorious past and boast with pride about their achievements. 

As Kashmiri’s we are carrying the five elements, but the sixth element is missing. The five elements that make up our complete being have travelled the world with us. Our elements of earth, air, water, space and fire have the essence of Kashmir in them, how can we part from it? But ‘hometown’ the sixth missing link in our saga is missing.

The yearning is painful but as Rumi says; wound is the place where the light enters you. The wound that we Kashmiris have been living with is also the point from where we will let the sixth element to enter into our lives.

Avanti Sopory is an author and an educator based in Delhi. Her latest book ‘The Kashmir That Was’ is a collection of her memories from her time in Kashmir.