By: Arjimand Hussain Talib
To Hamza, Anchar was a mystique. He particularly didn’t like the idea of calling it as a “lake”. To him it was a Vast Expanse, shrouded by trees (especially willows), floating gardens, weeds, algae, lush green grass and some water too - often covered with green weeds, making it appear like a fantastic grassland¬.
At the shore there was a small boat waiting for them. Its wood had largely decayed. Fish-smelling green and black algae had grown on its under-water wooden bottom. It was almost a tree. A horizontal, cruising but almost-dead tree. Water seeped inside through its decayed floor and sides, making it a potentially risky rider. A pile of weeds, freshly extracted from the lake, lay in the middle of the boat. The weeds absorbed the seeped water inside its green and dark world. As if it was thirsty. Shaheen was little skeptical about using the boat, but he had no choice.
Shaheen and Hamza sat on one of the wooden seats of the boat, facing each other. One of the boys who brought them there walked past them, trampled the weeds with his Chinese-made blue Warrior shoes, and squeezed water out of them. His walk jostled the boat as if it would capsize, right at the shore. But nothing like that happened actually. He grabbed the paddle and sat on the tip of the boat on the other end, positioned dangerously. Shaheen dreaded to himself about his fall into the lake. He knew both he and Hamza could not swim. He had an instant flashback of his school report card, which, every six months, over and over again, carried the headmaster’s message in the ‘swimming’ row: STILL A NON-SWIMMER.
The wooden paddle was heart-shaped, signifying the legacy of Kashmir’s dream-selling shikara wallas (boatmen). Its handle was poked deep inside the heart shape of the paddle. The other boy, who went by the name Taha, set free the boat’s moor, and pushed it towards the water with one of his legs. The other leg being in the boat.
Ever since his childhood Hamza would fear the horrifying possibility of a person never being able to make his legs meet in such a situation. Taha hurried to step back his leg into the boat as it moved, and sat quietly on that very end of the boat, with his one hand still inside his bloated Pheran. Secretly holding his Kalashnikov rifle, and making Hamza and Shaheen feel ‘they were safe and guarded.’
Slowly, the boat cruised through the lake’s silent waterways. It dissected the green weeds and algae like a ship would do with ice and snow on an Antarctica mission. Falling dry leaves from willows quietly swam on the waters. They looked like tiny boats – resembling the one they were riding. Leaves that had made it to the bottom of waterways had turned deep brown and black. The boat was soon out of the shore’s sight.
The lake was as mysterious as Hamza had thought. Its waterways were narrow, lined by willows and weeping willows. Most of the lake was actually land, growing vegetables – just like Hamza had always imagined. Occasionally, they would see people working on their floating vegetable gardens there, and fishing. They looked like people from another planet and just ignored the boat as it passed by. Their floating, and often, moving gardens, were quasi boats themselves.
Hamza and Shaheen were soon in a place which looked like a real lake. A small island too was now in sight. After half-an-hour of the boat ride, they, finally, touched the island. Craning his neck around, Hamza could spot men carrying Kalashnikov rifles, hiding themselves behind trees, and standing at guard. It was a citadel of a guerrilla group, which Taha would call a ‘hideout’, hidden deep inside that fishermen’s and vegetable growers’ ghetto.
Just as they disembarked, some of the armed men came to greet them – “As salam-o-alaikum!” Hamza and Shaheen both replied with – Walaikum Salam!
On the island there was an old and abandoned house, separated by a marshy waterway and accessible by an overpass made of three hugged wooden logs. The windows of the house were broken. Doors smashed. Wooden logs, unpainted and half burnt, hung dangerously from the first floor.
There were more armed men there. More than Hamza and Shaheen had initially spotted. Brandishing various kinds of guns. Russian-made Kalashnikov rifles. Chinese made pistols. Light machine guns (of unknown make), with drum magazines full of bullets.
A group of gunmen, standing around a bonfire, was warming its hands. As if they were presenting their hands before the school teacher for a blow of punishment. But inverted. And relaxed. The terror of the school days having gone with the Winds of Death.
Some of the armed guys looked quite young. Some were bearded. And stern looking. Nursing a fire in their eyes. That is what the bruised beneaths of their eyes reflected. Some of them were clean shaved. Innocent, yet intense. Like hawks with humane hearts.
Taha next took them for an introduction with the commander, whom they called General Babar. He was a 50-plus man wearing a camouflage jacket and sitting on a chair, with one of its legs impaired. He struggled to balance himself. There was probably no way to get a proper chair for him in that logistically difficult place, so the impaired chair, Shaheen thought to himself. Everything in that island looked make-shift. The commander was reading an Urdu newspaper when we approached him. He was somewhere on its inner pages. The front and the last pages faced us. The front lead, often written by poorly-paid Urdu calligraphers, was quite legible and read: Indian and Pakistani foreign secretaries to meet in Islamabad. He closed the newspaper and shook hands with Hamza and Shaheen warmly. His hand was quite firm, as if made of wood. After sharing brief pleasantries, he asked Taha to take them to the house.
Taha followed the orders. We had to cross the wooden logs to get to the house. “Be careful”, Taha cautioned us, as the logs were wet and slippery.
We entered into a room in the ground floor itself, which was dusty, and with hardly any windows. Someone had put up a photo exhibition there. They called it an “Exhibition of Valour.” The “exhibition” had war pictures there; irrespective of the causes those wars were fought for. It was a display to make the trusted visitors fathom “The Message.” A place to roil the new recruits.
Hamza, an iconoclast to the heart, looked at the pictures with disinterest. A characteristic of a Lunatic Fringe, Shaheen thought to himself. There was a glossy picture of a mushroom cloud – a nuclear explosion – rising to the skies. A picture of a painting – showing children crying in a corner in dark shade. Their faces were unrecognizable. Painted intentionally in dark colors. To inspire awe and terror.
“This is going to happen if India and Pakistan were to use nuclear bombs in a future war”, Taha began his lessons. He next guided them to a picture of girls (who probably were naked), who, he said, were fleeing the napalm-bombed and Agent Orange-sprayed villages of My Lai during the Vietnam War. Someone had tried to cover the bodies of the girls with a blue ball pen. Taha said it was an ‘elder’, who had said they were not supposed to display such pictures.
“See this is what the Americans did to the Vietnamese”, he pointed at that picture, “but the Vietnamese still snatched victory.”
There were many other pictures, depicting devastated villages and brutalised women and girls. The typical East Asian trim eyes and soft and long hair of the women indicated it was the Vietnam War.
Taha next showed them some pictures of Tamil Tigers (neatly cut from Frontline news magazine). There were many images of young sleeper-clad Tamil boys and girls in combat postures. Their bodies covered with bushes to make them look like trees. They wore uniforms camouflaging tigers, green grass and greenish brown trunks of coconut trees. Their heavy guns hanging over their seemingly-weak and narrow shoulders and bullets criss-crossing their chests like a two-track railway junction.
Shaheen pointed to Hamza to look towards the feet of the Tigers in one picture. The fighters did not put on any shoes. Some of the fighters were clad in nylon slippers. Their feet were in sharp contrast to the sophisticated weapons they had or the uniforms they wore.
“These things don’t matter. If you have the will, you can fight anyway”, Taha responded to Shaheen’s point regarding the slippers. Shaheen sought to clarify, “No, I didn’t mean that. I just noticed. That is it.”
Taha also narrated to Hamza and Shaheen “how bravely the Tamil Tigers had stormed a big army base in Killinochi in northern Sri Lanka.” He was keen to bring home the same message to them: “Persistence, will and dedication were the keys to success.”
Hamza next spotted some other pictures from Kashmir itself - showing some slain guerillas in some Kashmir villages. Both he and Shaheen looked at the pictures keenly. Bodies were kept on slanted beds covered with sheets of clean white cloth. Soldiers and officers posed for pictures as the ‘Proud Killers.’ Captured guns, ammunition, clothes, pouches, were all neatly organized. Making them like eye-catching objects, as if to promote their sale in an exhibition.
“Now bullets are the ink of this place”, Hamza suddenly burst out, pointing to
KILLED BY 100 RR
200 BN
Words that were created from the seized bullets. Finely written. Not by any ilk of ink or paint of this universe. By bullets. Smooth, shining and fine pointed bullets.
(First written in 2001 and published for the first time)
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Kashmiri weekend
Can we define the line between work and life one day?
Arjimand Hussain Talib
Can we marvel of a ‘Kashmiri weekend’? Pardon my ignorance, as far as I know, there isn’t something like that as of now. Even if it is practiced in isolation, or exists as an idea, it isn’t there as a culture.
As modern urban lifestyles slowly and steadily breach into Kashmiris’ traditional ways of living, it is not a bad idea to address this question.
Encyclopedias tell you that ‘workweek’ and ‘weekend’ are those complementary parts of the week devoted to labour and rest respectively.
Every culture celebrates work and leisure in its own unique ways. Religious and cultural traditions have generally determined the ways humans work and rest in their living days.
From Africa’s once-secluded tribes to the modernizing societies of the Orient, modern day urban lifestyles are changing the traditional ways of work and leisure at a good pace. Western societies, on the other hand, are generally known to have well-established work-leisure cultures. And that is one reason they are known to be the most productive on this planet.
It is not that every society in the world has well defined work and leisure norms. In modern societies where work and leisure are both taken very seriously, clearly demarcated lines for work and life are quite necessary. Such lines are necessary for us to be optimally productive. For enjoying ourselves. And, obviously, for ensuring a healthy body and mind.
Modern lifestyles are beset with problems. Now if you are living in a conflict zone like Kashmir – heavily militarized, marred by day-to-day uncertainties, devoid of traffic signals to simplify your street chaos and places where you could go unhindered and breathe freely - it is obviously worse.
Different cultures and countries have their own different ways to balance work and life.
Muslim countries like Algeria, Bangladesh, Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Sudan etc. mark Friday-Saturday as weekend off days. They work on Sundays. Afghanistan and Iran have only Friday as the weekend off day, which means they work six days a week.
There are Muslim countries like Pakistan, Indonesia, Malaysia and Turkey which observe a Saturday-Sunday weekend.
Israel’s weekend follows mostly its religious tradition. Its workweek begins on Sunday and ends on Thursday or Friday at noon. Its work day comprises of eight hours per day.
Russia also works from Monday to Friday. So it takes Saturday and Sunday off. Each of its work day comprise of eight hours.
In the US working week also comprises of Monday to Friday, eight hours a day. Some retail and other businesses work on Saturdays as well.
In the UK, the normal business working week is from Monday to Friday (35 to 40 hours depending on a worker’s contract). But its retail shops follow different systems.
In countries such as Australia and Germany the weekend is considered Friday night, Saturday and Sunday, with the workweek beginning on Monday.
In India people follow varied and mixed models of workweek and weekend. Some enterprises, including central government offices, work for five days a week. Others work for five and a half days.
Kashmir also has a mixed system. When disturbances overwhelm our work and personal spaces, there is no system at all. We have some notorieties as well.
Some time back, an Indian colleague while working with me on a SWOT (Strengths, Weakness, Opportunities and Threats) analysis for the staff of an international organisation in Kashmir concluded that Kashmiris don’t deserve a long weekend. He saw our general productivity of the workweek too low.
More than a line between workweek and weekend, what is more important to us is what we do in these two times.
Western and other advances societies are not known to mix their work and personal spaces. At the time of work they just work, meaning nothing else is welcome to distract. When it is time to spend on oneself, work is switched off completely.
In Kashmir, generally we don’t mind mixing the two lives. The end result is that most people end up doing no justice with either of the two. Kashmir also has a notorious distinction of enjoying a large number of official and unofficial holidays. That affects our work quality too. We are not known to take long yearend holidays and then get back to work fresh.
But does all this mean we don’t deserve a long weekend?
Most of our government services are known for their excessive life and work shortage issues. But there are exceptions as well. In our government I think only the civil secretariat takes a two-day weekend off. Is that one way of conveying who actually works harder during the workweek?
Private sector works more in work mode, leaving too little scope for life. Most journalists work 24*7. People in the banking sector are said to be the most bored lot - they work worth their salaries and yet don’t have enough time for themselves.
People in medical profession, especially those with strenuous working hours, deserve a weekend too. Some teachers and academics also deserve weekends. There are many others too, like lawyers.
In this debate, the big question that looms relates to our Productivity Quotient – or call it PQ. Is our workweek that productive to make us deserve two-day weekends?
For long management theorists have argued that if we give more time to workers to rest, rewind and rejuvenate they will be more productive during their work days. But then there are those who argue that Kashmiris generally have hell of a time of all these, yet their productivity is abysmal.
If we work productively and with honesty through the workweek, postponing some life-needs which can be done at the weekend, we deserve a two-day weekend. That would demand demarcating our workweek and weekend clearly.
In such a case employers will find a strong case for a Kashmiri weekend. A weekend used for what it is meant for – personal and family rejuvenation, reflection and preparation for another productive week ahead. A weekend when official phones and laptops are in off mode.
Can we dream like that?
The columnist can be e-mailed at Arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
Arjimand Hussain Talib
Can we marvel of a ‘Kashmiri weekend’? Pardon my ignorance, as far as I know, there isn’t something like that as of now. Even if it is practiced in isolation, or exists as an idea, it isn’t there as a culture.
As modern urban lifestyles slowly and steadily breach into Kashmiris’ traditional ways of living, it is not a bad idea to address this question.
Encyclopedias tell you that ‘workweek’ and ‘weekend’ are those complementary parts of the week devoted to labour and rest respectively.
Every culture celebrates work and leisure in its own unique ways. Religious and cultural traditions have generally determined the ways humans work and rest in their living days.
From Africa’s once-secluded tribes to the modernizing societies of the Orient, modern day urban lifestyles are changing the traditional ways of work and leisure at a good pace. Western societies, on the other hand, are generally known to have well-established work-leisure cultures. And that is one reason they are known to be the most productive on this planet.
It is not that every society in the world has well defined work and leisure norms. In modern societies where work and leisure are both taken very seriously, clearly demarcated lines for work and life are quite necessary. Such lines are necessary for us to be optimally productive. For enjoying ourselves. And, obviously, for ensuring a healthy body and mind.
Modern lifestyles are beset with problems. Now if you are living in a conflict zone like Kashmir – heavily militarized, marred by day-to-day uncertainties, devoid of traffic signals to simplify your street chaos and places where you could go unhindered and breathe freely - it is obviously worse.
Different cultures and countries have their own different ways to balance work and life.
Muslim countries like Algeria, Bangladesh, Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Sudan etc. mark Friday-Saturday as weekend off days. They work on Sundays. Afghanistan and Iran have only Friday as the weekend off day, which means they work six days a week.
There are Muslim countries like Pakistan, Indonesia, Malaysia and Turkey which observe a Saturday-Sunday weekend.
Israel’s weekend follows mostly its religious tradition. Its workweek begins on Sunday and ends on Thursday or Friday at noon. Its work day comprises of eight hours per day.
Russia also works from Monday to Friday. So it takes Saturday and Sunday off. Each of its work day comprise of eight hours.
In the US working week also comprises of Monday to Friday, eight hours a day. Some retail and other businesses work on Saturdays as well.
In the UK, the normal business working week is from Monday to Friday (35 to 40 hours depending on a worker’s contract). But its retail shops follow different systems.
In countries such as Australia and Germany the weekend is considered Friday night, Saturday and Sunday, with the workweek beginning on Monday.
In India people follow varied and mixed models of workweek and weekend. Some enterprises, including central government offices, work for five days a week. Others work for five and a half days.
Kashmir also has a mixed system. When disturbances overwhelm our work and personal spaces, there is no system at all. We have some notorieties as well.
Some time back, an Indian colleague while working with me on a SWOT (Strengths, Weakness, Opportunities and Threats) analysis for the staff of an international organisation in Kashmir concluded that Kashmiris don’t deserve a long weekend. He saw our general productivity of the workweek too low.
More than a line between workweek and weekend, what is more important to us is what we do in these two times.
Western and other advances societies are not known to mix their work and personal spaces. At the time of work they just work, meaning nothing else is welcome to distract. When it is time to spend on oneself, work is switched off completely.
In Kashmir, generally we don’t mind mixing the two lives. The end result is that most people end up doing no justice with either of the two. Kashmir also has a notorious distinction of enjoying a large number of official and unofficial holidays. That affects our work quality too. We are not known to take long yearend holidays and then get back to work fresh.
But does all this mean we don’t deserve a long weekend?
Most of our government services are known for their excessive life and work shortage issues. But there are exceptions as well. In our government I think only the civil secretariat takes a two-day weekend off. Is that one way of conveying who actually works harder during the workweek?
Private sector works more in work mode, leaving too little scope for life. Most journalists work 24*7. People in the banking sector are said to be the most bored lot - they work worth their salaries and yet don’t have enough time for themselves.
People in medical profession, especially those with strenuous working hours, deserve a weekend too. Some teachers and academics also deserve weekends. There are many others too, like lawyers.
In this debate, the big question that looms relates to our Productivity Quotient – or call it PQ. Is our workweek that productive to make us deserve two-day weekends?
For long management theorists have argued that if we give more time to workers to rest, rewind and rejuvenate they will be more productive during their work days. But then there are those who argue that Kashmiris generally have hell of a time of all these, yet their productivity is abysmal.
If we work productively and with honesty through the workweek, postponing some life-needs which can be done at the weekend, we deserve a two-day weekend. That would demand demarcating our workweek and weekend clearly.
In such a case employers will find a strong case for a Kashmiri weekend. A weekend used for what it is meant for – personal and family rejuvenation, reflection and preparation for another productive week ahead. A weekend when official phones and laptops are in off mode.
Can we dream like that?
The columnist can be e-mailed at Arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
J&K Budget 2011-12
Budget and bananas
Our short term populism can’t substitute sustainability
Arjimand Hussain Talib
The pejorative - banana republic – for any society would sound disrespectful.
But as a political science term you just can’t wish away what it describes -
a politically unstable country, dependent upon limited agriculture, mainly
bananas, and ruled by plutocracy. And, worse of all, dependent for almost
everything on imports and outside aid.
The way J&K is planning its budgets sounds like short term populist
accounting – as if tomorrow doesn’t exist. As if the responsibility for
tomorrow wrests alone with those who will live tomorrow.
Beyond philosophical reflections, in practical terms what J&K state does is
borrow money blindly irrespective of our repaying capacity, spend lavishly on
public salaries and spend crazily to maintain political ‘order.’
Spare me for sounding too pessimistic, but doesn’t the substance of our
budgets strengthen our sense of being a high degree banana republic?
As per the Budget 2010-11, we have generated our own tax revenues of Rs
3643 crore last year. The government’s target for this year is Rs 4,183 crore.
So much so good.
But look at our interest payment of our accumulated loans alone – it is Rs
2251 crore for the current fiscal. Our power bill is Rs 2,324 crore during this
year.
The Government would spend Rs 1174 crore on account of repayment of
loans coming fiscal as against Rs 959 crore this year to the Government of
India and other institutions.
And we have other liabilities as well – we will need Rs 2651 crore during the
next financial year for pensions and retirement benefits. This year we have
paid Rs 2031 crore.
Our Security Related Expenditure (SRE) is no small money - this year it is Rs
693 crore.
So where is the money to build infrastructure, finance social and welfare
spending?
Almost 60 per cent of our roads are built or maintained by borrowed money,
mainly from NABARD. If we need a hospital or even an ambulance, we
need a government of India bailout package. From schools to drains,
from tourist huts to police uniforms we are dependent on money from
Delhi.
All this point to a serious political and economic dysfunction. What is alarming
is that it is simply unsustainable because no political entity can afford to do
this indefinitely without taking some drastic steps to set this dysfunction
right.
Four things for that need to go – one is our political uncertainty, second is the
curbs on our global business linkages, third is the embargo on international
air connectivity and the fourth is the fruitless populism.
When the government statistics say that our Gross State Domestic Product
(GSDP) for the current year is likely to be Rs 47,709 crore, reflecting a growth
of 10.35 per cent, I don’t think there is neither a need for jubilation nor
concern. Our GSDP doesn’t convey anything significant. One reason being that
most of the economic activities are propelled by public expenditure.
Public expenditure in theory would enhance the multiplier effect – create
more money in the process. But the problem is that our balance of trade is so
huge that the multiplier effect ends up creating more money outside the state
than here. The money that is generated here is not able to enrich the public
finances, courtesy populism and conflict management. So we are in a vicious
circle which does us no good.
Revenue will come from greater economic activities outside the state
expenditure. For that we need better roads (for which we have no or little
money), we need other industrial infrastructure like industrial estates (for
which the budget has no money). We also need a massive tourism-related
infrastructure for which money never comes, and we have to instead manage
with an infrastructure which is primitive by today’s global standards.
When it comes to revenue generation efforts in the 2010-11 Budget, they look
aimless.
What the government has done for widening the tax net looks juvenile.
Bringing in commercial construction, repairs and even alterations under
service tax net looks unnecessary. That is not going to generate big money.
Nor are services like TV and Radio program productions, architects, interior
decorators, Chartered Accountants and advertising by providing hoardings
going to generate significant money.
Over the last couple of decades the consumption pattern has significantly
altered in our state. With rising purchasing power in our rural areas,
consumption there has increased manifold. Quite naturally, like companies
are targeting these emerging markets, we are supposed to shift our tax focus
too there. From cars to fertilizers, from color TV to pesticides, from satellite
TV to mobile phones; rural markets are the main consumers now.
VAT exemption on pesticides, insecticides, weedicides, milch animals, poultry
feed, beehives and colonies doesn’t make economic sense. Similarly, GST
exemption for Green Houses used in farms is not prudent. They generate good
money.
As someone belonging to a family engaged in horticulture for decades I can
say it with certainty that all segments of fruit, poultry and dairy producing
communities can afford paying tax on these items. Even they can easily pass
on the extra cost to the consumer who is a ready buyer for these products.
It is now common knowledge that except for a small segment of landless rural
folks and jobless urban populace almost all segments of the population have
the capacity to purchase food grains from the market. So exempting food
grains from VAT doesn’t make much sense as well.
What is also strange is that rather than privatizing our loss making public
sector enterprises like the J&K Handloom Development Corporation and
the Government Woolen Mills we continue to waste money for their revival.
Budgetary provisions for these take us nowhere.
What has gone almost completely unnoticed is what the finance minister said
he will be doing this fiscal – allow ‘bulk consumers’ of power approach an
outside supplier of electrical energy directly. This is bizarre. What it means is
that having failed to properly distribute power in the state sector we are now
going to allow ‘outside entities’ get into power distribution business. Where
are we heading?
Another disturbing provision in the budget is the whopping Rs 1037 crore for
Master Plan of Jammu city. It is not bad to earmark more money for that city
which we love, but the question is how can Srinagar city – where from this
government derives its electoral power – be ignored when its infrastructure is
the worst in the whole state?
Sad questions but no ready answers.
The columnist can be emailed at arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
Our short term populism can’t substitute sustainability
Arjimand Hussain Talib
The pejorative - banana republic – for any society would sound disrespectful.
But as a political science term you just can’t wish away what it describes -
a politically unstable country, dependent upon limited agriculture, mainly
bananas, and ruled by plutocracy. And, worse of all, dependent for almost
everything on imports and outside aid.
The way J&K is planning its budgets sounds like short term populist
accounting – as if tomorrow doesn’t exist. As if the responsibility for
tomorrow wrests alone with those who will live tomorrow.
Beyond philosophical reflections, in practical terms what J&K state does is
borrow money blindly irrespective of our repaying capacity, spend lavishly on
public salaries and spend crazily to maintain political ‘order.’
Spare me for sounding too pessimistic, but doesn’t the substance of our
budgets strengthen our sense of being a high degree banana republic?
As per the Budget 2010-11, we have generated our own tax revenues of Rs
3643 crore last year. The government’s target for this year is Rs 4,183 crore.
So much so good.
But look at our interest payment of our accumulated loans alone – it is Rs
2251 crore for the current fiscal. Our power bill is Rs 2,324 crore during this
year.
The Government would spend Rs 1174 crore on account of repayment of
loans coming fiscal as against Rs 959 crore this year to the Government of
India and other institutions.
And we have other liabilities as well – we will need Rs 2651 crore during the
next financial year for pensions and retirement benefits. This year we have
paid Rs 2031 crore.
Our Security Related Expenditure (SRE) is no small money - this year it is Rs
693 crore.
So where is the money to build infrastructure, finance social and welfare
spending?
Almost 60 per cent of our roads are built or maintained by borrowed money,
mainly from NABARD. If we need a hospital or even an ambulance, we
need a government of India bailout package. From schools to drains,
from tourist huts to police uniforms we are dependent on money from
Delhi.
All this point to a serious political and economic dysfunction. What is alarming
is that it is simply unsustainable because no political entity can afford to do
this indefinitely without taking some drastic steps to set this dysfunction
right.
Four things for that need to go – one is our political uncertainty, second is the
curbs on our global business linkages, third is the embargo on international
air connectivity and the fourth is the fruitless populism.
When the government statistics say that our Gross State Domestic Product
(GSDP) for the current year is likely to be Rs 47,709 crore, reflecting a growth
of 10.35 per cent, I don’t think there is neither a need for jubilation nor
concern. Our GSDP doesn’t convey anything significant. One reason being that
most of the economic activities are propelled by public expenditure.
Public expenditure in theory would enhance the multiplier effect – create
more money in the process. But the problem is that our balance of trade is so
huge that the multiplier effect ends up creating more money outside the state
than here. The money that is generated here is not able to enrich the public
finances, courtesy populism and conflict management. So we are in a vicious
circle which does us no good.
Revenue will come from greater economic activities outside the state
expenditure. For that we need better roads (for which we have no or little
money), we need other industrial infrastructure like industrial estates (for
which the budget has no money). We also need a massive tourism-related
infrastructure for which money never comes, and we have to instead manage
with an infrastructure which is primitive by today’s global standards.
When it comes to revenue generation efforts in the 2010-11 Budget, they look
aimless.
What the government has done for widening the tax net looks juvenile.
Bringing in commercial construction, repairs and even alterations under
service tax net looks unnecessary. That is not going to generate big money.
Nor are services like TV and Radio program productions, architects, interior
decorators, Chartered Accountants and advertising by providing hoardings
going to generate significant money.
Over the last couple of decades the consumption pattern has significantly
altered in our state. With rising purchasing power in our rural areas,
consumption there has increased manifold. Quite naturally, like companies
are targeting these emerging markets, we are supposed to shift our tax focus
too there. From cars to fertilizers, from color TV to pesticides, from satellite
TV to mobile phones; rural markets are the main consumers now.
VAT exemption on pesticides, insecticides, weedicides, milch animals, poultry
feed, beehives and colonies doesn’t make economic sense. Similarly, GST
exemption for Green Houses used in farms is not prudent. They generate good
money.
As someone belonging to a family engaged in horticulture for decades I can
say it with certainty that all segments of fruit, poultry and dairy producing
communities can afford paying tax on these items. Even they can easily pass
on the extra cost to the consumer who is a ready buyer for these products.
It is now common knowledge that except for a small segment of landless rural
folks and jobless urban populace almost all segments of the population have
the capacity to purchase food grains from the market. So exempting food
grains from VAT doesn’t make much sense as well.
What is also strange is that rather than privatizing our loss making public
sector enterprises like the J&K Handloom Development Corporation and
the Government Woolen Mills we continue to waste money for their revival.
Budgetary provisions for these take us nowhere.
What has gone almost completely unnoticed is what the finance minister said
he will be doing this fiscal – allow ‘bulk consumers’ of power approach an
outside supplier of electrical energy directly. This is bizarre. What it means is
that having failed to properly distribute power in the state sector we are now
going to allow ‘outside entities’ get into power distribution business. Where
are we heading?
Another disturbing provision in the budget is the whopping Rs 1037 crore for
Master Plan of Jammu city. It is not bad to earmark more money for that city
which we love, but the question is how can Srinagar city – where from this
government derives its electoral power – be ignored when its infrastructure is
the worst in the whole state?
Sad questions but no ready answers.
The columnist can be emailed at arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Kashmiris' English Jihad
Reflections on Curfewed Night, The Collaborator, The Garden of Solitude
DATELINE SRINAGAR by Arjimand Hussain Talib
Hope seldom overrides despair for we Kashmiris. Let us honestly admit, most of us often give in to what looks like ‘the inevitability of a national decay.’ Our circumstances usually leave us confused, and dejected. Left marooned and captive, we often crane our necks for a glimpse of hope, some fresh air.
The good news is that our grey clouds have plentiful silver lining. Look at the sort of renaissance our English literature is going through. Kashmir is catching global attention today, and not for ordinary reasons.
It is true that we have a rich tradition of producing fantastic literature, mostly in Kashmiri, Urdu and, to some extent, Persian. But our brush with English is somewhat new.
If ever Kashmir happens to own the hated, the brilliant, the maverick Salman Rushdie, then we have made our mark in English literature for a while now.
If not then our English era begins with Agha Shahid Ali – the genius, who made the literary world take note of Kashmiris’ ability to craft astonishing English literature. No matter the angel of death had him little early, and we didn’t get to read a novel from him, his poems remain the best thing we have ever produced in English. His writings – including his translations of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s Urdu ghazals - continue to captivate, and leave a reader with incredible but pleasant bewilderment.
What has created ripples in the literary world lately, however, are Basharat Peer’s memoir Curfewed Night, and now Mirza Waheed’s The Collaborator and Siddharth Gigoo’s The Garden of Solitude, both novels.
And, one hears, more stories are just on the way.
Listening to Waheed Mirza at a Srinagar café a few days back was a real treat. This genuine English writer, who seems to know his job well, made an excellent case for what he had crafted. And, frankly speaking, I greatly enjoyed his narration of the evolution and the making of The Collaborator than the tracts he read from the novel.
Having spent the last couple of weeks in the reading of The Collaborator, Curfewed Night, and a partial reading of The Garden of Solitude, I am left with a mixed feeling.
All these three books are undoubtedly a work of colossal effort. What they have done in great measure is make the world open its eyes to Kashmir’s profound human stories. These books are bold, do not mind making people angry, and come with an emotionally-charged personal relation to their narratives. For those who wish to appreciate why Kashmiris nurse so much of pain and anger, these books hold the answer. In two of these books, there is also some resonance with Muzammil Jaleel’s "My Lost Kashmir", which appeared in the London Observer way back in 2002.
But there is something that is missing too – a captivating narrative that captures intricate details normally seen in Kashmir’s non-English writings and an inquisitive plot. Curfewed Night and The Garden of Solitude have mostly relied on linear story telling. But there are some brilliant thoughts in Curfewed Night as well, like this one - Srinagar is never winning or never being defeated.
In the end, in all these three books, the thirst for a narration where imagination goes berserk, and attention to detail sounds obsessive, is left unquenched.
But those who see too much of politics in these books miss the point. No writer having been witness to Kashmir’s mayhem can skirt the political circumstances their authors have breathed in. Those circumstances shape their cognition, and so what they write.
But when it comes to literary merit, one would surely love to see more of magic realism squeezed from a million things that are Kashmiri, entwined in our historical fiction, which is inevitable.
To say that a first person or third person protagonist narrative could have been avoided in these books is unfair too. No creative writing needs to be moored to a particular genre. Likewise, it is completely ethical to narrate a story from the prism of one’s perceptions and biases. But, yes, when personal political biases cross a certain line, and balance creeps in for being politically correct, literature loses its charm.
What The Collaborator does remarkably well is bring to the world the story of Kashmir’s secluded hinterland – the life of the hapless people living close to the Line of Control. But as what Peter Carty in his review of the novel says, The Collaborator is “frequently histrionic and overwrought.” Although that sounds little too harsh while reading, but actually not totally unfounded as one goes into the novel in detail.
When it comes The Collaborator’s title - originally titled In the Valley of Yellow Flowers – a reader is left thinking if it is intentional. A best-selling novel of the same title by Seymour Gerald, published by Hodder & Stoughton, is already in the market since September 2009 in the UK.
There is, nevertheless, a big reason to cheer our Aborted Martyrs kind of writers – waging a jihad of a different ilk, winning friends to their political cause and empathy for their people’s suffering.
First novels seldom bring out the best of the writers. Writers evolve as they write. Basharat, Waheed and Siddarth possess a talent that is capable of producing far more striking stories.
And then we have our other brilliant and veteran creative English writers - Syeda Afshana, Ajaz-ul-Haque, Muzammil Jaleel, Sajad Lone and Ajaz Baba. These individuals are capable of producing English literature which could hit the global literary stage with unpredictable results. I wait for the day when these people find time from their work commitments, resign to themselves, and let their literary genius go berserk. I am also greatly fascinated by the writings of Sameer Bhat, whom we read mostly on Facebook. He has the talent of being a global sensation. He is my favorite number one.
And who knows we may one day have a master piece, a contender for the Booker, as Agha Shahid Ali said – in a language that must measure up to one’s native dust.
DATELINE SRINAGAR by Arjimand Hussain Talib
Hope seldom overrides despair for we Kashmiris. Let us honestly admit, most of us often give in to what looks like ‘the inevitability of a national decay.’ Our circumstances usually leave us confused, and dejected. Left marooned and captive, we often crane our necks for a glimpse of hope, some fresh air.
The good news is that our grey clouds have plentiful silver lining. Look at the sort of renaissance our English literature is going through. Kashmir is catching global attention today, and not for ordinary reasons.
It is true that we have a rich tradition of producing fantastic literature, mostly in Kashmiri, Urdu and, to some extent, Persian. But our brush with English is somewhat new.
If ever Kashmir happens to own the hated, the brilliant, the maverick Salman Rushdie, then we have made our mark in English literature for a while now.
If not then our English era begins with Agha Shahid Ali – the genius, who made the literary world take note of Kashmiris’ ability to craft astonishing English literature. No matter the angel of death had him little early, and we didn’t get to read a novel from him, his poems remain the best thing we have ever produced in English. His writings – including his translations of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s Urdu ghazals - continue to captivate, and leave a reader with incredible but pleasant bewilderment.
What has created ripples in the literary world lately, however, are Basharat Peer’s memoir Curfewed Night, and now Mirza Waheed’s The Collaborator and Siddharth Gigoo’s The Garden of Solitude, both novels.
And, one hears, more stories are just on the way.
Listening to Waheed Mirza at a Srinagar café a few days back was a real treat. This genuine English writer, who seems to know his job well, made an excellent case for what he had crafted. And, frankly speaking, I greatly enjoyed his narration of the evolution and the making of The Collaborator than the tracts he read from the novel.
Having spent the last couple of weeks in the reading of The Collaborator, Curfewed Night, and a partial reading of The Garden of Solitude, I am left with a mixed feeling.
All these three books are undoubtedly a work of colossal effort. What they have done in great measure is make the world open its eyes to Kashmir’s profound human stories. These books are bold, do not mind making people angry, and come with an emotionally-charged personal relation to their narratives. For those who wish to appreciate why Kashmiris nurse so much of pain and anger, these books hold the answer. In two of these books, there is also some resonance with Muzammil Jaleel’s "My Lost Kashmir", which appeared in the London Observer way back in 2002.
But there is something that is missing too – a captivating narrative that captures intricate details normally seen in Kashmir’s non-English writings and an inquisitive plot. Curfewed Night and The Garden of Solitude have mostly relied on linear story telling. But there are some brilliant thoughts in Curfewed Night as well, like this one - Srinagar is never winning or never being defeated.
In the end, in all these three books, the thirst for a narration where imagination goes berserk, and attention to detail sounds obsessive, is left unquenched.
But those who see too much of politics in these books miss the point. No writer having been witness to Kashmir’s mayhem can skirt the political circumstances their authors have breathed in. Those circumstances shape their cognition, and so what they write.
But when it comes to literary merit, one would surely love to see more of magic realism squeezed from a million things that are Kashmiri, entwined in our historical fiction, which is inevitable.
To say that a first person or third person protagonist narrative could have been avoided in these books is unfair too. No creative writing needs to be moored to a particular genre. Likewise, it is completely ethical to narrate a story from the prism of one’s perceptions and biases. But, yes, when personal political biases cross a certain line, and balance creeps in for being politically correct, literature loses its charm.
What The Collaborator does remarkably well is bring to the world the story of Kashmir’s secluded hinterland – the life of the hapless people living close to the Line of Control. But as what Peter Carty in his review of the novel says, The Collaborator is “frequently histrionic and overwrought.” Although that sounds little too harsh while reading, but actually not totally unfounded as one goes into the novel in detail.
When it comes The Collaborator’s title - originally titled In the Valley of Yellow Flowers – a reader is left thinking if it is intentional. A best-selling novel of the same title by Seymour Gerald, published by Hodder & Stoughton, is already in the market since September 2009 in the UK.
There is, nevertheless, a big reason to cheer our Aborted Martyrs kind of writers – waging a jihad of a different ilk, winning friends to their political cause and empathy for their people’s suffering.
First novels seldom bring out the best of the writers. Writers evolve as they write. Basharat, Waheed and Siddarth possess a talent that is capable of producing far more striking stories.
And then we have our other brilliant and veteran creative English writers - Syeda Afshana, Ajaz-ul-Haque, Muzammil Jaleel, Sajad Lone and Ajaz Baba. These individuals are capable of producing English literature which could hit the global literary stage with unpredictable results. I wait for the day when these people find time from their work commitments, resign to themselves, and let their literary genius go berserk. I am also greatly fascinated by the writings of Sameer Bhat, whom we read mostly on Facebook. He has the talent of being a global sensation. He is my favorite number one.
And who knows we may one day have a master piece, a contender for the Booker, as Agha Shahid Ali said – in a language that must measure up to one’s native dust.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Reversing autonomy?
RBI’s takeover of J&K Bank’s overdraft role raises many questions
Arjimand Hussain Talib
A new wave of anxiety has suddenly engulfed Jammu & Kashmir. The news that the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) has taken over from J&K Bank some of the jobs the latter would do for this state is official now. To most Kashmiris, this step constitutes ‘nationalization’ of their most important institution. And the message that they see in this is not financial but significantly political.
On Friday, all speculations about this matter were put on rest when RBI came up with an official press release mentioning the signing of the agreement between J&K government and itself, making RBI take over from J&K Bank the role of providing overdraft facilities to J&K state.
The official RBI press statement reads, “The Reserve Bank of India has entered into a Supplementary Agreement under Section 21A of the Reserve Bank of India Act, 1934 with the Government of Jammu & Kashmir. Under the agreement, which shall be effective from April 1, 2011, the Reserve Bank of India shall carry on the general banking business of the Government of Jammu & Kashmir and act as the sole agent for investment of Government’s funds.”
It further reads, “On the recommendation of the State Government, the Reserve Bank of India has entered into an agreement with J&K Bank Ltd. whereby J&K Bank would act as an agent of the Reserve Bank of India, for conduct of general banking business of the State Government.”
This statement leaves hardly anything to speculation. In practical terms, it, among other things, means that from April 1 onwards this year, Jammu & Kashmir Bank will not be permitted to provide overdraft to J&K government.
It also means that J&K state will use RBI`s ‘ways and means advances’ for overdrafts to meet cash flow mismatches just like any other state in the country would do.
Jammu & Kashmir government has its own take on the matter. Its argument is that it had itself pleaded before the 13th Finance Commission to give a one-time Rs 2300 crore grant to the state to clear its overdraft with J&K Bank.
In a statement issued by the Finance Department from Jammu a couple of days ago, the government said, “The State Government had vehemently placed before the 13th Finance Commission for substantial grant to the State Government as one time assistance to remove structural debt with the J&K Bank. At present, under an MoU, State Government has overdraft arrangements with J&K Bank for Rs. 1700 crore.”
What makes the earlier argument unconvincing is the point of ‘poor internal resource generation’ that the government raised in its explanatory note. It further said, “However, in view of the poor resource generation from within the State and despite liberal Central assistance, overdraft generally hovered around Rs. 2300 crore on an average.”
The government has emphasised that it was the council of ministers who took this decision rather than an individual or a party. It says, “The Council of the Ministers headed by the Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir, therefore, pleaded forcefully with the 13th Finance Commission during their visit to the State and demanded for one-time financial assistance of Rs. 2300 crore to remove this structural deficit. In a rare exception to the request of the J&K Government, the Commission has awarded a grant in aid of Rs. 1000 crore, with another exception of permitting the State Government to raise the balance amount of Rs. 1300 crore for liquidation of loan, over and above the annual borrowing ceiling, with exclusion of this market borrowing, while calculating the State FRL-consistent fiscal deficit.”
That, in effect, means that while the “structural deficit” of Rs 2300 crore will not be entirely liquidated, J&K state will be doing the same for the balance Rs 1300 crore what it used to do with J&K Bank.
Both RBI and J&K government in their press statements have taken pains to emphasise that this arrangement is not something radically new. Both have mentioned the agreement that J&K Government and the RBI have in place since September 1972 for the state’s debt management.
What is also interesting to note is that both RBI and J&K government have emphasised that this new arrangement has not come from the RBI, but rather on J&K government’s “insistence.”
On appointing J&K Bank as Agency Bank by the RBI for J&K State, the official statement says, “Moreover, in the supplementary arrangements with RBI, on insistence of the State Government, RBI has appointed J&K Bank as the Agency Bank for J&K Government to manage all cash operations of the State Government and therefore State Government will continue to discharge all its financial obligations with J&K Bank under the agency Bank Scheme.”
J&K government’s argument is also that this is not a novel development which will impact the state’s financial autonomy. Its point is that RBI remains the sole regulator of all banking institutions, including J&K Bank. That much is fine.
However, its argument that this new system “will entail substantial interest saving for the public exchequer while J&K Bank would benefit by way of the surplus to over Rs. 2300 crore to be injected into various developmental projects” is highly unconvincing. There are hardly any obvious linkages.
The official spokesperson has further said that the government had thoroughly weighed all advantages and ‘perceived disadvantages’ of implementing the “recommendations of the 13th Finance Commission” before giving its nod to this decision. So the question is: was this step taken at J&K government’s insistence or 13th Finance Commission’s recommendations?
A big majority of J&K’s people see any such step a dilution of the state’s special status. They also see it as ‘nationalization’ of the state’s key institutions. And that is a grim message. A lot of state’s indigenous institutions have been ‘nationalized’ over the years. The problem is that such ‘nationalization’ creates greater centralization, challenging J&K’s quest for political autonomy even further.
At the end of the day, Jammu & Kashmir’s case for restoration of political autonomy in practical terms is not about a political luxury, it is about need. Centralisation of powers is always bad for people’s welfare. In J&K’s case it is a recipe for long term instability and political chaos, rather than political reconciliation. This latest step has even the potential of putting spikes in the ongoing peace process being steered by the special interlocutors.
No matter the merits of ‘financial discipline’, steps like these will not help in bridging the trust deficit between Srinagar and New Delhi. These steps also raise serious questions over National Conference’s ability to safeguard the state’s special status, howsoever symbolic that might be.
Arjimand Hussain Talib
A new wave of anxiety has suddenly engulfed Jammu & Kashmir. The news that the Reserve Bank of India (RBI) has taken over from J&K Bank some of the jobs the latter would do for this state is official now. To most Kashmiris, this step constitutes ‘nationalization’ of their most important institution. And the message that they see in this is not financial but significantly political.
On Friday, all speculations about this matter were put on rest when RBI came up with an official press release mentioning the signing of the agreement between J&K government and itself, making RBI take over from J&K Bank the role of providing overdraft facilities to J&K state.
The official RBI press statement reads, “The Reserve Bank of India has entered into a Supplementary Agreement under Section 21A of the Reserve Bank of India Act, 1934 with the Government of Jammu & Kashmir. Under the agreement, which shall be effective from April 1, 2011, the Reserve Bank of India shall carry on the general banking business of the Government of Jammu & Kashmir and act as the sole agent for investment of Government’s funds.”
It further reads, “On the recommendation of the State Government, the Reserve Bank of India has entered into an agreement with J&K Bank Ltd. whereby J&K Bank would act as an agent of the Reserve Bank of India, for conduct of general banking business of the State Government.”
This statement leaves hardly anything to speculation. In practical terms, it, among other things, means that from April 1 onwards this year, Jammu & Kashmir Bank will not be permitted to provide overdraft to J&K government.
It also means that J&K state will use RBI`s ‘ways and means advances’ for overdrafts to meet cash flow mismatches just like any other state in the country would do.
Jammu & Kashmir government has its own take on the matter. Its argument is that it had itself pleaded before the 13th Finance Commission to give a one-time Rs 2300 crore grant to the state to clear its overdraft with J&K Bank.
In a statement issued by the Finance Department from Jammu a couple of days ago, the government said, “The State Government had vehemently placed before the 13th Finance Commission for substantial grant to the State Government as one time assistance to remove structural debt with the J&K Bank. At present, under an MoU, State Government has overdraft arrangements with J&K Bank for Rs. 1700 crore.”
What makes the earlier argument unconvincing is the point of ‘poor internal resource generation’ that the government raised in its explanatory note. It further said, “However, in view of the poor resource generation from within the State and despite liberal Central assistance, overdraft generally hovered around Rs. 2300 crore on an average.”
The government has emphasised that it was the council of ministers who took this decision rather than an individual or a party. It says, “The Council of the Ministers headed by the Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir, therefore, pleaded forcefully with the 13th Finance Commission during their visit to the State and demanded for one-time financial assistance of Rs. 2300 crore to remove this structural deficit. In a rare exception to the request of the J&K Government, the Commission has awarded a grant in aid of Rs. 1000 crore, with another exception of permitting the State Government to raise the balance amount of Rs. 1300 crore for liquidation of loan, over and above the annual borrowing ceiling, with exclusion of this market borrowing, while calculating the State FRL-consistent fiscal deficit.”
That, in effect, means that while the “structural deficit” of Rs 2300 crore will not be entirely liquidated, J&K state will be doing the same for the balance Rs 1300 crore what it used to do with J&K Bank.
Both RBI and J&K government in their press statements have taken pains to emphasise that this arrangement is not something radically new. Both have mentioned the agreement that J&K Government and the RBI have in place since September 1972 for the state’s debt management.
What is also interesting to note is that both RBI and J&K government have emphasised that this new arrangement has not come from the RBI, but rather on J&K government’s “insistence.”
On appointing J&K Bank as Agency Bank by the RBI for J&K State, the official statement says, “Moreover, in the supplementary arrangements with RBI, on insistence of the State Government, RBI has appointed J&K Bank as the Agency Bank for J&K Government to manage all cash operations of the State Government and therefore State Government will continue to discharge all its financial obligations with J&K Bank under the agency Bank Scheme.”
J&K government’s argument is also that this is not a novel development which will impact the state’s financial autonomy. Its point is that RBI remains the sole regulator of all banking institutions, including J&K Bank. That much is fine.
However, its argument that this new system “will entail substantial interest saving for the public exchequer while J&K Bank would benefit by way of the surplus to over Rs. 2300 crore to be injected into various developmental projects” is highly unconvincing. There are hardly any obvious linkages.
The official spokesperson has further said that the government had thoroughly weighed all advantages and ‘perceived disadvantages’ of implementing the “recommendations of the 13th Finance Commission” before giving its nod to this decision. So the question is: was this step taken at J&K government’s insistence or 13th Finance Commission’s recommendations?
A big majority of J&K’s people see any such step a dilution of the state’s special status. They also see it as ‘nationalization’ of the state’s key institutions. And that is a grim message. A lot of state’s indigenous institutions have been ‘nationalized’ over the years. The problem is that such ‘nationalization’ creates greater centralization, challenging J&K’s quest for political autonomy even further.
At the end of the day, Jammu & Kashmir’s case for restoration of political autonomy in practical terms is not about a political luxury, it is about need. Centralisation of powers is always bad for people’s welfare. In J&K’s case it is a recipe for long term instability and political chaos, rather than political reconciliation. This latest step has even the potential of putting spikes in the ongoing peace process being steered by the special interlocutors.
No matter the merits of ‘financial discipline’, steps like these will not help in bridging the trust deficit between Srinagar and New Delhi. These steps also raise serious questions over National Conference’s ability to safeguard the state’s special status, howsoever symbolic that might be.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Chaos to dreams
When Kashmiris can wish ‘happy new year’, and mean it
DATELINE SRINAGAR by Arjimand Hussain Talib
For the people of Kashmir, the turn of a year marks just one thing – chaos to chaos. Sixty three years – and even longer – of cynicism leave little scope for optimism, perhaps.
To wish “Happy New Year” sounds little awkward, rather too plastic, in our lives. Some sixth sense says that 2011 just can’t be better for us. It would be just a turn over from one state of anarchy to another.
A change for the better today demands our introspection. And action, too. It is not just our political situation that needs our introspection; we need introspection at personal and societal levels as well.
If what our elders say about the past is any indication, our today’s level of social and institutional degeneration is the lowest we have ever seen. That is what must worry us the most. Our social values – we have for long cherished - and crumbling. Our institutions are going to dogs. Our respect for human life – our own and those of our own – seems not like before. We seem to have resigned ourselves to the slide of the bad times.
Our classical refrain for skirting every good - Ye sha kasheer – yeti shu yethai kane chalaan (It is Kashmir and that is how things move here) is symbolic of a national disease. We need to question it before it is too late.
There are theories and theories about why are we where we are today. But nothing can change the fact that our political situation is our enemy no. 1. A long chaotic political situation has conditioned Kashmiris’ human attitudes and attributes tremendously. The worse happened in the post 90s era. Cumulatively, these attitudes and attributes have shaped what and where we are today.
Today when we compare ourselves with other human societies, we have reasons for worry as well as satisfaction. We are terribly devoid of political and economic systems that are going to survive societies in this highly competitive world. But despite degeneration, we still are one of the most humane societies one can find on this planet.
The first agenda for 2011, as such, must be to define our collective political agenda – something which is based on needs and realism. One of our biggest problems is that no single person today has the ability to do that. It can only happen as a result of collectivism.
To begin with, Kashmiris need a broad internal dialogue. We are highly divided today than ever before. For that, the culture of political untouchability needs to go.
There are many basics that most Kashmiris settle for. Despite disagreements and opposing ideologies – which necessarily need not go – we can still have a common minimum agenda.
For this to happen all native political parties across the political spectrum - like the two Hurriyat factions, NC, PDP, JKLF, Jamaat-i-Islami, etc. -need to sit together and talk. That must bring us to our bottom lines and also distinguish between needs and fantasies. What also needs to dictate this agenda is the realization that no “international intervention” or “attention” is going to change even an iota in our situation as what stands today.
This of course is a big task, but there is hardly any alternative available. New Delhi and Islamabad are tired of the noise we have subjected them to in our differing voices. No one can help any nation talking nonsense in million voices.
And it is not just for a positive political change that we need to do this; it is for our very survival and wellbeing. We need to analyze what does that mean.
Kashmiris are today suffering colossal human and spiritual loss that go beyond the normal statistics of quantifiable casualties and economic loss.
Psychologically speaking, almost the whole Kashmiri population is sick. We are overwhelmed by the strains of professional, family and personal lives, but we have hardly any de-stressors. And all that is impacting our lives. People are suffering and dying - silently.
In the last fortnight alone, 16 people – most of who were in their 40s and 50s – died in my native Srinagar locality. This is an astounding number for a small neighborhood. Most of those who died were suffering from hypertension, which they themselves didn’t know. And I am sure many of us will see such things happening around us if we take stock.
The last 20 years of mayhem have given birth to some grave illnesses in Kashmir. Hypertension, anxiety disorders, obesity, diabetes, hyperthyroidism, low fertility, etc are present in our lives like epidemics. We are undergoing hormonal changes which will impact our future generations as well.
Our long chaotic political situation has a big role in adversely shaping our personal and social lifestyles. Our effective living time is now between morning and afternoon. And we are supposed to squeeze our professional, personal and social obligations in that time. The result is unbearable stress.
One of our greatest strengths – our social support systems – is now stressors themselves, rather than element of catharsis. Our social life has been marred by painful ritualism and artificiality. We hardly enjoy it now. The pulls of modernism and tradition; stresses of insecurity and militarization, dismal public services, insecurities about tomorrow - especially about children - has made a mess out of our lives.
In professional and family relations, mutual distrust and suspicion guide almost our every action. We very rarely appreciate each other’s excellence. We have developed a compulsive love for seeing others’ failures.
But what keeps the silver lining alive on the horizon is our people’s performance outside Kashmir. That makes us to conclude that there is not something wrong with us as people, but the system that nurtures us.
And there is another reason for hope. One of the best things to have happened in the last twenty years is Kashmiris’ unprecedented emigration. Our people are doing remarkably well in diverse areas – from management to medicine, from engineering to trade, from development to media. Some big success stories in our private industry – which are now established brands – are reasons for hope too.
Abnormal times erase the idea of common good to a great extent. Individual survival alone becomes paramount. The post-invasion Iraq and Afghanistan are two cases which reinforce this.
In such troubled times appealing to one’s self interest in setting this mess right tends to work. So our action towards that good could, for instance, be dictated by a concern for the future of our children. Can we afford to give them a worse tomorrow?
By seeking to do all this it is not to aim for utopia. We can at least aim for a civilized society where we can wish each other a happy new year. And mean it.
Columnist can be e-mailed at Arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
DATELINE SRINAGAR by Arjimand Hussain Talib
For the people of Kashmir, the turn of a year marks just one thing – chaos to chaos. Sixty three years – and even longer – of cynicism leave little scope for optimism, perhaps.
To wish “Happy New Year” sounds little awkward, rather too plastic, in our lives. Some sixth sense says that 2011 just can’t be better for us. It would be just a turn over from one state of anarchy to another.
A change for the better today demands our introspection. And action, too. It is not just our political situation that needs our introspection; we need introspection at personal and societal levels as well.
If what our elders say about the past is any indication, our today’s level of social and institutional degeneration is the lowest we have ever seen. That is what must worry us the most. Our social values – we have for long cherished - and crumbling. Our institutions are going to dogs. Our respect for human life – our own and those of our own – seems not like before. We seem to have resigned ourselves to the slide of the bad times.
Our classical refrain for skirting every good - Ye sha kasheer – yeti shu yethai kane chalaan (It is Kashmir and that is how things move here) is symbolic of a national disease. We need to question it before it is too late.
There are theories and theories about why are we where we are today. But nothing can change the fact that our political situation is our enemy no. 1. A long chaotic political situation has conditioned Kashmiris’ human attitudes and attributes tremendously. The worse happened in the post 90s era. Cumulatively, these attitudes and attributes have shaped what and where we are today.
Today when we compare ourselves with other human societies, we have reasons for worry as well as satisfaction. We are terribly devoid of political and economic systems that are going to survive societies in this highly competitive world. But despite degeneration, we still are one of the most humane societies one can find on this planet.
The first agenda for 2011, as such, must be to define our collective political agenda – something which is based on needs and realism. One of our biggest problems is that no single person today has the ability to do that. It can only happen as a result of collectivism.
To begin with, Kashmiris need a broad internal dialogue. We are highly divided today than ever before. For that, the culture of political untouchability needs to go.
There are many basics that most Kashmiris settle for. Despite disagreements and opposing ideologies – which necessarily need not go – we can still have a common minimum agenda.
For this to happen all native political parties across the political spectrum - like the two Hurriyat factions, NC, PDP, JKLF, Jamaat-i-Islami, etc. -need to sit together and talk. That must bring us to our bottom lines and also distinguish between needs and fantasies. What also needs to dictate this agenda is the realization that no “international intervention” or “attention” is going to change even an iota in our situation as what stands today.
This of course is a big task, but there is hardly any alternative available. New Delhi and Islamabad are tired of the noise we have subjected them to in our differing voices. No one can help any nation talking nonsense in million voices.
And it is not just for a positive political change that we need to do this; it is for our very survival and wellbeing. We need to analyze what does that mean.
Kashmiris are today suffering colossal human and spiritual loss that go beyond the normal statistics of quantifiable casualties and economic loss.
Psychologically speaking, almost the whole Kashmiri population is sick. We are overwhelmed by the strains of professional, family and personal lives, but we have hardly any de-stressors. And all that is impacting our lives. People are suffering and dying - silently.
In the last fortnight alone, 16 people – most of who were in their 40s and 50s – died in my native Srinagar locality. This is an astounding number for a small neighborhood. Most of those who died were suffering from hypertension, which they themselves didn’t know. And I am sure many of us will see such things happening around us if we take stock.
The last 20 years of mayhem have given birth to some grave illnesses in Kashmir. Hypertension, anxiety disorders, obesity, diabetes, hyperthyroidism, low fertility, etc are present in our lives like epidemics. We are undergoing hormonal changes which will impact our future generations as well.
Our long chaotic political situation has a big role in adversely shaping our personal and social lifestyles. Our effective living time is now between morning and afternoon. And we are supposed to squeeze our professional, personal and social obligations in that time. The result is unbearable stress.
One of our greatest strengths – our social support systems – is now stressors themselves, rather than element of catharsis. Our social life has been marred by painful ritualism and artificiality. We hardly enjoy it now. The pulls of modernism and tradition; stresses of insecurity and militarization, dismal public services, insecurities about tomorrow - especially about children - has made a mess out of our lives.
In professional and family relations, mutual distrust and suspicion guide almost our every action. We very rarely appreciate each other’s excellence. We have developed a compulsive love for seeing others’ failures.
But what keeps the silver lining alive on the horizon is our people’s performance outside Kashmir. That makes us to conclude that there is not something wrong with us as people, but the system that nurtures us.
And there is another reason for hope. One of the best things to have happened in the last twenty years is Kashmiris’ unprecedented emigration. Our people are doing remarkably well in diverse areas – from management to medicine, from engineering to trade, from development to media. Some big success stories in our private industry – which are now established brands – are reasons for hope too.
Abnormal times erase the idea of common good to a great extent. Individual survival alone becomes paramount. The post-invasion Iraq and Afghanistan are two cases which reinforce this.
In such troubled times appealing to one’s self interest in setting this mess right tends to work. So our action towards that good could, for instance, be dictated by a concern for the future of our children. Can we afford to give them a worse tomorrow?
By seeking to do all this it is not to aim for utopia. We can at least aim for a civilized society where we can wish each other a happy new year. And mean it.
Columnist can be e-mailed at Arjimand@greaterkashmir.com
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