Memory: ‘Police dialed my female friends and abused them’ Tuesday, 08 October 2013 22:51. Abid Rashid Baba Very rarely our staunch beliefs or ideologies are shaken to the core by a single incident or a mishap. A human’s ability to stand firm on his beliefs, puts us on a different pedestal than that of other creations. I grew up near a volatile town in Kashmir’s north, but had no doubts about India’s positive role in the restive region. My friends, although love me, but on the point of supporting India, would always have discussion and arguments with me. But, that wouldn’t deter me. I preferred to cheer for Sachin Tendulkar over Shahid Afridi, during India-Pakistan cricket games much to the irritation of my friends and family. But, I always thought difference of opinion was healthy and on occasions I would give in to the opposing viewpoint, but that wouldn’t change my ideology. I feel sorry to say that I remained immune to the happenings around me. I know when people read this they would not be pleased with me. But in the hindsight, I feel a dramatic change was inevitable. In March, this year, an incident in Baramulla town changed my thoughts forever. When I think about it now, I understand that the events leading to the incident played a very important role. In that month, I for the first time stepped outside Kashmir valley. Having believed in the concept of India, I was anxious and curious to see the outside world. Although, I was visiting to seek cure for my eye, it never seemed to take away the joy of travelling to Indian capital. I took the highway—the only surface link between Kashmir and the rest of the world— and arrived in Jammu late in the evening. From there, I boarded a train to New Delhi. Excited, I chatted with my co-passengers. Two of them were boys of my age, and initially we got along well. But, when they started to talk about Kashmir conflict, I started to feel insecure. Every accusation from their side it seemed was hurled at me. I had become Kashmir. Perhaps for the first time, I remained mum and didn’t express my viewpoint during a discussion on Kashmir conflict. Then a thought descended upon me: despite having a diametrically opposite ideology and a penchant to express it loud and clear I never felt so unsafe between my people. The thought just killed me. Delhi wasn’t what I had thought. I neither felt like a stranger in a big city or a traveler without destination. I just felt so disconnected. A fortnight in the capital city, and I was done. What I had thought would be freedom proved to be utter suffocation. When I reached Kashmir, a sense of freedom despite the military footprint and the concertina overwhelmed me. There were tears in my eyes. I reached home. The proverbial— safe as a house couldn’t have been truer. But, how safe was I. Two day after I returned, I went to a bank to credit money. It was a usual day; people were moving around, nothing could catch your eye. But as I came out from the bank, I saw a group of policemen puffing cigarettes just outside the bus stop. Having being a participant to many governmental and non-governmental campaigns against smoking since my schooldays, the activist in me couldn’t resist. I tried hard, but couldn’t and I slowly moved to the place just next to Baramulla Public School where the group of policemen were puffing cigarettes. Deep down, I now think, I had an idea of the repercussions, but at that moment nothing seemed to matter. In an extremely mild tone, I said to policemen: “It is unlawful to smoke at public places and the government has banned smoking or selling cigarettes outside education institutes.” The policemen looked at me, put their heads down and walked away. I felt empowered! Keen to share my heroics with my friends, I had no idea that the feeling of empowerment would last only for few minutes. As I was waiting for the bus to reach my village, a vehicle came to a screeching halt in front of me. The policemen whom I had asked not to smoke were inside. Before, I could get a sense of things; I was bundled in to the private car as people who were also waiting at the bus stop looked dumbfounded. While the car moved at a neck-breaking speed, I was badly assaulted and abused. The car came to a halt inside the premises of police station and they dragged me into the building. They took away my valuables and started beating me with whatever they could get hand on. Then they stopped, picked up my cell phone and started dialing my female friends. The policemen dialed my female friends from my cell phone and abused them. I felt helpless, cursed myself but they wouldn’t stop till my phone ran out of money. As a concerned citizen, I had told them to not smoke in public. That was my fault. Despite being ruthlessly beaten, I tried to put across the reason behind my ‘daring act’ but nothing seemed to work. Instead a policeman told his colleague: why did you spare him at that moment, you should have shot him dead. They called their other colleagues and everyone beat me up and tortured me emotionally. After three hours of begging and pleading they let me go. Abid Rashid Baba is North Kashmir-based freelance journalist
Posted on: Wed, 09 Oct 2013 07:17:20 +0000
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