200 word try

In the busy streets of maharaja bazaar – named after Maharaja Hari Singh, buried are stories of joy, success, agony, and not to forget oppression. Bashir Ahmad comes up with yet another tale of brutality of Indian forces in Kashmir. Bashir, 65, is wearing traditional Kashmiri attire. His wrinkled complexion reflects his experience, and the sunken eyes reflect the agony. His white beard sprinkling like morning sun, seeking attention and giving an impression of him being a man of dynamism, standing tall he is well built and has a physique of an athlete, which he says is attained by his vigorous daily routine.

“It was one of those cold December mornings in Kashmir, when I was taking my cart with commodities to Maharaja bazaar when  around a dozen of troops stopped me on the pretext of knowing my identity, and started beating me ruthlessly. I was beaten to pulp and hit wherever they could including the private parts, the pain I felt was so severe, that words would fall short to explain it. My limbs got paralysed for one year”, says Bashir.”  With moist eyes. “This had a gruesome effect on my family, not only had they to feed their own bellies themselves but a burden that is me. And to do that they sacrificed and took to begging, something that will stay with me even after death”.

Badshah

When Badshah khan married a bihari widow with three children, everyone around including AMA laal were puzzled with his decision,little did they know 5 years later when they would construct their new complex, the three laborers who had worked day in and day out on this project were none but the three sons of that bihari widow, to everyone's dismay and to those who had laughed over Bad shahs decision were now shocked to know bad shah had brought them up only to make them work in Kashmir and would only pay them one third of the wages earned..

Mahideen

It was yet another day of same entertainment provided by Mahideen at yarbal. Mahideen was a 35 year old laborer, he had been in this trade since a long time now, infact he was only 15 when he had started taking rice and wood to different households of  raj mohalla. And his cheerfullness and sheer humor had added the tally to his admirers, although there were some who would always make fun of him whenever Mahideen brought in any thing to their house. 

To be continued...

It was a cold autumn day in srinagar, the cold had taken its toll on this shy little sunken boy, he had put up a light blue jeans jacket , his red cheeks and shrugging of his shoulders were proof enough of him being uncomfortable, to add to the soft hearts dismay a hoarse voice " hey boy come here" made life miserable to the boy. It was at this moment that the boy's eye fell on his counterpart, and with this he breathed a sigh of relief, "thank god I m not alone here ".

Time At The Times Master

There were times when I would tremble hearing your cars noise, there were times when I would skip a beat hearing your voice.. There were times when I would seek your demise, there were times when I thought you were nowhere near being nice, there were times when i thought it was impossible to break the ice, there were times when you were the only one to despise, there were times when you pushed us to rise...

A Try

In January 1996 after completing his exams, Maqbool decided to move to Delhi to help his brother in the family business. Little did he know that the move to shift the bases would land him in the biggest trouble of his life.
On 17 May, 6 months after landing on the Indian capital, Maqbool was taken to custody and allegedly accused of Lajpat nagar bomb blasts, the blast had killed many people and created ruckus in the Indian minds.
“I was a kid back then in fact I had just passed my 11th standard examinations. I was a fun loving boy and king of romance like Bollywood actor Shahrukh khan. Even in my wildest dreams, I hadn’t thought that I would land up in a prison for my alleged role in the blasts, that I had never been part of. It was more of a Bollywood to me than reality.  I was ruined of my youth and career by the so called largest democracy of world.” says Maqbool.
Today in my office where I work as a peon, I see myself in that Tihar jail, and there is a certain reason behind it, people who were studying with me are today big officers, engineers, professors, people who would ask for my help during exams are ahead of me  in every aspect only thanks to the flawed Indian judiciary. The judiciary where only 3 out of 834 total witnesses gave witness against me, two of them policemen and still I spent 14 damn years in that dreaded jail. That jail where criminals from all over world are inmates. For me every jail from Srinagar to Jammu is a five star hotel when compared to tihar, tihar is the worst I wouldn’t want even my worst enemy to land there Maqbool sighs. Tihar is the hub of the biggest criminals, and it is up to the individual what he wants to be, he has to choose between being good and extreme bad, says Maqbool. Either you end up being a big criminal living with the criminals there or you become closer to your lord. I chose the latter and became closer to my lord.  Inside the jail there is neither night nor day, I literally cried for 3 months continuously.  The jail officials and big criminals there have a nexus and are equally involved in larger crimes outside says Maqbool. You suffer even in the jail for only mistake of being a Kashmiri. Hadn’t it been for my other mates who were relatively elder to me I would have died of the trauma and pressure of other inmates. They later became literal kings of the jail.
  Today when I look back at the events that took place during my trial, I laugh on the biggest democracy. I spent more than 20 days in different police cells of Delhi, first at Lodhi road special cell than at Nizamudin police station. In the special cell all the other accused would tell the police men that I was innocent, and I had no role in the blasts but they would seldom listen to them or me. But the policemen would always tell me that I would be released soon. I was taken to court after some 20 days and on chalan they mentioned that I was taken into custody on 17 June and they had found the evidence against me on the same day. Such was a mockery that they took me to the court on a two wheeler without any chains or handcuffs. It was a mockery in my view they had an accused terrorist on a two wheeler, then in the court a gun was pointed on my back and i was asked not to speak, the judge didn’t ask me anything I was made to sign a paper and that was it. What followed was usual visits to court and routine continued till 2010. I lost my youth, my father, and my sister while being in jail, now they have given me this damn job as compensation. Is this enough? No it is not, says Maqbool. Now the only thing that drives me to live is the fact that when I die there will be a huge number of people in my funeral procession.  And I will be buried at the martyr’s graveyard that is what gives me sense of pride.

75 word short story

When Maqbool was in school his mother would make it sure he had his lunch, and infact she would walk miles only to make sure that her son had a filled stomach. Now at 75 Fatima cant even take 5 steps to answer nature's call. Fatima is on death bed and is thinking about her son who must not have his lunch for a week now,    that is what happens to anyone who is taken to that dreaded interrogation center. Now on her death bed Fatima rues being a mother.


By Saqib hussain