I am called TERRORIST!

Unseen gap between the iron bars,

dark and dim,

Light no entity.

Future no attribute of life.

My answer might surprise you if you ever ask me. The pain unusually has been a relief for me in the interrogation centre. Not because it was the only time when I would find people around me. But it would make me remember the conviction I stood for and still do. Not many things are worth giving life for, and one would never find a greater but equal cause. While I write these few lines my hands quiver more then they did when they used my skin as a cigarette extinguisher. Whatever I say might be ‘partial truth’ but that’s how I want it to be.

Many a times my soul wished the cell I was in to shrink. Reason logical and clear, it never felt the pain. Every time my body suffered brutalities, showered upon me by the capturer, joyous would be my soul. Reason clear –faith and conventional philosophy. And always said worse the sufferings, exquisite would be the feeling of freedom and still multiplying. But remained an unanswered question, would my dream and the dream of one million people taste the glamour of reality. Would or would not, but pessimism has no way into my heart or mind.

Would there be a day which with its first sun ray would bring the joy of raising a nation. A state of principles where law would be based on morals not alibis. The Kashmir Flag, with a flow of breeze in and out. As if clock tower was designed to be its stand. Hungry lungs breathing the oxygen of freedom and throwing away everything else. But then it still is a dream, yet to cherish the reality.

Not always, during the years of prison was it hard. Moments of pleasure and relief were not a rare commodity. All I needed and had, was the software of optimism loaded into my memory. Never had I thought stars would be my ‘tasbi’ (beads) and moon –‘imam’ of ‘tasbi’. Some times, I would stand up, look high and wish I had more fingers to count all the days I was in here. But did I really want to remember. Not that I want to forget everything, how can I can. I cannot forget the unseen hands which ran through my hair when I was all in pain. Never in my childhood had I seen snow flakes falling without the constraint of time, I had all the time now.

The inhuman acts have changed in 21^st century. Punishment now doesn’t mean, whipping the skin off but filling the bare chest with bullets and burying without a tombstone. Pity, they think they give an infamous death.