The Outsider’s Curse: A Memoir of the First “Outsider” Lady IAS Officer of Jammu & Kashmir by Kumar Sonali & Kumar Prasenjeet

Author:Kumar, Sonali & Kumar, Prasenjeet [Kumar, Sonali]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Publish With Prasen
Published: 2017-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

To Peshawar “Without Permission”

T HERE WAS A day’s break before we could take a flight back home. An NGO from Pakistan insisted that we utilise that break to visit his home in Peshawar.

But it was NOT that easy to accept such an invitation. The problem was that my visa, as I mentioned, was “city-specific” only for Islamabad. So, I asked the Pakistan Foreign Service guy who was there in the meeting if I could go to Peshawar. By evening I was informed that my request couldn’t be acceded to.

When I discussed this problem with the NGO, a true blue Pathan , he exploded. He said his mother was so keen to meet us Indians and he couldn’t disappoint her. He suggested that I should forget “these Punjabis” i.e. the ruling classes, and just come with him.

What I had to do simply—was to wear a Salwar Kameez , cover my head and not wear a bindi ! Rest he would take care of. The foolhardy person I am, I agreed reluctantly.

So, next morning, in Islamabad, the NGO’s car with his personal security guard came early, before my Pakistani escorts had arrived, and I slipped out. The drive to Peshawar through the rugged landscape was unbelievable.

The road was smooth but after we left Islamabad, there seemed to be NO development anywhere along the highway. Nothing seemed to grow on either side of the road. We crossed Taxila , the historic university town of ancient India, where Chanakya once taught Chandragupta in 300 BC, and which is now an army cantonment. From a distance, I saw what looked like an abandoned temple with the head of the goddess missing.

Peshawar was a dusty medieval town selling a lot of dry fruits in the open. It almost seemed I had travelled back in time by a few centuries. My host’s house, however, was a sprawling modern structure with exquisite wooden carvings and at least five bedrooms. His mother hugged me as if I was some long lost relative. She told me how she loved Indians and Afghans and hated the Punjabi Pakistanis.

“See our tragedy,” she said. “We have been separated from the two nations and people we love the most.”

My host also drove me to a point on the outskirts of Peshawar from where I could see the outlines of the Khyber Pass. En route we came across a camp of Afghan refugees which was a frightening experience. Most had one or two limbs missing. The women were all begging. Bearded men were carrying deadly looking firearms .

They could all so easily pass for the gujjar and bakerwal nomads of J&K. I felt a shiver go down my spine when I thought what havoc could be created if these guys ever infiltrated into Kashmir.

Little did I know that my premonition was going to come true so soon. It was April 1989 then, and just a few months thereafter, in December 1989, havoc was indeed let loose in Kashmir.

When we returned to Islamabad from our adventure in the evening, I found some agitated security personnel in the hotel lobby.

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