My Page

Farah Bashir's Rumours of Spring recounts her own experiences as a girl growing up in turbulent Kashmir. The book is semi-autobiographical and recalls the horrors of insurgency in Kashmir, particularly it's devastating effects on the lives of ordinary people. Each part of the book describes a particular phase in her life. Growing up in the 90s, when terrorism besieged Kashmir, she recounts how her family - living in a large mansion in downtown Srinagar, bears the brunt of losses in family business, snatching way of personal freedoms, simple pleasures and mostly, the liberty to live the life they want.  The language is intimate, drawing you within, as if you are a fly on the wall in her drawing room, observing things. She paints images through her words and descriptions. Of a shuttered window, of an abandoned attic, of closed cinema halls, and barbed wires, marching boots and flashing searchlights.  She focuses on the impact that army clampdowns and constant policing had on ordi

The recent horrifying, stomach-churning incident in Kolkata is not a one-time aberration. It keeps occuring in our country. And we women are also responsible for this stinking rot in society. Ask yourself these uncomfortable questions. How many of you protest when a girl wearing "revealing clothes" is cat-called?  Did you show your support for our wrestlers protesting against a habitual offender? Did your blood boil when you saw pictures of our sisters in Manipur paraded naked?  When rapists are released from prison or routinely escape punishment, do you raise your voice? How many of you have tolerated violence or even casual sexism in your own home? Do you turn the other way when transgenders are leered at? Do you grin and bear it when the men in your family crack obscene jokes? Do Kathua and Hathras ring a bell? And lastly, how many of you thronged cinema halls to make misogynistic horrors like Animal and Kabir Singh blockbusters? I have asked myself and am distinctly feeli

My beloved country India is at the threshold of completing 77 years of independence. Its certainly a joyous occasion, one that needs to be cherished and celebrated.  Then why am I not feeling like celebrating? Why does my spirit dampen like the dark clouds? Why am I not proud of what my country has become? Why does a heavy sadness weigh on my heart? Because I am aware of what is around me. For one, inequality is at a historic high. While an appalling number of people are still sleeping hungry, without a roof over their head, we hear of never-seen before monstrous wedding celebrations. We learn that 2% Indians are worth more than 80% Indians' collective net wroth. We see open flouting of norms, rules, standards to manipulate the market and secure profits. We know ballots are being tampered. We hear judges being threatened, we see the police serving the powerful.  Students burning the midnight oil to clear unbelievably tough competitive exams are being cheated of a fair chance of get