It is something they never thought would happen again. But just as it turned out, exactly the same happened. They said it had died its own death. But the dead rose, with vengeance, with renewed vigor. My Kashmir erupted once again. It had, in 1990 when I was six. Today, it took birth once again. The sentiment of ‘Azadi’ was reborn in Kashmir, it was.
Some weeks earlier in my Kashmir. The script read like this---- Thousands marching the streets shouting azadi slogans. Troopers opening fire on them. Killings, Injuries, Miseries. More protests, More killings, More miseries. Then came the curfew. With it the deserted streets. Hungry babies. Desperate mothers. And more sad stories. My Kashmir’s was a heartrending tale.