The Inheritance Of Loss*

No, I am not writing a review of the well known book by Kiran Desai of the same name. Neither am I just going to copy the book here. But the turn of phrase that the author has used here, brilliant as she is, applies to so many different experiences in life.

Today, I am at Srinagar. At the heart of the Kashmir valley, nestled amidst beautiful mountains, flanked by innumerable lakes most noticeable of which is the Dal Lake, lies this city. Home to the Mughal Gardens which had at one point reduced the great emperor Jahangir to tears with its pristine beauty, it has been a premier tourist spot for quite some time now. Strife-torn though it is, its popularity in the tourist circles has continued to remain undiminished. Ironically enough, the tourist season is probably the most peaceful part of the year for the inhabitants of the valley. From what I saw today, the local economy seems to rest almost totally on the copious amounts spent by tourists on various attractions, delicacies and handicrafts Kashmir has to offer. Kashmiri sarees have always been my personal favourite and this visit has only reinforced my preference for the same.

However, the stark contrast between what nature has to offer and the general state of the city is heartbreaking. Driving through the by-lanes of the city, I saw innumerable half-built and almost destroyed houses, nestled amidst glamorous shops selling trinkets to tourists and a few palatial houses that speak volumes about what the valley has been witnessed to in the last few decades. Caught in the cross fire between groups with different vested interests of their own, the valley has remained an almost mute yet constant spectator to the near systematic violence that has been inflicted on it. The glorious past that the valley boasts of in the echelons of Indian history when juxtaposed with the acute poverty that prevails here now is a living testimony to how times change and how the destiny of a place changes with it. And yet the city trudges on. With all its beauty, all its desperation and manifest sadness, all the burdens that have been placed on it, all the discontent that simmers just below its surface, the city and its people live on. How true this phenomenon is of human life as well! For when one is blessed with an inheritance of only unforgettable and unforgivable loss, loss that transverses the length and breadth of the horizons of one’s life till it becomes the be all and end all of one’s existence, the only thing one can do is live on, for not only is it one’s only means of survival, it is also the only way out of one’s predicament.

*As has been constantly reinforced by the legal education that my parents spend enormous amounts on, I have to emphatically state that the title to this post is not a product of my creativity. All credits for that particular turn of words goes solely to Ms. Kiran Desai and her book by the same name (I recommend it highly, by the way, and no, I am not paid for it. :P)

P.S. All views in the post are purely my own and are not meant to be representative of tourists in general or the inhabitants of the valley in particular. Any mischaracterization/exaggeration can be blamed on my hyper-active imagination and excessive sensitivity. :D