Nowruz by a Kashmiri Pandit:- “Waen gav navroz – now it is time for navroz; tami pata gav navreh – after that navreh”, mother would say before occupying herself with a million chores that spring brought with it. Navroz would normally fall between sonth and navreh and personally a number of similarities between both these festivals – like wearing of new clothes, going to the badam vaer for a picnic and making a beeline to friends and relatives – would intrigue me. Except for two different faiths having given it two different names, it was hard to find any remarkable difference. Both were just one. Father would always advise me to wish anyone from Shia faith whom I came across this day a Happy Navroz. He would make a specific mention of his friends and acquaintances that would come to us on hearth to wish us a salaam. If I didn’t come across any till noon, I would deliberately go across some to wish them a navroz. It was a strange and an unexplainable feeling of accomplishment. Me chanae pata kyazi – I don’t know why! As the flutter around noon would increase through the village, Syed Safdar, father’s best friend, would be seen entering our main gate with a huge nadirgaed – a bale of lotus edible root bought fresh from the Dal the previous day. He would stick to the routine every year just as father would stick to his – of getting a few kilos of mutton delivered to him directly from the meat-seller – on every herath. Ours being a Shia-inhabited village, and the belt being predominantly Shia, the Magam-Hanjiwera road would become an eventful thoroughfare for one and all. People never seen before would be seen passing merrily through the village often carrying jute bags or kaniv zeens – wicker baskets, usually as fresh as the spring. Some would be on foot, some on tangas, some even on reedas, some on overloaded buses, some on their bicycles and some even on the ones borrowed for the day. Our bicycle would disappear and then reappear a number of times through the day till it was dusk. The flutter would decrease gradually thereafter and before we went to bed and it would be pitch dark, slow hopping of a horse would alert us again. “Yi gour chu waen thakmut – this horse seems tired now”, kid sister would quip. “This must be Ali Shah going back home”, father would remark. Sound sleep of spring awaited all!.....Greater kashmir /24/3/2014
Posted on: Mon, 24 Mar 2014 02:03:13 +0000
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