Why I was filled with guilt to see the horror that flows underneath the heaven in Kashmir
Amin, our taxi driver in Kashmir, talked at length about the numerous sites he would show us during our trip.
I listened intently, but couldn’t take my mind off the innumerable CRPF checkposts that we passed on our way to the hotel. When I asked Amin about them, he launched into a series of stories illustrating the oppression and abuse of his people by the Indian armed forces.
I felt his anger everywhere I went in Kashmir. All I had to do was scratch the surface, and a friendly smile often gave way to a rebellious scowl.
On a visit to a local store in Srinagar, the storekeeper referred to India as the land of his occupiers. He taunted me by asking if I wanted change in Indian or Pakistani rupees, and when reprimanded by Amin, proudly stated that this was the only way he could wage jihad against his occupiers.
On the enchanting Dal Lake, the young man rowing our shikara told me that all he wanted was peace and that if more people don't come to visit Kashmir this season, he won't be able to feed his family.
Everywhere I went, people told me they were dependent on tourists from India for their livelihood. But no one said even once that they don't want "azaadi" from the Indian state.
While we were in Kashmir, there were two by-elections and incidents of violence that resulted in the death and blindness of several young Kashmiris caused by pellet guns. I remember asking my wife if she had ever heard of students in any other part of the country being shot dead because they were hurling stones.
It was during that time Amin told me that the CRPF had picked up some young boys for wearing Pakistani cricket jerseys, and that all of Kashmir generally supports Pakistan in an India versus Pakistan match.
This statement would anger any right-thinking Indian man, and I am no different. However, I had to let go of my anger towards these boys because of the guilt I felt for their friends who were shot by my country’s armed forces.
This combination of anger and guilt stayed with me throughout my trip to Kashmir, one emotion constantly at battle with the other. I felt guilty for "forcing" a young man like Burhan Wani to give up his dreams in return of AK47s. However, I was filled with rage against his successor’s public praise for Hafiz Saeed.
The anger was self-righteous and shallow, but the guilt, some might say, was no different from what Rudyard Kipling once referred to as the white man’s burden.
I love my country and I have always seen us as non-aligned pacifists who are a force for good.
In Kashmir I was, for the first time in my life, confronted with an alternate reality where we are seen as ruthless and authoritarian imperialists.
On the way to the airport, my six-year-old son asked me whether Pakistan is our enemy.
I told him that the people of Pakistan are our friends, but the government of Pakistan isn’t.
I wonder if the Kashmiris say the same thing about us.