"Yeh Ghazi yeh Tera Pur'israar Banda "

AN HOUR BEFORE DAWN ON 7 JUNE 2010,  the day Prime Minister Manmohan Singh was scheduled to visit Kashmir, I drove to Geelani’s home to meet him again. It was 4 am and Geelani was about to begin his morning prayers. A white-bearded man opened the gate and led me to a mosque just inside Geelani’s compound. Inside, there was a small gathering of bearded men, some old, some young, waiting for Geelani to lead their prayers. I heard some tentative footsteps approaching the mosque. It was Geelani. His nicely trimmed beard, not the kind attributed to fundamentalists, complimented his subtle expression and appearance. He looked extraordinarily fresh when he gazed at me through his moist green eyes.

Protesters clashing with police has become all too common.Geelani finished his prayers and led me inside his study room. He took down the Qur’an from the bookshelf, sat down cross-legged, and began reading the Arabic text until the morning sun breached the edge of the white curtains. He slowly guided his index finger along the written verses.

“Each time you study the Qur’an, you find new things, new inspirations.” Geelani said. “This book guides you on how you walk, how you treat your neighbours, your friends, your parents, your brothers, your sisters.”

I am a stone pelter. Who are you?

FIRST PERSON

------- and what else can I do to express my resistance against oppression, writes Imran Muhammad Gazi an MBA student.

I have been shot in the ribs. I am on a stretcher in an emergency ward of a city hospital. Who am I? I am a stone pelter from a busy commercial area of Srinagar. This is my comprehensive introduction, no need to have a name, surname, qualification and profession. Just one word sums up my personality "Stone Pelter". I am not that educated but some of my educated peers tell me I have always been in news right from 1931. You will find me everywhere, i have stood the test of time, leaders have changed slogans have changed but I have not. Yes there was a time when I was sidelined, and gun wielding elders occupied the centre stage.

"Don't die so soon my son....Oh my beloved son – won’t you miss me,’’

When the boys carry the stretcher through the narrow swampy street, there is rage even in their steps. Suddenly the slogans sound like rhythmic wails. A child watches from a window as an elderly woman holds him tight and then showers almonds and sweets. Few fall on the body, wrapped in a colourful blanket.

It is already dark and the mourners try to find their way, guided by the light of their cell phone torches. Fida Nabi (17) is returning home one last time and his funeral procession is like a volcano of anger, a little confrontation with the security men can trigger a violent protest.

The government has already decided to re-impose curfew after a day of hiatus and now officials are waiting anxiously to know the family’s plan to bury this teenager. Fida had been at the fore front of several protests. Tonight dozens of his teenager friends, assembled from across the downtown city, are seething with anger. Afuneral procession in the day meant trouble so the streets are emptied off police and security men way ahead of time to avoid confrontation. The police officers are encouraging the family to conduct the burial in the dark ofida nabif the night. The local police officer sends a message too. The orders have come from the top and pleas were followed by threats - we won’t allow more than 15 people to accompany the body after the sun rise.