A few months ago on a road trip through the harrowed
northern parts of my country, I came across a scene worth telling. It was a
through a village situated in a high mountain pass of Kashmir on October 1st,
2017. The day also marked the 10th day of Muharram when Muslims of
the valley held processions to mourn for the sacrifices of Imam Hussein.
Passing through one such procession in one of the hundreds
of uncared villages in the country, our car had to pass through the procession
coming from the other side. Unlike city roads, the mountain passes are narrow
and without detours. So the procession could not have blocked the roads for the
day. They just walked in a big herd with the military walking with them every
few paces. As is the custom, the people were mourning and hitting themselves on
the chest to pay their respects. One thing I noticed was that they weren’t
hitting themselves with swords or chains as is often seen in movies and poorer
parts of my city. In fact I saw no trace of any obscure violence – either
self-inflicted or otherwise. They just mourned and walked.
As they saw the big car approaching on the outskirts of
their village roads, the people on the edges started asking the others to move
aside and soon they were able to make a path for the car. Of course everyone
wasn’t as accommodating and at times and at times had to be shoved aside by the
armymen. I did think for a moment that the army might have been too harsh on
them. But then, what else is the option when words do not help? Slowly our car
was able to cross the procession and move to the other side when I saw what
prompted me to write this article.
A lone girl, could not have been more than six, ran alone
trying to reach the procession. She must have been late for it. As she saw the
car full of strangers approaching, she hid her face with her Hijab. That’s when
it struck me. Every woman is the procession was fully clad in a burqa with only
their eyes or faces visible. A sentiment so ingrained in them that even a
six-year old girl took care to not allow strange men in a metal box to glimpse
her face. Some argue that it is a mark of oppression of women. Where they are
not even allowed to show their faces in society. I agree to that. But one can
also not ignore the fact that one’s choice to be dressed in a manner they deem
fit is what is freedom of expression is. And as a free country we owe it to our
citizens to allow them to dress as they deem fit. There was an unmistakable
expression on that little girl’s face saying that she felt more comfortable
with her Hijab hiding her face. And I bet her mother and her mother before that
grew up with the same sentiment. Perhaps we owe it to the minorities of our
country to let them be.
But I am unable to buy this argument. This is the same
argument that has kept the eastern shores of my country – where I hail from –
behind the times. Sometimes leaving people be is not such a great idea.
Sometimes they need to be pushed forward to embrace the changed world. Left to
traditions, the human race has accomplished little but wars. And so the
struggle continues before my eyes. Where men unmistakably dressed in colors
depicting the sovereignty of my country push a procession of people dressed in
black. But one must ask – to what end?
