No Suicide Notes Left; Who Would Have Read That?
By
Haseeb Ibn Hameed
March 11,
2021
Attending
wedding ceremonies and munching the grand feast, Wazwaan, had been a source of
depression and anxiety for Abd-ur-Rehman since the birth of his three daughters.
A.R., who was a labourer by profession and earned his money through carrying
gunny sacks full of rice and sugar from ration Ghats to people’s homes earned a
maximum of RS 200 a day.
Representational Photo
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From
loading heavy sacks to dropping them at their destinations, from waking up in
the morning to being awake at night, he had only one thing in mind ‘To marry of
his three daughters, give their in-laws enough “Materials” in dowry and provide
a ‘fault less’ feast for the pessimistic people of Kashmir.
Every time
AR attended a wedding ceremony as a guest, he would look around and start
calculating in his mind about the expenses of “Traditional Preparations” in a
Kashmiri wedding. While everyone on the Traami would enjoy the delicious Kabab
and Tabakhmaaz, he would just be thinking about preparing for the
wedding of his daughters.
Having lost
his wife during the birth of his third daughter, AR brought up his daughters
alone by earning hard like a father and taking care like a mother.
After
working in ration ghats till late afternoon, he would pull carts till late
evening to add to his savings because he knew that along with hosting a wedding
feast (including the mandatory Maharaz Saal) and providing his daughters
with gold ornaments, he needed to send them with “necessary commodities” for
their in-laws, otherwise the “dignified society” of Kashmir will tag him as “Shikasladd“,
which will also be applied to his daughters.
His
daughters were only able to gain education till secondary level as gaining
education in Kashmir meant spending a tremendous amount of money, which was
impossible for A.R. while he needed to save for the marriage of his daughters.
Because if he was unable to marry them off, he and his daughters would be
looked at as inferiors by the people around.
The clock
seemed to tick swiftly as the age of marrying his daughters came close. It had
been two decades and Abd-ur-Rehman would still be wearing his torn Pheran
which he had got stitched in the winter of 1990’s. In the morning he would
break his fast with Kehwa and let his daughters have milk for the tea,
for he had calculated that if he didn’t have tea in the morning for twenty
years, he would be able to save enough money to purchase clothing for one of
his daughters.
Finally
after twenty five years, he took out all the hard earned and meticulously saved
money from his safe to initiate the preparations for the wedding of his
daughters. From buying expensive shawls, suits and gold ornaments for his
daughters, and the members of their in-laws, AR had left no stone unturned to
make his daughters happy and their in-laws content with materialistic things.
The
daughters had always insisted him not to overthink about their marriage and to
not provide so many things, but he had experienced and witnessed the greed of
Kashmiri people and he knew if he didn’t do all this, his daughters would have
to face the repercussions for all their life.
As the
wedding bells started to ring and men from camping agencies came to mount
tents, preparations to feed guests and decorate the home were initiated.
The guests
came, filled their bellies, criticised the food which was obviously not cooked
by the AR but by the ‘Wazzas’ who had also charged a good amount of
money. Even while finding faults with the food, women in numbers filled their
carry bags with every dish made of meat, curd boxes, and cold drinks, and after
releasing burps, started to lambast the food they had just filled their bellies
with.
Someone had
said it right, “even if the host of wedding puts gold on the top of every Traami,
the guest would still have the audacity to pick holes in it.”
Now came
the turn of final feast at the night – ‘The Maharaz Saal’. In Kashmir
the respect and the dignity of groom is said to be ‘hurt’ if he’s not provided
a luxurious and lavish feast. No matter, most of the food is thrown into the
rivers and dustbins after the weddings, ‘Magar Maharaaz Saal Chu Zaroori,
because MAHARAAZ!’
Anyway,
continuing to narrate the story of Abd-ur-Rehman and the wedding of his daughters,
the grooms came along with their cavalry of hundred men each.
They came
out of their cars, everyone in blazers and the pride and seriousness on their
faces, as if they were there to resolve K-issue! Jokes apart, why are the men
accompanying groom acting like foreign envoys, who are there to ‘assess the
situation’. Anyway, that’s the question for some other time.
Suddenly
the gripped AR, his friends and all the people who were hosting the feast, even
the Wazzas at the ‘Wur‘premises started to do things hurriedly.
The grooms
and their cavalries were first served the dry fruits accompanied with juice and
sweets, traditionally there had only been a small box of dry fruits and a tin
of juice but that too had been replaced with a larger box which had compartments
for ‘Two juice cans, two types of dry fruits and one for some sweets. AR had to
serve the big boxes because, ‘Yazzat’.
After they
were done with this, the Traamis started to come with, of course, more
dishes on it and more special dishes to be served after the guest had started
to eat.
The feast
was over, bellies were filled to their fullest and AR experienced a moment of
slight satisfaction.
The brides
were brought and he while not remembering the sacrifices and struggle to marry
off his daughters, started to smile and kissed his daughters on their foreheads
while wishing them a good and happy life ahead.
He did
remember his wife and would miss his daughters for whom he had acted both like
mother and as well as father, for whom he had sacrificed, struggled, saved all
money, brought them up and refrained from taking tea in the breakfast for more
than two decades.
AR, finally
could see his daughters turning brides and leaving for their actual homes. Do
girls really have something to call their homes? This again, for some other
day.
Daughters
left, guests left, tents were de-mounted, Wazzas left and only
Abd-ur-Rehman remained with the memories of his daughters and while sound of
their laughter and calling him ‘Abu’ reverberated in the house.
After seven
days daughters came home, while AR and his daughters were happy to see each
other, he sensed that something bothered them.
After his
forced persuasion, the daughters told him “Our mothers in-law disgraced us and
bragged that how the brides of other families gift their in-laws much expensive
items of gold, Pashmina shawls, silk suits and electronics for home décor.”
“They said
your father is ‘Shikaslad’,” his daughters told him while crying loud.
What AR
feared of happening, happened. Even after so many sacrifices, efforts,
struggles, the people had given him a tag on the basis of price tag of the
items he gave to his daughters.
He hugged
all three of his daughters together, served them dinner and told them not to
worry. The daughters and father went to bed with tears flowing down from their
eyes.
None of
them slept that night and none of them woke up the other morning.
AR and his
three daughters had committed suicide, without leaving any ‘suicide note’,
because who would have read that?
The belly
of grooms had been filled and the in-laws were provided all the gifts. Their
mother had already left this materialistic world.
The home
turned into a house, the walls that reverberated with the laughs and love of
father and his daughters, were witness to their cries of being born in this
land of materialistic, slave minded and greedy people. Who on the basis of
possession of materials tag people, that force them to think that leaving this
world is better than living with a tag provided by the society.
There were no
suicide notes left by Abd-ur-Rehman and his daughters, and even if they did
left one, we Kashmiris would still blame the family of AR for the incident.
Because we are very good at blaming.
Original
Headline: An Unwritten Suicide Note
Source: The Greater Kashmir
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