Humans of Himachal

Stories • Destinations • Motivation
Kashmir Valley


Writing is a tough job
when it’s about the land I love
without even knowing it.
The land I have once been to,
where my mother lived
and my father ventured into.
The Land of the boy
I fell in love with, almost.
Land of Dal that enters Himachal
and flows few miles
away from home.

The North winds
are quiet and heavy;
Creeping down
to the roots of deodar in Chamba.
The muffling soil around my house
speaks of secrets
You’ll never know.

A talk with people
from the valley
gets heavy;
my bones feel guilty
for the privilege is
running in my blood.
They tell tales
of harmony and love
how they saved everything
from the “dastardly”,
how they made history
by assuming every
“I can’t speak” as “yes”.
How come more oppression taken
as an answer to oppression?
We’re not taking about love here!

From Shimla via Una
I don’t know where that winds
settle later,
at the blood bathing “seven sisters”
or at the fighting for everything “South”?
You see,
you can try to know cold
by looking at the temperature
on your phones
but you won’t understand
until you’re here, living.

You, me,
we can’t write about Kashmir.
we can only try
we can only imagine.
So hear me out.
Educate yourself,
reach out,
What you have been told
might not be the truth.
What you’re seeing
might not be the picture.
Valleys look pretty from far,
So does snow.

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