I travel from Bandipora to my college in Srinagar every day— a 70 km drive. All through the drive, a thought bothers my mind. Because each day, as I pass the gates of the college, I come across a sight that pierces my heart.

Small children loiter by the roadside, selling socks, pens, or simply begging for a few rupees. Their faces are covered in dust, their hands are rough from labour, their shoes are tattered while their innocent eyes speak of pain, hunger, and hopelessness.

What shocks me is how educated and supposedly elite people walk past them as if these children are invisible. Expensive cars stop at the traffic lights, with the people inside them sipping coffee and talking about “development”, while right beside them, the children are losing the essence of their childhood.

What kind of society have we become where indifference is the norm and compassion rare?

Several provisions exist in the law to combat the menace of child labour — from the Child Labour (Prohibition and Regulation) Act, 1986, to the Right to Education Act, 2009. These laws are aimed at ending child labour and ensuring free and compulsory education for children aged 6 to 14 years. Yet, the streets of Jammu and Kashmir tell a completely different story.

Laws exist only on paper. Child welfare exists only on social media. Free education is still a dream for millions of children. While across India, millions of child labourers toil throughout the day to earn a living.

Numbers that should send shivers down our spines are reported in the media and forgotten the next instant- between April 2024 and March 2025, about 44,902 children were rescued from exploitation in India — of these, nearly 90 % were from child labour. Estimates suggest around 13.2 million children (aged 6-14 and adolescents 15-18) were engaged in child labour in 2024.

These numbers reveal a harsh truth- child labour still exists because we as a society have failed to take responsibility. Too often, officials make promises during campaigns but forget them when it comes to real groundwork.

Childhood — the most beautiful phase of life — is being crushed under the burden of survival. The elite talk about progress and development, but what about those who can’t even spell the word “school”? The contrast is painful, and yet we stay silent.

It’s time to wake up.

The government must not only make laws but also ensure their strict implementation.

Social welfare workers must be active on the ground, not be confined to office desks.

And we, the educated citizens, must stop being mere spectators.

Let us report, raise our voices, and support NGOs and local initiatives that rescue and educate these children. Each of us can make a difference — by refusing to ignore what we see every day. Because the question is not only why child labour exists, but why do we allow it to continue?

If there was a place other than my chest where I could place my heart, it would be in Wagna Salamabad.

Why would I do that? Well, sometimes you reach a place so heartbreakingly beautiful, that you want to leave your heart behind. Wagna is such a place. Located in the mountains of Baramulla district, it holds a part of my soul somewhere in a corner of the village.

I visited the place back in 2023 for the wedding of a distant relative. As I travelled towards the village, I gazed at the breathtaking scenery outside the window. I gasped when the car reached a point on the road where the fields appeared as steps, one upon another. It felt like I was climbing towards heaven.

The moment I arrived at Salamabad, a fresh breeze soothed me and offered a warm welcome. I felt as if new life had been installed into my body. To reach the house of my relatives, I had to walk through the fields, following a beautiful, crystal-clear stream flowing alongside.

After the long walk, I finally reached my destination.  As I entered the house, the scent of mud uplifted me. It was a clay house with tiny rooms, beautifully maintained. A kind, old woman kissed my hand, hugged me and guided me to the room. Settling down, I checked my phone only to realize that there was no network. I had lost connection to the internet and all social media apps- essentially, I got a break from my phone.

The next day, they sent me with a little girl to the stream to freshen up. The moment the stream water touched my face I felt all my worries washing away with each splash.

A single day there felt full of life. I wandered through the village with that little girl and came across ducks-adorable, noisy and unbelievably resilient. Theses have become extinct in urban areas. They basked in the sunlight, tending to their feathers after a long bath in the stream.

By evening, I was sitting in the field, breathing in the fresh air. I saw the mobile towers in the distance which reminded me of the city I live in-full of noise and hustle, where the time flies. But here, time wanted to slow down.

When I left Wagna, I left my soul behind, which I had been united with during the days I spent in that beautiful village.

Historical Legacy of Gun-Making

The craft of gun-making in Kashmir traces its origins to the Dogra rule during the mid-19th century. In 1848, Maharaja Gulab Singh recognized the mechanical skills of the residents of Bandook Khar Mohalla, describing them as “engineers by profession.” British gunsmiths trained the locals under the Maharaja’s guidance. By 1944, Maharaja Hari Singh introduced a formal system for gun ownership and documentation.

In 1962, the Government of India mandated that all guns manufactured in Jammu and Kashmir be tested at Ishapore, West Bengal, to meet official parameters. This regulation forced many local factories to close. Of the 15 gun factories in the area, only two survived: the Subhana Gun Factory (established in 1925) and the Zaroo Gun Factory (established in 1940).

Nasir Ahmad, one of the owners of Subhana Gun Factory, recounts:
”In 1962, we had to send six guns for testing but initially forgot to include the documents. The guns didn’t meet the government’s parameters, but the factory stood strong despite the setback.”

Decline of a Craft

The Wildlife Protection Act of 1978 dealt the first major blow to the industry, banning hunting and significantly reducing the demand for guns. The situation worsened during the political unrest in 1989, when gun factories were temporarily shut down, leaving owners and workers in dire straits.
In 2016, the Arms Act imposed stricter guidelines, making it nearly impossible to acquire individual gun licenses. Although gun manufacturing remains legally permitted, the ban on purchasing firearms has rendered the trade unsustainable.

“The current policies allow manufacturing but ban purchases. This leaves us helpless,” laments Ahmad.

Skill and Legacy

Despite its challenges, the artistry of Kashmiri gunsmiths has been widely acknowledged. Walter Lawrence, the author of The Valley of Kashmir, praised their craftsmanship, noting:
”The well-known gunsmiths can turn out good guns and rifles, replacing parts so skillfully that it is difficult to distinguish between Kashmiri and English workmanship.”

The craft’s survival owes much to artisans who repair and enhance guns with intricate hand-carved walnut gun butts, a signature feature of Kashmiri gun-making.

Government Initiatives

In 2023, the PM Vishwakarma Yojana was launched to support traditional craftsmen, including gunsmiths. The scheme provides:

• Armourer certifications.
• Toolkits worth ₹15,000.
• Loans of up to ₹3,00,000 with a 5% interest rate.
• Training programs, including a six-day drill and an advanced 15-day course, during which artisans receive ₹500 daily.

However, local gunsmiths argue that these measures are insufficient without the issuance of individual gun licenses. “In the entire Kashmir Valley, only nine gunsmiths remain. Youngsters avoid this profession as it doesn’t offer financial stability. Without serious administrative steps, this industry will vanish,” warns Ahmad.

A Fading Tradition

The once-thriving factories, bustling with activity, now lie silent and outdated. Despite holding industrial registrations, these facilities were never converted into industrial estates. Artisans like Javid Ahmad Ahangar continue working on single-barrel guns, but with minimal hope for revival.
Showkat Ahmad, who left the trade to repair electrical equipment, expresses his grief:
”For generations, my family made guns. Out of 15 factories, only two remain. I had to leave the trade to support my family, but gun-making runs in my blood.”

Zareef Ahmad Zareef, a Kashmiri poet and historian, echoes these sentiments:
”The uncertain situation in Kashmir has led to scrutiny and harassment of gunsmiths. The violence has caused the decline of many traditional vocations, including this one.”

I try to write but I fail- not a word, a phrase, or even a sentence comes to me.

I force myself to scribble one damned word/figure/line. But I mess it up terribly and stain the hem of my shirt with distorted stuff.

I think,

I pull the curtains aside,

I look at the photographs pinned to the wall,

I chew on the cap of my pen, and

I draw the curtains back.

I keep thinking about writers:

How did Manto write?

Did stories really live in his pockets? Was it that easy?

And how did Bukowski write? Hangover? Of pain, grief, alcohol…?

Kafka? Hemingway? What was it?

And, how is this happy and employed man with a small and happy family of our village, able to write such intricate and poignant lines?

Sigh.

I pick up the books in my hand, which have been covered with dust in the corner of the ledge. I start reading and I curse myself- for I fail to write.

After pondering over it for a good amount of time, I take a deep sigh and put the book aside in the overly dark corner, which is occupied by stinky bag—a dustbin momentarily, and an out-of-order laptop I borrowed from my uncle. The only light bulb in the room is dull and lifeless, and I wait for the power to come back on.

I feel a closeness to this bag, the laptop, and the dull bulb- there are things accumulating inside me, but I am numb and out-of-order.

I leave the room, slamming the door behind me. I mean, you need something to vent your surging anger of ‘failing to write’ on something. I might rip the pages of a notebook, unzip the pockets of bag, fling a pillow in the air or slam the door. Pitiful.

Instead of descending the stairs, I sit on the wooden stairs, and rapidly slide down to the dark corridor.

This is what I do and

Become; insane, a lunatic, a miserable and cursed person,

When I am unable to write anything.

I run to the kitchen, the only place of soothing sounds and pleasing smells. I go to;

Look if there is anything stored in the refrigerator,

Mashed garlic and ginger in the mortar,

Chop the green chillies/steak/onion,

Stare at the simmering Razma Dal in pressure cooker,

Swap the utensils on burners of gas stove as commanded by mother,

Then, I drink a glass of water, and leave.

I stroll through the dimly lit corridor towards the marbled porch which is usually occupied by the well-fed yet strangely starving, purring cat. At first, she gives me an innocent look, trying to lure me into getting her a cup of milk. When she feels I am too reluctant to move even an inch, she changes into a merciless beast and starts purring and glaring at me. I run back to the kitchen to fetch milk for her. I feed her and she starts meowing for more. She does it throughout the day, month, year and I keep feeding her every time.

I wish I were a cat; it would be easy to find food. Perhaps I could find words and stories too.

I go outside and notice things in my surroundings which have been there for a long time now, but today, as I fail to write anything I contemplate these things.

I see a wall that is leaning and about to crumble down to rubble. This wall is older than my existence and has been safeguarding this two-storey cemented structure, house, home, for a very long time now. Bricks, half broken/shattered, are clutching to one another in order to keep the strength of this old wall which helps in keeping the roving wolves, snarling dogs, and starving monsters that snatch children of mothers, away from the home.

In the midst of cold waves of December, I see birds leaving their nests and moving to other warmer places. At first, it is too harrowing to see the birds leave their constructed homes atop the trees, and in the empty spaces under the roof of houses, but then, the inevitable and impending arrival of spring gives me a hope, hope of the return of these birds and their jolly singing. They sing beautifully without using any instrument or auto tune, haha. These nests look dreary and ugly without the birds. When these get covered under the drape of snow and its piercing silence, I sniff mourning in the air.

I hear the loud silence of winter, signalling it is going to snow anytime soon. This feeling is inexpressible. You just feel it and can not give it a name or share with anyone. I stand still on the threshold, looking at the winter sky, too cold and cloudy, and reminisce about the days when my grandfather would tell me that these clouds were the sheared wool of our sheep that was floating in air and would fall soon upon us as new and fresh snowflakes. He would tell me how he would scoop it and put back to the skin of our sheep. Gone are those bearable and happy days, and so is my kind, pious grandfather.

Then, I see; the embers, which were too intense last night, dying in kangid/kangir, the falling stumps of the batsman who usually brags about his ‘skilled’ batting which is actually too shallow, and embarrassing to watch, and the diminishing rattle of helicopter which does an unsolicited hovering and surveillance over our homes. Indeed, there is death of everything; the boasted intensity, always an ugly egoism, and the unwanted illegitimate existence and foundation.

I look around and see people gathering the pruned twigs. While their backs are bent down, they are carefully gathering the sharp, and the distorted twigs. Meanwhile, an unprecedented, rare sight of two twigs embracing one another, captured my undivided attention. It felt like these twigs, which emerged from two different boughs, were clinging to one another with their thousand hands as if these had taken the vows of being together for centuries, which was not the case days ago when these two twigs existed separately on the same tree; too easy to be twisted and bent. I looked at each standing tree and found each one had these two particular twigs in the middle connected; some of which had fully merged and got fixed for eternity.  ‘Interesting and brilliant art,’ my father says.

As dusk arrives, I see tired people, and the birds that haven’t left the homeland returning to their homes after a hectic day. I can sniff the aroma of Razma Dal to which the mashed garlic and ginger, chopped steak etc. have been added, and also, I can smell the amalgam of different smells exuding from various dishes cooked in the neighbourhood. The merriment of aromas it is.

I can hear elderly people splashing water while doing wudhu. The trees appear too lonely in winter. Soon, the azaan sounds from the speakers placed on the tall minarets of masjids.

The sun is gone. moon is here. I am back! I am back to my room, still bereft of electricity and lantern, to do writing but

I fail to write a word, a phrase or a sentence.

RN: How acquainted do you think you are with Kashmir now that you have visited and interacted with people extensively?

DS: I think I am fairly acquainted by now about Kashmir.

RN: Some sections in Kashmir are criticising you for not meeting the relevant quarters. What do you have to say about that?

DS: I am open to meeting everyone. I have not refused meeting anyone so far.

RN: Another criticism coming forth is that people came to you with only governance issues, diluting the purpose you have been appointed for. Your take?

DS: Pt is not correct. People have come to point out issues related to governance deficiency in the state as also to discuss political nature of the problem.

RN: The Hurriyat has been reluctant to join in the talks with you. Are any efforts being made to reach out to them?

DS: Yes, so far Hurriyat has not joined the talks. I am hopeful that Hurriyat leaders will also join the dialogue shortly.

RN: The people who met you consisted of an overwhelming number of youth. What do you think the youth need as of now?

DS: The youth in valley are emotionally surcharged. They need a parental touch of Mother India. A lot of distrust has developed between Kashmiri youth and the people living outside Kashmir. We need to restore this trust and make them realise that they are as much as our children as youth from rest of India. Employment is another issue that has been a major concern which needs to be addressed.

RN: Are you keeping an eye on the overall situation in Kashmir. The growing militancy, the students protest and the civilian killings?

DS: Yes, I am monitoring the situation on daily basis.

RN: Hugely alienated youth is a challenge. How do you think the youth can be made to come closer to the mainstream if not join it?

DS: I am certain that youth will understand the reasons and appreciate the democratic ethos of the nation. They need to be embraced by the people of India in Kashmir and provide them emotional support.

RN: Do you see any end in sight of the long conflict Kashmir conflict or lets say will there be a respite for the common man?

DS: I am quite hopeful that peace will return to Kashmir soon and it would lay foundation for end of conflict in Kashmir for ever. For this, right thinking people and youth of Kashmir must come forward. The youth need to be guided and convinced that the guns and stones are no solution to any problem. It would only add to the misery of the people, particularly youth. There is no dispute which cannot be resolve through dialogue.

RN: A growing number of well educated youth are joining militant ranks. What do you think is the underlying reason for this phenomenon?

DS: I think they are carried by radical materials being circulated on internet and social media. A lot of disinformation is going on and educated youth are falling prey to this.

(Farhana Bhat is 3rd semester students of Dept of Journalism and Mass Communication, Govt College for Women, MA Road, Srinagar.)

First Published in Rising Kashmir on May 20, 2018. 

Built on an expanse of 312 kanals of land, the leper colony of Srinagar is distinct from any other settlement in Srinagar: single-storeyed white apartments bounded by old remnant huts, with a hospital building at the extreme.

Located on the banks of Nigeen Lake at BhagwanporaLalbazar, the colony was established during the later half of 19^th century under Kashmir Medical Mission by Britishers. The motive was to isolate and treat patients of the contagious disease which at that point of time had the region in its grip and was considered lethal.

Initially, 30 patients were registered and as the years went by this place set out to become a community of a couple of hundred residents who after being socially outcasted and exiled here from across the valley.In 2000 the new admissions to the colony were stopped after the leprosy was declared completely treatable. Officially the number of people registered for living here is 100 but the actual figure rises to approximately 250 persons as it includes the families of lepers as well as those of deceased lepers. Many of the lepers live here with their children and their children, therefore, the colony is home to 3 generations of leprosy patients living side by side.

The colony houses 62 single storied cemented white houses called residential quarters, 4 barracks like mud structure designated as male and female wards, a double storied hospital, a graveyard and a mosque.

Inmates first used to live in wards, each ward had 4 compartments and one family lived in per compartment. In 2014 under JLNRRM, SMC built 62 new dwellings as new residential quarters and most of the old wards were demolished. However, a few wards are still present and they house the families of deceased lepers.

The staff here consists of a medical officer, two medical assistants, two nursing orderly, a sweeper, a barber and a washerman. The colony is run by Director Health Services Kashmir and its under their wing the patient are provided with food clothing and medicines for their disease and besides this, they also get a monthly allowance of Rs 1000 from the department of social welfare. However, the dwellers here say what the government provides them does not suffice. “They provide us things necessary to survive, 11 kgs of rice per head per month,750 grams of vegetables per day, 2 Cochewour (bread)  a day, a pheran after 4 years,a pair of slippers after a year and 2 set of clothing a year, this is what they give us. You tell me is that enough? This year it was so cold we asked for some blankets they didn’t provide us any. All that government does is to save us from hunger rest we depend on help from people.” says Ghulam Nabi,a 75-year-old man originally hailing from Kokernag living here since last 58 years.

To this Khadija, a 65-year-old woman showing a plastic box full of medicines adds “I am diabetic, hypertensive.I am on medication since last 10 years and have to manage them on my own. I had to undergo a heart surgery a year back and didn’t receive any help from them (authorities). There used to be a school here some 7 to 8 years back but they closed it. Now some of our children go to a government school and some to private but all depend upon the charity of people.The media has helped a lot they aware people about our needs who in turn give us funds, this is how we live.”

The inmates have formed a committee of 4 members for the distribution of charity they receive. Pointing to the rice being distributed there Ghulam Nabi says, “See these 10-20 kgs of rice we got from charity the committee will equally distribute so that it reaches even to the ones who are bedridden and are not here to collect it.University kids helped us very much. In last winters they gave a gas cylinder to each person and blankets as well those too were distributed by the committee.”

As most of them suffer from physical deformities they are unable to earn and those who do earn a few bucks by labouring, do not find it enough to meet the need of providing education to their children and other medical expenses as such the funds provide great relief to them.

Though free from the disease, the inhabitants of this colony are unwilling to go back to their native places. “Who would we go back to? Many of us had to sell our property in our native villages to come here so there is nothing left to go back to.”. They share the painful memories of days when they were diagnosed with this disease. “When I was diagnosed with the symptoms of this disease my family decided to send me here so that they don’t have to live with an untouchable. I was 11 then. They called this (Lepers Colony) a dumping ground for people unworthy to live and left me here to die” says Shukur Khan from Kargil and adds that “I cannot name but there was this village where two kids of one of our fellow inmates went to visit their uncle and aunt. After providing them with the meals the dishes were put aside by their uncle using his left hand. The children saw that and it broke their heart.This is the treatment they received from their own blood and even when they are completely healthy and it’s their parents who suffered from leprosy and they too now have cured even in this era they are skeptic of us of our children so how can we think of going back for forever.Relatives may visit us and we too visit them but after spending 60 to 70 years here this is where we belong now.”

This sense of belongingness is probably the reason that the residents here are so opposed to the recent proposal of the relocation of the colony by the government and they say that they would die but not allow that to happen. The medical officer of the colony, Dr Yasmeen is also of the opinion that the move to relocate the colony should not be made.“The place is best for them. No residential congestions, a lot of greenery, less pollution all conditions here are suitable for them medically. Moreover, they have been living here for decades together even their dead are buried here. They won’t find it easy to go”.

The inmates here though do wish that the Multi Drug Therapy that treats leprosy in the bud and prevents deformities was available in their time but they still have accepted their lost extremities and deformed face as their fate, so much so that they are used to referring themselves as patients when they are just inmates and not patients now. Such is their level of acceptance even to their social stigma that one of the residents Abdul Aziz with a blank face goes on to say ,“Waen ye chu ti chu yeichu. Tueh manev haez aesiche yeti kuda karkat bacheimet.” (This is what it is now.You see we are garbage of the society left here now.) This is quite ironical as the name of the colony Bahrar has a Persian origin derived from the word BahaarAraaa meaning pride of the lake.

(Irtiza Rafiq is 3rd semester students of Dept of Journalism and Mass Communication, Govt College for Women, MA Road, Srinagar.)

First published in Kashmir Life on January  31st, 2018

Son of a State Forest Corporation employee from Baderwah (Doda), Naveed was first admitted to IMHANS on January 3, 2014, for drug-induced psychosis. Three months later, his condition had improved. Records make a mention of his Mental Status Examination on April 17, 2014, stating the patient to be “conscious, co-operative and oriented with time, place and person but sad, denying any abnormal perception.”

His family, however, was reluctant to take him home. Records said his father’s phone remained mostly switched off. Naveed himself explained his crisis: his father considered him a hindrance in his way of drinking. Regularly, he told his doctors, his father would throw him out of the home during nights so that he could drink.

Somehow, he was discharged on May 17, 2014, and his cousin took him home. Within a year, he was back to IMHANS. Reason: his father disagreed with doctors that his son has improved. He sought a direction from higher officials for his son to be shifted to IMHANS. Again, the treatment was repeated and Naveed improved. Despite the change, he is still in the hospital.

A heartbroken Naveed said: “Dil bilkul khush nai rehta. Ab tou charas bhi Nahi Karta, Ghar waale zabardasti yahan rakhte hain, wapis Jaane do.” (My heart is not happy at all. I don’t even do drugs now, but my family forcibly keeps me here, let me go back). A three-year-long stay has deteriorated his mood, as medical records suggest, from sad to depressed.

“We called his father several times to take his son home but he rudely reacted, even gone to the extent of saying that the hospital belongs to the government and his son will live there,” Farooq Ahmad, the hospital’s Social Worker said. “We informed the police, even the legal cell got involved, but all in vain. After his desperation to return home was not met, his condition deteriorated to the extent that he became insane and since January 17, he is in Hamam, a place for aggressive lunatics.”

Naveed’s psychosis was drug induced. But there are individuals who became patients simply because they were present at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Ghulam Hassan, 32, is a shepherd from Bijbehara. He was driven to the hospital by Uri Police station in 2013. Found close to Line of Control (LoC), Hassan was arrested and tortured following which he suffered from trauma. The impact of the torture was such that he didn’t talk for the first six years of his stay at IMHANS. Once, when he talked the ward nurse mistook the dialect that belonged to Pakistan. Then he shouted: Sallar Kollar. And finally, IMHANS knew where from he actually is.

Sajjad Ahmed, another social worker at IMHANS, started hunting for his family in Pahalgam, and eventually traced them. “On the Sallar-Kollar road, I went from tent to tent in a Bakerwal camping spot in Dachinpora belt, showing his picture and seeking clues about Hassan’s family and finally I came to know that his clan puts up in Shopian,” Sajjad said. “Then, I found out that Hassan’s brother was working in the city and when contact was established with his brother, he came to take him home,” said Sajjad Ahmed.

Hassan may have his own story but the fact is that the mental crisis of individuals may not necessary be a genetic inheritance. It could have contributions from individuals and institutions which usually go unpunished.

Masoom is from West Bengal. Her friend invited her to a Kashmir trip but sold her as a domestic help to an influential family in Rajbagh. Her “owner” sexually abused her and finally threw her away, literally from a window, in 2014. She was handed over to the police with a claim that she was mentally retarded.

Masoom, according to her medical records, did not exhibit any serious symptoms of a mental disorder. She was just a low IQ girl and mostly silent.

After two years of treatment and confidence building, she finally broke her silence. She identified herself from West Bengal and narrated her painful story. Her family was traced by the IMHANS social workers with the help of internet and the Police. She was sent home after three years. But her culprits still roam free.

Masoom is not the only person whom IMHANS helped rejoin the family healthy. The doctors and social workers have reunited eight patients with their families including three women.

K D Tripathi from Uttarakhand, Mathur Bhai Padhiyar from Gujrat and recently Vinod Sharma from Indore, all were reunited with their families.

“We observe the behaviour of the patients, the name of places they utter, using them as clues we try to search these places on the internet and also take the concerned Police on board,” said Farooq.

But the IMHANS officials regret the abuse of Kashmir’s lone Psychiatric Hospital as a dumping ground for individuals, the family are so keen to abandon. In certain cases, the attendants offer the wrong information at the time of admission. This has changed the system at IMHANS. Now the hospital admits serious cases which come through police on court orders.

Social workers, sometimes move an extra-length in making reluctant families take their members home. They even drive them home in ambulances.

Right now, doctors and the social workers are planning driving  Zakir  to  his Tamil Nadu home. A B.Tech diploma holder, Zakir is admitted to the hospital for a year. Diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder, he is seen wearing the Pheran with its left sleeve slit to the armpit.

“I had come to Kashmir in a lorry to find work but I don’t remember how I landed here,” Zakir said. “Barring occasional headaches, I am completely fine. I talked to Ammi on phone and she said she is ill and once she gets better, she’ll take me back. I miss them.”

Zakir, tragically, is unaware that his family has claimed they are financially incompetent to take him home. Considering this, the hospital administration is keen to raise donations and sent him home.

Currently, the hospital houses around 65 males and 12 female patients segregated in five wards labelled as open and closed wards. The patients in open wards, unlike closed ones, are accompanied by attendants.

Ward 1 is a closed forensic ward for medico-legal cases. Ward 2, and 3 are closed wards for men. Ward 4, is an open ward for both men and women and Ward 5, is a closed woman ward.

In Ward 5, Dr Muzaffar Jan, a psychiatrist, explains the difference between two kinds of patients, psychotics and neurotics. “Neurotic patients have an insight of their condition which ranges from anxiety, depression, OCD(Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), phobia, or a personality disorder while the psychotic patients lose touch with reality, have severe mental disorders which can sometimes induce aggressiveness and are characterized by non-acceptance of their disease.”

Inmates at the hospital are both locals as well as non-locals. Of 12 women admitted, four are non-local. There are two non-local males as well.

There are few children admitted as well. In Ward 5, is 15-year old Rabia. A resident of West Bengal, she is there for the last three years after her “employer” handed her over to police saying she was mentally challenged.

“Though keeping juveniles in the hospital is illegal, in absence of a separate psychiatric health centre for children, there are no options,” one hospital official admitted. “We keep them here after informing the court.”

(Some names in the story have been changed to protect identities)

(Irtiza Rafiq & Zeenish Imroz are 3rd semester students of Dept of Journalism and Mass Communication, Govt College for Women, MA Road, Srinagar.)

First published in Kashmir Life on February 08, 2018

Reduced to a corner where he cooks, it needs a serious effort to get Sul Maam’s attention. “Bea Chusow Goub Bouzaan (I am hard of hearing),” Sul Maam said, almost apologetically to the reporters only after his relative literally got into his room to get him respond to the knocks at his door.

Maam has been living in this dingy room for nearly four decades after his distant relatives sympathetically gave him this space to reside when his parents died and he had no family left. For his livelihood, Maam turned to arranging marriages and singing at weddings. As the turmoil limited his movement, his life became miserable. With his only source of some income over, his hearing was impaired.

“I am unable to talk to you without an assistant,” Maam said, “How could I handle clients?”

Turmoil made him apprehensive about his own survival and he shut the doors on life. “Tehreek Pyath Chus Bea Khotchaan, Chug Gatchaan..”, Maam said, insisting that he is scared of the clashes, crackdowns and the mere thought of somebody getting into his room and hurting him has made him close his door forever.

Talking about the 1990’s, Dr Aijaz Bund, the author of Hijras of Kashmir, the only book on Kashmir’s transgender population, and founder of Sonzal Welfare Trust, said various Hijras were killed by unidentified gunmen.

Unlike the “lucky” Maam who has a room and gets help from his distant relatives and neighbours, Gani Maam’s life was pathetic.  A resident of Batamaloo, Gani Mama, died at 75 on a shop front.  Abandoned by his family, Gani used to live on the streets of  Zainakadal till, in a Chillai Kallan, the harshest phase of winter, night in 2013, he was heard screaming by the neighbours. In the morning, his corpse was found drenched in blood as his body was preyed upon by dogs.

“Their life is full of abuse which is legitimized by the norms of the society we live in,” Dr Bund said. The ridicule starts from the family, goes with them to their school where they are bullied by classmates, teachers and the non-teaching staff due to which they are forced to leave studies making them ineligible for any white collar job. They get into the huge matrimony sector where the face the same abuse. “Seven years back, a school going child belonging to the third gender was raped in the school toilet and when the family complained they were told she should stay back.”

Sexual abuse in transgender people is rampant but such cases never come out in open because of the fear that is induced by the prejudice of our society against them, Bund insists. Maryam (name changed), the 25 years old transgender from downtown, was gang-raped by a group of six drug addicts. While she was passing by a park, the group of drug addicts caught hold of her and raped her anally and orally making her bleed profusely. Maryam has been a victim of multiple rapes but never reported. This has led her to complex PTSD but she refuses to visit a psychiatrist because of the stigma of her identity.

Rape is only one facet to the traumas this community goes through in their lifetime. Starting with abandonment by their families, to getting bullied in schools, on the streets and in buses, mocked at public gatherings, to being outcasted at religious spaces, they suffer on every stage of life.

“The entire trauma that they suffer on various levels gets accumulated and makes them vulnerable to psychiatric problems. However they seldom take medical help because in a conservative society like ours even the ideal stereotype genders are tainted for taking psychiatric help, let alone the third gender people whose identity itself is enough to make them susceptible to disgrace and ridicule,” said Dr Majid Shafi Shah, a Consultant Psychiatrist.

Various psychiatric disorders commonly found in transgender people are depression, anxiety, frequent suicidal tendencies, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Its impact reflects in them by way of staring at their mirror reflection all the time or an undue regard for their appearance. This abuse doesn’t even end at their death. When Nadeem, 40, a resident of Islamabad, died last week, apparently due to brain haemorrhage, his family was unwilling to take his body for last rites. When his community members tried to visit his place for condolence, they were denied entry by his nephew saying: “Aeem Mandcheaw Aeis Umri, Weain Cha Yeh Parie (he disgraced us his entire life, only this is left now).”

Muhammad Aslam alias Babloo is around 40. This transgender from Dalgate has been representing the community for last few years. “Every day is a struggle for us,” Babloo said. “Our livelihoods has hit all times low due to the changing times. Our place as entertainers in wedding functions has been replaced by bands.”

Living in rented accommodations after being disowned by their families and rights of inheritance denied, what bothers them the most is the harassment by policemen and self-proclaimed religious persons. “Police are supposed to protect but in our case, they are a crisis,” Babloo said. “When we go with a complaint, they usually say Addeh Wein Kyah Gouv, Tche Hay Laiench Chukh (How does it matter, you are a transgender).”

Narrating an incident of how religious prejudice is being played against them, Babloo said he along with another transgender once attempted cleaned a mosque from cobwebs and dirt. The next day, people refused to offer prayers in the mosque saying it was rendered impure due to their touch. “Why we do not exist for the sermons? We are not seeking any support but at least they can tell the society about us being one of the creations of the God,” Babloo said. “Tragically, we are most harassed after Friday prayers.”

Explaining the phenomenon, Dr Arshid Pandit, a senior genetic scientist, said the main reasons for the existence of the third gender is the clash between the assigned gender and the actual gender inclinations of a person. “When a person is born with ambiguous genitals, we assign a gender based on the propensity and closeness towards either of the two genders,” Pandit said. “In adolescence, if the gene expression is different to that assigned at the birth, the individual tends to adapt his actual gender, leaving his previous assigned one.”

The genetic researchers, however, has been unable to establish the reason that why the transgender people who do not have ambiguous genitalia transcend the journey from one gender to another.

After being the target of abuse and torture at a mass level, the transgender was in news recently after the state government, for the first time in history, admitted their existence and decided to extend certain basic concessions to them as part of their welfare budget. Apart from being considered as part of state’s Below Poverty Level (BPL) population, the government said, it will bear the expenses of their health after they turn 60.

The activists linked to the transgender rights, however, see it as the beginning of a chaotic journey. Right now, the state government, in no records, maintains a gender classification beyond male and female.

“The policy will give some sustenance allowance after 60 years of age but what about all those who are below 60,” asked one transgender. “The government should understand our insecurity and our most basic issue, the shelter. Why cannot there be job reservations and skill development?”

Bund says heterosexual males in the offices, should not be permitted to decide about whatever benefits the state is willing to extend to transgender. “They will send the cases to the medical board for further humiliation.

(Irtiza Rafiq & Zeenish Imroz are 3rd semester students of Dept of Journalism and Mass Communication, Govt College for Women, MA Road, Srinagar.)

First published in Kashmir Life on February 15, 2018