Plan of the Typical Pandit House

mage (left): A rural KP house. Photographer: Hari Krishna Gorkha. From M.S. Randhawa for his ‘Farmers of India’ series. These are from Volume 1 (1959) (right): Plan of a typical KP house. T.N. Madan

The first storey on the ground floor is usually raised from the ground by a plinth of two to three feet, and a person has to ascend several steps to enter the house by a doorway in the middle of the facade. This doorway leads into a long narrow passage called the wuz. Footwear is removed and left in the wuz before anyone enters the rooms, which are swept clean, at least once daily, and covered with straw mats. On cold and wet days clothes may be washed, utensils cleaned and a child given his bath in the wuz. Here also boys at the time of their ritual initiation, and young men and women at the time of their marriage, receive their ritual bath. Again it is here that the dead body of a member of the household is ritually washed prior to cremation.

If only one household is resident in a house, then one of the main rooms on the ground floor is used both as kitchen and sitting-room, and the other as a store room. Or cattle may be tethered in one of the ground floor rooms by the residing house- hold, or a non-residing chulah owning part of the house. If more than one household lives in the house, then both the rooms are used as kitchen-cum-sitting rooms. The kitchen is separated from the rest of the sitting room by a wooden or brick partition with a door in it. Adjacent to the kitchen is the bath room. The fire on which food is cooked also helps to warm the water in a large vat set in the wall between the kitchen and the bathroom.

Pandit women spend a great part of their time in the kitchen engaged in cooking and allied chores. When not otherwise employed, the men sit in the room adjoining the kitchen smoking their hookah. The women join them there w f hen free and when there arc no strangers present. All meals are eaten in this room. Some members of the family may sleep in it during winter, as the kitchen fire keeps it warm, or whenever there is shortage of space in the bedrooms on the middle floor.

A staircase of about a dozen steps at the end of the passage leads to the second storey wuz, from which doors open into four or five rooms. One of these rooms called the thokur-kuth (God’s room) is usually set apart for religious rites and worship. The others arc bedrooms, generally three in number, two small and one large. Not more than one married couple and their infant children sleep in a room. An aged couple who do not sleep in the same bed may, howeer, share their loom with other unmarried adults. All the belongings of a household, including bedding, clothing, feminine ornaments, and bric-a- brac are kept in these rooms. The Pandits generally sleep on mattresses spread on mats covering the floors, but in some households cots are also used. The larger room is also used to seat and entertain guests on various important occasions such as marriages. But, if there are several households resident in a house, this room also is divided into two by erecting a permanent brick wall, or a partition of removable wooden planks, in the middle of it. In the latter case it can be easily reconverted into one large room whenever desired. In no case is any of these rooms used as a kitchen.

The third storey follows the same plan as the ground floor, and a staircase, again of about a dozen steps, leads to it from the middle floor. However, the rooms on the third floor have more windows, higher ceilings, and balconies.

A loft in which firewood, hay and straw arc stored, and a ridged roof complete the house. There is a small trapdoor through which a person can climb out on the roof for various purposes. In spring fresh thatch may be spread and the roof repaired. In summer jars of pickled fruits and vegetables arc placed on the roof to mature in the sun, and in autumn vegetables are dried here. In winter, whenever the snowfall is heavy, men climb out through the trapdoor to clear away accumulated snow lest its weight should damage the roof and the house.

The three-storeyed structure of the house gives good protection against the widely varying climatic conditions of Kashmir. The ground floor with low ceiling and double windows, and shielded from cold winds by neighbouring houses, is easily heated by the kitchen fire during winter. By contrast, the rooms in the third storey are kept cool and airy in summer by leaving the many windows open. Moreover, swarms of flies and mosquitos infest the yard during summer and make residence in the ground floor uncomfortable during that season. But if more than two chulahs live in a house, then the seasonal use of the ground and top floors by every household is not possible. The Pandits readily connect the architecture of their homes with the climate of Kashmir. They say that houses there have been always like this, and it does not occur to them that other types of houses might meet the climatic variations as successfully. They also lay considerable stress on the auspiciousness of the number three .

~ “Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir” (1967) by T.N. Madan

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Read and download “Family and Kinship: A Study of the Pandits of Rural Kashmir“( 1967) by T.N.
Madan, the first anthropological study of Kashmiri Pandits.
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Previously: The T.N. Madan Omnibus

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Discussing the plan with my parents:

video link

Duck Lal Ded

Duck Lal Ded

Hu-kus Bi-kus
Who he? Who me?
Telli Wan t’che-Kus
Now tell, who you?
Onum Batuk Lodum Daeg
got this duck,
drop it in a saucepan
shaal khich khich waangno
Jackal slit the neck,
add some Eggplants
Brahmin charas pouyn chhokum
poor Brahmin sprinkle some water
Brahmi boyas tyekis tyakha
Brahmin brother, now have some in plate

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As a kid I remember hearing these lines first in the kitchen, it must have been winter, no light, sitting next to a gas daan, grandmother sining. Maybe that’s why – Onum Batuk , shaal khich khich – I always imagined the ditty as a recipe for cooking a duck.
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Not for:
Culturally lost Kashmiris expecting to find the real meaning of the lines, the deeper meaning, the yogic and the Shivic, the breathing and the panting peace.

Premi, 66

Kashmiri translation of Tagore’s Geetanjali. By Sarvanand Kaul Premi (b.1924). [Download, uploaded by eGangotri, from Karan Nagar Ashram, Srinagar]

The 66 year old Gandhian poet from Anantnag was killed along with his son on May 2, 1990 by terrorists whose leaders now claim to be Gandhians.

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Tragedy:
I can’t read it
Premi
there is no wiki page
if you search the net
people, some, they write about him
but the age at the time of death is mentioned
as 80
and most mention the age as 64
a scribble
copy after copy mention “aged 64”
no one visited him ever again
to even recalculate
1990 – 1924 =
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Urbar Peer Khoh

6th March, 2016

Had we been in Srinagar, for first Shivratri after marriage, my family would have sent me to climb Shankaracharya, but here we are in Jammu. So, we decided to visit the Peer Khoh caves. I agreed as I had good memories of the place. I had last visited the place in around 1991. In second year of exile, we used to live a nearby old city mohalla. My grandfather used to take me along to the caves for his morning walk session.

I remember the place as a cold, damn place that used to stay cool even is worst of summers. The breeze that gently blows in this area is allows cool even if rest of the city is simmering. Centuries ago visiting mendicants must have found these cool caves perfect for camping. In local lore the cave was said to have been home of Jambava, the great bear of Ramayan.  In early 15th century, the place became camping spot of Gorakhnath sect. Maybe, like at other places around India, Gorakhnath sect here too had close ties with the rulers.

But, all this was long ago. In 1990s, the caves retained their wild element, the floor of the cave used to be damp, no lights insides and hardly any people; however nothing of that old mystery now remains. The cave walls and floor are now cemented and there are air conditioning ducts all inside. There is a priest inside who mimics the monetary cave culture of Vaishno Devi. You get in line, pay money and move out fast. The cave have been urbanised.

Arabic Minaret, Japanese Train, Haridwar Temple, Mediaeval fort. 

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wai

My Nani
she put a mine in my head
I stomp all over the places in my mind
I keep missing the spot
What was the name?
She fed me these roots of a plant
it grows on an ancient hillock in Kashmir
The hill of myna
She said it is good for memory
bitter
I forget the name
I trample
name of a bird
a harwan tile
a lake
a leaf
a root
bitter
I stomp on her two feet back
it hurt as I got older

my feet got bigger
her back
brittle
fleeting memories

I stop
Why
why
wai, is the name

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Ride with the devil, hide behind the Lord

Ride with the devil, hide behind the Lord
I got pistol, I got sword

I got Hizbul, I already got land
And still I wonder why I got this stone in my hand

Stone in my hand, stone in my hand

And still I wonder why I got this stone in my hand

O’ bother in faith, let me explain

I say we want a revolution, well, muslims get on board
We’ll restart the old crusade, we’ll start a Holy war
that’s not an orders, that’s the simplest plan
I don’t need nothing but the stone in your hand

Stone in your hand, stone in your hand
I don’t need nothing but that stone in your hand
Stone in your hand, stone in your hand
I don’t need nothing but the stone that’s in your hand

P too got fighter jets, P too will drop bombs
kill their fathers, kill their moms
Kill their brothers and their sisters, and their uncles and their aunts

O’ let them wonder why you got this stone in your hand

Stone in your hand, stone in your hand

And still you wonder why you got this stone in your hand

Stone in your hand, stone in your hand
All the hate that’s in my heart and the stone that’s in your hand

Your blood runs the gutters, smoke fills the sky
your son that suffers, your mother cries
So if you’ve not had enough and you’re ready for my stand
better be forever waiting with the stone that’s in your hand

Stone in your hand, stone in your hand
forever waiting with the stone that’s in your hand
Stone in your hand, stone in your hand

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Based on the song “Stone in my hand” (2008) by Everlast, popular among online supporter if stonepelters.

Image: Mashed from Priyesh Trivedi’s “Adarsh Balak”. Because the “popular” artists in Kashmir still treated Mujahids like holy cow.

Mujahid is to Tahreeki what Cow is to Hinduvadi. A holy cow about whose political utility you can’t question anything. Blood of Mujahids is as unquestionably good for nation as cow’s milk is for humanity. A basic criteria for a noble, just society. Kaamdenu cow of Kashmir…all purpose wish fulfilling cows that shall bring a peace of paradise to earth.

A Ghantaghar Green

“Telli! What’s it going to be, eh?”

There was me, that is Sikandar, and my three sangbaaz, that is Bott, Kadir, and Mudd. Mudd being really Mudd, and we sat in the Jumma Khanqah making up our magaz what to do with the Friday morning, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry.

The Jumma Khanqah was a religion-plus jaai, and you may, O my brothers, have forgotten what these jaais were like, things changing so jaldi these days and everybody very quick to forget, newspapers not being written much neither.

Well, what they sold there was deenplus, religion plus something else. They had no license for selling it, but there was no law yet against prodding some of the new cheez which they used to put into the old deen, so you could gryt it with azzadi or revolution or resistance or one or two other cheezimeezi which would give you a nice quiet horrorshow fifteen hours admiring Jannah And All its Holy Angels and Saints in your left chapinkhor with lights bursting all over your magaz. Or you could gryt deen with stones in it, as we used to say, and this would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of dirty tim-woh-te-be-akh, and that was what we were gryting this morning I’m starting off the story with.

Our pockets were full of dayar so there was no need on that score, but, as they say, money isn’t everything.

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You know how rest of the story goes: A free woman would get killed. Brittle men would be lampooned. Boy would be sent to special prison where they try to cure him, creating another kind of monster. Boy would find old his friends are now woking as IkWEENIS. A Batte Kommunist ji would take up the cause of Sikandar and try to expose the true face of “State” to the people…Pandit ji the mad victim who would be disposed soon enough. Sikandar would have his humanity restored and the symphony of violence shall continue.

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Rahi, live, drink, die

Zinda [living] rozna bapat chi [for] maran [die] lukh [people],
Tche [you] marakh [die] naa [no]
Lotpeth [quietly] chekha [drink] pyala [the cup] kyoho [why]
uff [ahh] ti [why] karakh naa [no]

Tharre [hind] t’chaane [your] asann [spot] traaye[gait, I see],
gachann [destined] Jaaye [place] wuchaan [I look] chus [for],
Mane kehenze Rihell gonche [bud] folith [blossomed] aay
sarakh [tend] na [no].

Tharre [creeper] t’chaane [your] asann [spot] traaye [grown],
gachan [will] Zaaye [be wasted] wuchaan chus [I see] ,
Man’t’henze[smoketree shrub] Rihell [small] gonche [bud] folith [blossomed] aay
sarakh [tend] na [no].

Lotpeth [quietly] chekha [drink] pyala [the cup] kyoho [why]
uff [ahh] ti [why] karakh naa [no]

Na [No] chu daari [window] alaan [movement] pardi [curtain] ti [and],
na [No] chu brandi [courtyard] dazaan [burns] T’chong [lamp]
Waawas [wind] chu, wanan kaw [crow asks] chi [you], moluum [enquire] karakh naa [No]
Lotpeth [quietly] chekha [drink] pyala [the cup] kyoho [why]
uff [Ahh] ti [why] karakh naa [no]

Tatte [hot] Lawwe [sprinkle] chi khasaan [climbs] Naare bubarr [fiery flames] prewe [grace] chu wasaan [downs] sheen [snow],
Hay [hey] pardi [veil] chechi [fades] myoon [mine] kruhun [black],
gaam [village] karakh naa
gaam karakh naa
Lotpeth [quietly] chekha [drink] pyala [the cup] kyoho [why]
uff [Ahh] ti [why] karakh naa [no]

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In 1990s, they complained that the villages didn’t rise up, if only they too had joined the chorus, that poet Rehman Rahi was silent, that he didn’t sing the popular tune. Now, his silence is being explored and re-marketed. There are villages to be inflamed, what better than the tongue of the man who sang of villages in which even birds recited Koran. Now, Rahi too is a poet of the Tahreek, when a Hizbul Mujahideen dies in some village in Kashmir, people on Facebook share “Zinde Rozan’e bapath chi maraan Lukh che te marakh na. Lotte paeth chakha pyaale kyoho Uff te karakh na.” (People are dying to live. Will you drink your poison in silence, won’t you protest)…like it is some kind of primal call to embrace death, forgetting that among the charges on Socrates was the charge that his beliefs were not same as rest of his community. His charge was blasphemy.


Poets, real poets, are complicated and even more so are the worlds and words they deal in. There is story that in the charged atmosphere of late 60s Rahi read a poem on death that shocked people as they thought it was all too propagandistic and reactionary. Only later he told his audience that his work was just a translation of Maxim Gorky’s ‘Death and the Maiden’, a favorite of that man named Stalin. There is a famous painting of the scene: Gorky narrating the poem to Stalin and Molotov. Poet Rahi all too well knows how Stalinism turned out for the poet and that country. Do his readers know? If is fine to dig out that Kashmiri poem and sell it in villages of Kashmir minus the context? Will it not be called propaganda?
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Origins

would have you believe
Brahma of Kashmir conflict cosmos. it all started with his illicit love of Sharda. Set the world in motion. He was once very powerful and much loved. Now few temples remain.

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and he still runs the show…Laxmi.

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the new weapon of mass destruction
the loveable destroyer
levels the world and sets the new circle in motion.
real

taluk-pyeth

epilogue

Apr 22, 2016

The evil thought occurred to me 
a decade ago
There was this old man, sitting smug, 
talking in front of a brick wall
Some kids had died
playing stones and bullets
over a piece of land
The man speaking to the camera said
the war will continue
till the solution arrives
to the point of Kashmiri satisfaction
Behind him
with a gentle breeze
a red rose creeping on the wall
fluttered a little
This house was his
It reminded me of my home in Spring
The evil thought occurred to me:
whether Pakistan, India or on their own
whatever happens in a hundred years
There is no solution to Kashmir
in which this man
will lose his house
Yes, they are dying
Yet, even their dead have homes
The rose fluttered a little more



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