Kashmir Love Quotes

The house I would go back to would be bereft of her presence but filled with her memories. Our home, the little monument of memory.

Love isn’t much of a legacy, Mr. Firas.” “I think there’s none better.” “It doesn’t last.” “It doesn’t have to.

There has to be a line, Kashmir,” I said angrily. “A person can’t do just anything for love.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I would.” “Yeah, well, you’re a thief. Your relative morality is already suspect.” “Ah,” he said then, standing. “Well. I’ll leave the morality for those that like the taste of it. I always preferred bread.

...cynical and hardened as I believed myself to be at twenty-four, I had never that pity might, in fact, be just another facet of love.

I’ve always tried to resemble a brave man. It didn’t used to be so hard—and I’ve had so much practice pretending. After all, when you’re a thief, you’re always pretending not to be. The same is true when you’re poor. And sometimes also when you’re in love.

In one of the verses of Lal Ded, or Lalla, a fourteenth-century mystic from Kashmir, Lalla says: “At the end of a crazy-moon night the love of God rose. I said “It’s me, Lalla.” “It’s me, Lalla,” becomes “It’s me…whoever you are,” proclaiming that we no longer stand on the sidelines but are leaping directly into the center of our lives, our truth, our full potential. No one can take that leap for us; and no one has to. This is our journey of faith.

Why? Don’t you know why you love me?” “I know that I’m happiest at your side,” I said fervently. “I know that when we’re apart, my heart is with you, when we disagree I still want you near. It’s like I was made for you, amira, but I don’t know why.” “Kashmir . . .” She laughed a little in disbelief. “That’s . . . that’s what love looks like.” “But is it only a trick of Navigation?” I asked, nearly pleading. “And if so, what is truly mine?” “I am.” Her words took me by surprise. She said it so simply—so quiet, so true. Only two words, three letters, one breath, but never had a promise held more meaning. She turned to me then, and in her eyes, I saw not oblivion, but infinity, and the stars were not as bright as her smile.

In every part of the legendary Valley of Kashmir, whatever people might be doing—walking, praying, bathing, cracking jokes, shelling walnuts, making love or taking a bus-ride home—they were in the rifle-sights of a soldier. And because they were in the rifle-sights of a soldier, whatever they might be doing—walking, praying, bathing, cracking jokes, shelling walnuts, making love or taking a bus-ride home—they were a legitimate target.

We live in a world today that lacks loving-kindness and compassion for our fellow man and woman. As Gandhi so eloquently stated, "Be the change that you wish to see in the world." We need to strive to be better, to be the image of selflessness. Love and give to those in need--expecting nothing in return. Give out of sincerity and from the depths of our hearts. Have compassion for every man, woman and child, no matter what ethnicity or background they come from. Love is blind. Love is unconditional. Love has the power to heal and redeem, and that is what Humanity should strive for.

The difference between Hindu cuisine and Muslim cuisine is very easy to explain. In Kashmir the Hindus avoid sexy onions and garlic; they love the taste of heeng (asafetida) and the non-incestuous fennel and ginger. Muslims find heeng (and its sulfurous odor) unbearable. They adore garlic, green praans, garam masala, and on certain occasions, mawal flowers.

It must be said here that ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’ is not an attribute of patriotism, but of deep patriarchy. Extreme mother-love is a camouflage for extreme misogyny. Over the past few years in India, the nature of the violence inflicted on women during rapes, riots and caste retributions is of an order seldom witnessed before in any part of the world, except perhaps, in Bosnia during the civil war, or in the Congo, or in Sri Lanka during the final moments of the pogrom against the civilian Tamil population there. From the barbarity of the jawans of the Assam Rifles on Manorama Devi, to incessant mass rapes by soldiers in Kashmir, to the graphic and horrific brutalities (that were videotaped) on even pregnant women in Gujarat in 2002, to the Nirbhaya case in Delhi, there is no evidence to prove that devotion towards an abstract ‘Bharat Mata’ translates into even a semblance of affection or respect for real flesh-and-blood women. Indeed, here it is only literally the flesh and blood that seems to matter. Add

But you have no understanding of the depths of Kashmiri duplicity, Musa thought but did not say. You have no idea how a people like us, who have survived a history and a geography such as ours, have learned to drive our pride underground. Duplicity is the only weapon we have. You don’t know how radiantly we smile when our hearts are broken. How ferociously we can turn on those we love while we graciously embrace those whom we despise. You have no idea how warmly we can welcome you when all we really want is for you to go away. Your thermometer is quite useless here.

Kashmir...' She laughed a little in disbelief. That's... what love looks like. 'But is it only a trick?' I ask pleading. ' And if so, what is truly mine?' ' I am. ' Her words took me by surprise. She said it so simply- so simply - so quiet, so true. Only two words, three letters, one breath, but never had a promise held more meaning. She turned to me then, and in her eyes, I saw not oblivion, but infinity, and the stars were not as bright as her smile. 'Nix.' I said. And her name was a poem. She tilted her face up to the dawn; my lips met hers. She pressed close to me, and then there was no past, no future- only now. No her. No me. Only us.

Lalla Ruk Dearest dream, my soul's enchantment Lovely guest from heav'n above, Most benevolent attender To the earthly realm below, You gave me blissful satisfaction Momentary but complete: Bringing with you happy tidings - Like a herald from the skies. I dreamed dreams of life eternal In that Promised Land of peace; I dreamed dreams of fragrant regions, Of a tranquil, sweet Kashmir; I could witness celebrations, Festivals of roses vernal Honoring that lovely maiden From lands strange and far away. And, with glistening enchantment Like an angel from above, - This untainted, youthful vision Came before my dreaming eyes; Like a veil, a shining shroud Screened her lovely face from view, Tenderly she did incline Her shy gazes toward the earth. All her traits - her timid shyness Underneath her shining crown, Childlike her animation, And her face's noble beauty - Glowing with a depth of feeling, Sweet serenity and peace - All of these completely artless Indescribably sublime! As I watched, the apparition (Captivating me in passing) Never to return, flew by; I pursued - but it had gone! T'was a vision merely fleeting, Transient illumination Leaving nothing but a legend Of its passing through my life! T'is not ours to harbor Beauty's spirit - Ah, so pure! It comes nigh but for a moment From its heavenly abode; Like a dream, it slips away, Like an airy dream of morning: But in sacred reminiscence It is married with the heart! Only in the purest instants Of our life does it appear Bringing with it revelations Beneficial to our hearts; That our hearts may know of heaven In this earthly shadow realm, It allows us momentary Glimpses through the earthly veil. And through all that here is lovely, All that animates our lives, To our souls it speaks a language Reassuring and distinct; When it quits our earthly region It bestows a gift of love Glowing in our evening heaven: "Tis a farewell star for all to see.

I had become something of a bird man – a passion that has remained with me – and could tell a Himalayan griffon from a bearded vulture and could identify the streaked laughing thrush, the orange bullfinch, Tytler’s leaf warbler and the Kashmir flycatcher, which was threatened then, and must surely by now be extinct. The trouble with being in Dachigam was that it had the effect of unsettling one’s resolve. It underlined the futility of it all. It made one feel that Kashmir really belonged to those creatures. That none of us who were fighting over it – Kashmiris, Indians, Pakistanis, Chinese (they have a piece of it too – Aksai Chin, which used to be part of the old Kingdom of Jammu and Kashmir), or for that matter Pahadis, Gujjars, Dogras, Pashtuns, Shins, Ladakhis, Baltis, Gilgitis, Purikis, Wakhis, Yashkuns, Tibetans, Mongols, Tatars, Mon, Khowars – none of us, neither saint nor soldier, had the right to claim the truly heavenly beauty of that place for ourselves. I was once moved to say so, quite casually, to Imran, a young Kashmiri police officer who had done some exemplary undercover work for us. His response was, ‘It’s a very great thought, Sir. I have the same love for animals as yourself. Even in my travels in India I feel the exact same feeling – that India belongs not to Punjabis, Biharis, Gujaratis, Madrasis, Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, Christians, but to those beautiful creatures – peacocks, elephants, tigers, bears . . .’ He was polite to the point of being obsequious, but I knew what he was getting at. It was extraordinary; you couldn’t – and still cannot – trust even the ones you assumed were on your side. Not even the damn police.

A crow, even in heaven, would eat shit!’ The mind is like that crow; even in the most favourable circumstances, the mind loves to dwell on negativity. You have to train the mind to eat good thoughts. This is the practice of looking for what is expansive and uplifting.

In Shiva, knowledge is perfect, will is perfect, ability is perfect, feeling is perfect. In Shiva there is no time but only eternity. In Shiva too, there is no space as we know it, but only omnipresence. There is total freedom, svatantrya. There is no sequence of events, no steps, nothing outside of Shiva Himself. There is no cause and effect. Everything is known at once in its totality. In Shiva, past and future do not exist separately from the present. In Shiva, other places do not exist separately from this place. In Shiva there is no ‘there and then’, only ‘here and now’. The early Shaivite masters measured time with thought. They held that the smallest unit of time is the ‘moment’, which is the time it takes to have one thought. A meditator soon discovers that past and future are products of his mind alone. He sees that meditation is a struggle to become present. When the mind moves towards future possibilities or broods over past events there occurs a subtle but real diminution of energy. But when the mind stays present, energy is enhanced and uplifted. In every activity in life our enjoyment and our efficiency are increased the more present we are. Whether the activity is watching a movie, playing a sport or making love—the more present we are, the more vivid, full and enjoyable it is. Being present clearly has something to do with our interest in whatever we are doing, and that can affect our emotional engagement with it. Although the Self is ultimately the source of all love and interest, it takes a while to truly focus on it because we are beguiled by false possibilities and superficial goals.

O My Love! Due to your awaking there is a awaking (manifestation) of the world. Due to your slumber there is sleep (disappearance) of it. Therefore all this existing and non-existing world is identical with you - not different from you.

Why Menon got where he did under the patronage of Pandit Nehru remains, and probably will remain, unexplained. Panditji had him elected to Parliament and sent to the United Nations to lead the Indian delegation. His marathon thirteen-hour speech on Kashmir won India a unanimous vote against it. He was then made Defence Minister against the wishes of almost all the members of the Cabinet. He wrecked army discipline by promoting favourites over the heads of senior officers. He was vindictive against those who stood up to him. More than anyone else he was responsible for the humiliating defeat of our army at the hands of the Chinese in 1962. Pandit Nehru stuck by him to the last.

Anybody who criticizes the corporate takeover of Adivasi land is called an antinational “sympathizer” of the banned Maoists. Sympathy is a crime, too. In television studios, guests who try to bring a semblance of intelligence into the debate are shouted down and compelled to demonstrate their loyalty to the nation. This is a war against people who have barely enough to eat one square meal a day. What particular brand of nationalism does this come under? What exactly are we supposed to be proud of? Our lumpen nationalists don’t seem to understand that the more they insist on this hollow sloganeering, the more they force people to say “Bharat Mata ki Jai!” and to declare that “Kashmir is an integral part of India,” the less sure of themselves they sound. The nationalism that is being rammed down our throats is more about hating another country—Pakistan—than loving our own. It’s more about securing territory than loving the land and its people. Paradoxically, those who are branded antinational are the ones who speak about the deaths of rivers and the desecration of forests. They are the ones who worry about the poisoning of the land and the falling of water tables. The “nationalists,” on the other hand, go about speaking of mining, damming, clear-felling, blasting, and selling. In their rule book, hawking minerals to multinational companies is patriotic activity. They have privatized the flag and wrested the microphone.

You’re going to be perfect for him. You’re the girl to keep him in line. My boy is lovely and so smart, though he often forgets to use his brain. I wish his penis wasn’t so large. I think that was where we went wrong. It has to have come from my side of the family, because my husband certainly wasn’t that large. And I was happy with that. It meant he didn’t feel the need to use it on every woman who walked by. And you must get Kashmir to stop having it photographed. It’s unseemly.

Madano! What if I tell you that I often confuse my innerself with a place more like kashmir, and "you" with its seasons for whenever you arrive, i know it is spring in kashmir and whenever you depart, i know it is fall in kashmir.

The pro-independent Kashmir organisations , on the other hand, would love to see the constitutional arrangement be scrapped because Kashmir in their view would then “become a clear Indian military occupation” without a “legal instrument” guiding its relationship with the Indian Union.

Unsurprisingly, the nation’s xenophobia has seeped into popular culture. Bollywood, long known for its extensive Muslim involvement across the entire industry, is being forced to toe the anti-Islam perspective. Many in Bollywood happily pushed the hard-line Hindu nationalist agenda, releasing films that openly celebrated the actions of the Indian armed forces. In a similar vein, the Israeli series Fauda, which features undercover Israeli agents in the West Bank, has been hugely popular among right-wing Indians, looking for a sugar hit of war on terror and anti-Islamist propaganda in a slickly produced format. During the May 2020 Covid-19 lockdown, the right-wing economist Subramanian Swamy, who sits on the BJP national executive, tweeted that he loved Fauda.28 The post-9/11 “war on terror” suited both India and Israel in their plans to pacify their respective unwanted populations. To this end, Israel trained Indian forces in counterinsurgency. Following a 2014 agreement between Israel and India, pledging to cooperate on “public and homeland security,” countless Indian officers, special forces, pilots, and commandoes visited Israel for training. In 2020, Israel refused to screen Indian police officers to determine if they had committed any abuses in India. Israeli human rights advocate Eitay Mack and a range of other activists petitioned the Israeli Supreme Court in 2020 to demand that Israel stop training Indian police officers who “blind, murder, rape, torture and hide civilians in Kashmir.” The court rejected the request, and in the words of the three justices, “without detracting from the importance of the issue of human rights violations in Kashmir.

Made with Angelica , Saffron, almonds, Walnut, Pican,Hazel and whipped cream, Kashmirian's love this cake so much they nicknamed it "the world's best cake". jkmpic@gmail.com

Chinar-Platanus Orientalis The King Tree, is a reminder of the importance of rekindling our respect and love for nature. It is seen as a symbol for the region, and a part of its soul. The disputed region of Kashmir is acknowledged as paradise on earth for its diverse rationale and is known for its rich natural environmental heritage.

And what of the memories Nix had claimed to have? The memories I was missing? Was my mind so malleable a stranger could change it? Were all of my thoughts now suspect? The wounds and the wonders I’d carried from my youth—the dreams and desires I’d fostered for my future . . . the love and longing for the girl who’d stolen my heart?

I have had an affinity for books throughout my life. Ever since I was little, I used to read children’s books and I loved going to book shops and buying books. My father would give me ten rupees to go to the Raina Book Depot in Srinagar, which was a great delight. When I went to Doon [a boarding school in Dehradun] I started reading more extensively. I remember reading many of the P.G. Wodehouse novels, the Sherlock Holmes and Scarlet Pimpernel series, and I loved the classics: War and Peace, A Tale of Two Cities, The Three Musketeers. I subsequently moved to more serious reading: books on philosophy and politics by Plato, Bertrand Russell, Aldous Huxley, Vivekananda, the Arthurian novels by Mary Stewart and the Cretan novels of Mary Renault are some of my favourites. In poetry, I love Yeats, Wordsworth, Sri Aurobindo, Gurudev Tagore, Robert Frost in English; Ghalib, Faiz and Iqbal in Urdu, Dinkar and Tulsidas in Hindi.

night has enveloped, to give me some relief now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief where blood quenches the thirst disloyalty is faith last and first is the religion my beloved belongs to I beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wand let me take her by the hand heard of her about sorcery her powers useless, and witch now about to succumb from just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leila my nights worthless, body breathless every moment, feeling restless be silent and hear, hear me, my cries don't forget the promise you swore I have lost my childhood over you don't know, how these years left me alone sufferings, separation, theft me alone I never knew how pain excrutiates sometimes, i enlivened you my dear Love is a blessing, and not a fear in a melancholy cloudy day, I mourn glistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart torn I gaze from a window in Kashmir For a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighing In sombre time, lifeless, as if dying

this lovely vessel, which looked more like a large yacht than an ocean liner, was utterly devoid of that peculiarly unpleasant odor that is usually so noticeable on large ships.

I've always tried to resemble a brave man. It didn't used to be this hard-and I've had so much practice pretending. After all, when you're a thief, you're always pretending to not be. The same is true when you're poor. And sometimes also when you're in love. I still don't know how it happened. Usually I'm better at guarding what little I have. But one day, I went looking for my heart and found it in Nix's hands.

say it to me. say you love me. before they bomb our existence. Love The Times Of War #Kashmir