Kashmiri Quotes

Everyone wants Kashmir but no one wants Kashmiris. Aren't I a miracle? A seed that survived the slaughter & slaughters to come. I think I believe in freedom I just don't know where it is. I think I believe in home, I just don't know where to look.

The chaiwallah brought sabz chai, Kashmiri-style. It was pink and milky, sprinkled with cardamom and brimming with crushed pistachios and almonds. A romantic tea, I always thought.

One Kashmiri morning in the early spring of 1915, my grandfather Aadam Aziz hit his nose against a frost-hardened tussock of earth while attempting to pray. Three drops of blood plopped out of his left nostril, hardened instantly in the brittle air and lay before his eyes on the prayer-mat, transformed into rubies. Lurching back until he knelt with his head once more upright, he found that the tears which had sprung to his eyes had solidified, too; and at that moment, as he brushed diamonds contemptuously from his lashes, he resolved never again to kiss earth for any god or man. This decision, however, made a hole in him, a vacancy in a vital inner chamber, leaving him vulnerable to women and history. Unaware of this at first, despite his recently completed medical training, he stood up, rolled the prayer-mat into a thick cheroot, and holding it under his right arm surveyed the valley through clear, diamond-free eyes.

What doesn’t belong to us, we have no right to call our own. One can’t win anything by force, ever. That is not what we, Kashmiris do. That is not what we, Indians do.

During Aurangzeb’s rule, which lasted for forty-nine years from 1658 onwards, there were many phases during which Pandits were persecuted. One of his fourteen governors, Iftikhar Khan, who ruled for four years from 1671, was particularly brutal towards the community. It was during his rule that a group of Pandits approached the ninth Sikh Guru, Tegh Bahadur, in Punjab and begged him to save their faith. He told them to return to Kashmir and tell the Mughal rulers that if they could convert him (Tegh Bahadur), all Kashmiri Pandits would accept Islam. This later led to the Guru’s martyrdom, but the Pandits were saved.

From the comfort of distance, [Non resident Indians and Kashmiris] financially and emotionally support ideologies whose consequence they don’t have to face. They are not just a nuisance. As a collective they are dangerous. When men capable of murder receive the affection of engineers and MBAs, it makes them potentially far more lethal.

ascetics who would live in a remote Kashmiri valley. Maybe

Indians who valorize their own struggle for independence from British rule and virtually worship those who led it are for the most part strangely opaque to Kashmiris who are fighting for the same thing.

And it is true you write in Urdu, Kashmiri, and English?” “My daughter talks too much,” he said, evidently pleased. “But she is correct. I find that different languages are useful for different things. For instance, it is best to write poetry in Urdu. Urdu words are made for poetry and songs. For stories, Kashmiri is the best.” “And English?” “English?” He smiled. “English is excellent for signboards and maps.

Srinagar hunches like a wild cat: lonely sentries, wretched in bunkers at the city’s bridges, far from their homes in the plains, licensed to kill . . . while the Jhelum flows under them, sometimes with a dismembered body. On Zero Bridge the jeeps rush by. The candles go out as travelers, unable to light up the velvet Void. What is the blesséd word? Mandelstam gives no clue. One day the Kashmiris will pronounce that word truly for the first time.

And so the 5 months of hyper nationalism bites the chilly winter frost! The 5 point plan got so shady that even the murkiest water of dal couldn't wash the blot on our conscience, proving yet again the resilience of a common Kashmiri to withstand economic doom and social ambiguity from past 140 days and still have Herculean courage to start all over . .... from the grounds up !

The medieval mind, which saw only continuity, seemed so unassailable. It existed in a world which, with all its ups and downs, remained harmoniously ordered and could be taken for granted. It had not developed a sense of history, which is a sense of loss; it had developed no true sense of beauty, which is a gift of assessment. While it was enclosed, this made it secure. Exposed, its world became a fairyland, exceedingly fragile. It was one step from the Kashmiri devotional songs to the commercial jingles of Radio Ceylon; it was one step from the roses of Kashmir to a potful of plasticdaisies.

In history there are no permanent Heroes. Roles keep reversing with time.

The Kashmiri has a huge problem,’ Hashim said. ‘He doesn’t want to speak the truth, he doesn’t want to hear the truth.

The focus should be on Indian atrocities in Kashmir, not on our support for the Kashmiri resistance.

The Kashmiri militants who died fighting the Indian troops were carried like heroes in funeral processions and their comrades-in-arms saluted them with guns. Some of them even became mythical figures. But they were dead. And so were the men they had killed. And that was the only absolute truth. People went home after the funerals and the slogans and continued their lives till the next funeral and the next round of slogans.

One of his fourteen governors, Iftikhar Khan, who ruled for four years from 1671, was particularly brutal towards the community. It was during his rule that a group of Pandits approached the ninth Sikh Guru, Tegh Bahadur, in Punjab and begged him to save their faith. He told them to return to Kashmir and tell the Mughal rulers that if they could convert him (Tegh Bahadur), all Kashmiri Pandits would accept Islam. This later led to the Guru’s martyrdom, but the Pandits were saved.

People still were emotionally connected to the vale by seeing a value in their local cultural life. They were still seriously political and tried to find their identity by inheriting memories from the experiences of each other. For Kashmiris, the struggle to remember never ended.

There is a Kashmiri phrase, chhari daud te mahe adij, “bird milk and mosquito bones,” used when someone is describing things so rare and precious that the listener should question their very existence. It comes to mind whenever I think about that little treasury of items we gathered.

Dinner was the main meal of the day. Sahib had good taste and appetite and a weakness for Kashmiri dishes. Mughlai mutton with turnips, rogan josh, kebab nargisi, lotus roots-n-rhizomes, gongloo, karam saag, the infinitely slow-cooked nahari, and the curd-flavored meatballs of gushtaba.

Dr Ambedkar said, “Mr Abdullah, you want India should defend Kashmir, India should develop Kashmir and Kashmiris should have equal rights as citizens of India, but you don’t want India and any citizen of India to have any rights in Kashmir. I am the Law Minister of India. I cannot betray the interest of my country.

But most unsettling is how this time I notice my own fairness. I notice that while I might be a person of colour among the diaspora back home, or in any white-majority country, here I am the white person. Kashmiris are notable because there are so few of us left, and because we've taken up a privileged space in India. In Toronto, some Indian cab drivers will ask me where my family is from, and when I tell them, they think they're bonding with me when they talk about how much they hate Muslims. Or, in the case that the driver is Muslim, he'll try to bond with me over the trouble with 'the blacks.' All of us struggle towards whiteness.

What should girls read?” Caroline asked, as Anna entered the library. “Everything,” Anna replied. A

How can you say that?' he barked. 'It is they who have forced you out of your homes, turning you into refugees.' I looked him in the eye and said: 'General, I've lost my home, not my humanity.

Most of what we got was crockery: from exotic crystal bowls to ceramic anomalies. Then, a cross-section of rugs- from a beautiful Kashmiri original to a memorable one with printed dragons and utterly incomprehensible hieroglyphics. Dibyendu (typically) gave us a scrabble set and Runai Maashi: that rocking chair. Yuppie work friends, trying to be unique and aesthetically offbeat, went for wind-chimes but there were really far too many of them by the end. We also got a fantastic number of white and off-white kurtas, jamdani sarees with complementary blouses, no less than nine suitcases, suit pieces, imported condoms, bed-sheets, bed-covers, coffee makers, coffee tables, coffee-table books, poetry books, used gifts (paintings of sunsets and other disasters), three nights and four days in Darjeeling, along with several variations of Durga, Ganesh and all the usual suspects in ivory, china, terracotta, papier-mâché, and what have you. Someone gave us a calendar that looking back, I think, was laudably sardonic. Others gave us money, in various denominations: from eleven to five hundred and one. And in one envelope, came a letter for her that she read in tears in the bathroom.’ ('Left from Dhakeshwari')

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.

I'm a Kashmiri , I live in a rogue place. I'm surrounded by conformist , boot licking , people pleasing "herd"! People Safely cocooned in their stereotypical conformist lives, maintaining status quo , they make generic responses  expecting generic answers! 
For someone with an alien mentality like 'mine' , I am an out cast !  But it's 'them' who are the eerie one , like the deadly malignant tumour feeding on its own people ,  A parasite, growing inside the  system! Superficial faces , powdered with lies and deceit ;  people , like controlled robots, In love with their own ignorance !!

Despite their insecurity and despair in an India witnessing the rise of Hindu nationalism, most of my Indian Muslim friends were Indian nationalists. They disagreed with me and other Kashmiri students about our ideas of an independent Kashmir. They were afraid that the secession of a Muslim-majority Kashmir from India would make log worse for India's Muslims. Whenever a cricket match was screened on the television room of our hostel, my Indian Muslim friends cheered, sang and rooted for the Indian Fri let team. Kashmiris cheered for Sri Lanka or Pakistan, or whichever team played against India.

Despite their insecurity and despair in an India witnessing the rise of Hindu nationalism, most of my Indian Muslim friends were Indian nationalists. They disagreed with me and other Kashmiri students about our ideas of an independent Kashmir. They were afraid that the secession of a Muslim-majority Kashmir from India would make life worse for India's Muslims. Whenever a cricket match was screened on the television room of our hostel, my Indian Muslim friends cheered, sang and rooted for the Indian cricket team. Kashmiris cheered for Sri Lanka or Pakistan, or whichever team played against India.

Qatar & The West (The Sonnet) All of a sudden the entire west is peeved at Qatar, Because only the west has exclusive rights to exposure. All of a sudden we care about the migrant workers, The Afghans, Palestinians and Kashmiris no longer matter. Human rights issue here is, we don't care about human rights, We only care about filling the air with hypocrisy and mania. Our poster boy just dumped half his new workforce as garbage, We buy Oscar, ditch Batgirl, and we diss Qatar for buying FIFA! We are just peeved that the Arabs are showing off for a change, Sure it's unacceptable, since showing off is a western tradition. Yes, it's true that the Middle East reeks with human rights issues, But it is also teeming with passion beyond western comprehension. If you really care about human rights stick to a cause for more than a fortnight. Otherwise keep your trap shut, lest you open and be proved a privileged white.

Chef Kishen dazzled the table. I, on the other hand, transport people to dazzling places. But I have never been able to cook like him. His touch was precise. As if music. He appraised fruits, vegetables, meats, with astonishment, and grasped them with humility, with reverence, very carefully as if they were the most fragile objects in the world. Before cooking he would ask: Fish, what would you like to become? Basil, where did you lose your heart? Lemon: It is not who you touch, but how you touch. Learn from big elaichi. There, there. Karayla, meri jaan, why are you so prudish? ... Cinnamon was 'hot', cumin 'cold', nutmeg caused good erections. Exactly: 32 kinds of tarkas. 'Garlic is a woman, Kip. Avocado, a man. Coconut, a hijra... Chilies are South American. Coffee, Arabian. "Curry powder" is a British invention. There is no such thing as Indian food, Kip. But there are Indian methods (Punjabi-Kashmiri-Tamil-Goan-Bengali-Hyderabadi). Allow a dialogue between our methods and the ingredients from the rest of the world. Japan, Italy, Afghanistan. Make something new. Channa goes well with artichokes. Rajmah with brie and parsley. Don't get stuck inside nationalities.

Navin Sapru’s friend, the poet and writer Maharaj Krishan Santoshi, wrote a poem on his death. In ‘Naveen my friend’, Santoshi writes: Naveen was my friend Killed he was, in Habba Kadal while on the tailor’s hanger remained hung his warm coat. Passing as it did through scissors and thread–needle in the tailor’s hand, till the previous day it was merely a person’s coat that suddenly was turned into a Hindu’s coat In the last stanza the poet writes: I used to ask him every time why doesn’t he possess the cunningness of Srinagar I still await his response My friend! Yes, I changed my address since after your murder it ceased to exist the bridge of friendship, this Habba Kadal

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.

The diversity of India is tremendous; it is obvious: it lies on the surface and anybody can see it. It concerns itself with physical appearances as well as with certain mental habits and traits. There is little in common, to outward seeming, between the Pathan of the Northwest and the Tamil in the far South. Their racial stocks are not the same, though there may be common strands running through them; they differ in face and figure, food and clothing, and, of course, language … The Pathan and Tamil are two extreme examples; the others lie somewhere in between. All of them have still more the distinguishing mark of India. It is fascinating to find how the Bengalis, the Marathas, the Gujaratis, the Tamils, the Andhras, the Oriyas, the Assamese, the Canarese, the Malayalis, the Sindhis, the Punjabis, the Pathans, the Kashmiris, the Rajputs, and the great central block comprising the Hindustani-speaking people, have retained their peculiar characteristics for hundreds of years, have still more or less the same virtues and failings of which old tradition or record tells us, and yet have been throughout these ages distinctively Indian, with the same national heritage and the same set of moral and mental qualities.    There was something living and dynamic about this heritage, which showed itself in ways of living and a philosophical attitude to life and its problems. Ancient India, like ancient China, was a world in itself, a culture and a civilization which gave shape to all things. Foreign influences poured in and often influenced that culture and were absorbed. Disruptive tendencies gave rise immediately to an attempt to find a synthesis. Some kind of a dream of unity has occupied the mind of India since the dawn of civilization. That unity was not conceived as something imposed from outside, a standardization of externals or even of beliefs. It was something deeper and, within its fold, the widest tolerance of beliefs and customs was practiced and every variety acknowledged and even encouraged.    In ancient and medieval times, the idea of the modern nation was non-existent, and feudal, religious, racial, and cultural bonds had more importance. Yet I think that at almost any time in recorded history an Indian would have felt more or less at home in any part of India, and would have felt as a stranger and alien in any other country. He would certainly have felt less of a stranger in countries which had partly adopted his culture or religion. Those, such as Christians, Jews, Parsees, or Moslems, who professed a religion of non-Indian origin or, coming to India, settled down there, became distinctively Indian in the course of a few generations. Indian converts to some of these religions never ceased to be Indians on account of a change of their faith. They were looked upon in other countries as Indians and foreigners, even though there might have been a community of faith between them.6

Further, a solution to the Kashmir problem must take into account the interests of India, Pakistan and above all the Kashmiri people (the words ‘above all’ were inserted at the instance of Atal).

Indeed, what Donald Trump, the President of the United States stated, relating to Iran, it waves a reality that, “oppressive regimes cannot endure forever.” I agree; however, I realize that Trump has not, a clue of saying it in the face of determination of Palestinian and Kashmiries, as gravely oppressed people, which he ignores to realize and not dare to have a word for their rights of self-determination. The White House humiliates and rejects the unanimous decisions of the member States of the United Nations, even never realized its oppressive behaviour and actions while the US regime considers that, maintaining of law and order and peace in the protest of a few groups against Iran's elected government as oppressive conduct. I can only suggest to the White House, to abide the values of the United Nations Charter, which the United States signed, and refrain from internal issues of other nations since for that the United Nations can notice such matters. A majority of Irani people, enjoy its system and do not want to change it; it is the White House that wants a change in Iran and the Muslim world. The dignified and honourable people build its societies and living standards, with own resources, not the cost of other countries. I wish Donald Trump a long life, sound health, wisdom and Happy New Year.

Within weeks of his stay, Junaid witnessed the polarization of Pakistan and found a country unevenly divided by class, caste, and culture. As an Indian Kashmiri, Junaid was out of place.

Their harsh reception in Kashmir unsettled the many Khaches who had come to believe a myth of their own making, that as Khache they were Kashmiri. The contradiction between the case the Indian government made for their departure from Tibet, based explicitly on their Kashmiri heritage, and what they encountered when Kashmir refused to accept them as Kashmiri deeply disoriented the entire Khache community.

Faced with the choice of clinging to a Tibetan past or a future in Kashmir, the Khaches who have lived most of their lives in Kashmir have chosen to marry Kashmiris to ease the lives of their children, and they have pressed to be accepted by Kashmiris.

four separate columns launched into Delhi through breaches in the city’s northern and western walls, between Kashmiri Gate and Lahori Gate.

I don’t think Kashmiriyat is dead, nor is Sufism. If we don’t support the idea of Kashmiriyat or the Sufi tradition, it will fade out eventually, because radicalism is increasing. Sheikh Saheb was said to be a pure Musalman but he kept the Jamaat-e-Islami at bay, telling them they were not going to meddle in political life. After him, Farooq was the same way and in fact more aggressive about it, saying that they should close down all the Jamaat schools and that if Delhi funded the state, it would set up its own schools. But he did not get that much support. This is getting compromised. If you don’t do anything about Kashmir, then more and more Wahhabism will come in, as petro-dollars, etc., with their mosques growing and the lectures from their mosques increasing. A couple of years ago I was leaving Srinagar on a Friday and I was startled. Every road I passed had a loudspeaker blaring for the jumme ka namaaz. This never happened earlier. To my surprise, one of the breeding grounds of the fast-spreading radicalism is the Srinagar jail. A Kashmiri who was detained twice under the Public Security Act told me that the atmosphere of radicalism was so suffocating that you felt that you were in a jail inside a jail. So long as the likes of Masarat Alam and Qasim Fakhtoo are given free rein radicalism will grow. While Pakistan remains a factor in Kashmir, the real danger is that radicalism will end up as the lasting political legacy of Kashmir.

According to every patriotic Indian, India was a victim of unprovoked Chinese aggression, and China is in illegal occupation of vast tracts of Indian territory. Although the Hurriyat and its friends in Pakistan do not care for the feelings of India’s citizens, the Hurriyat claims to stand for Kashmiris. How then can it ignore the fact that 42,000 sq miles of Jammu & Kashmir territory have been ceded to the Chinese by the Government of Pakistan? The Hurriyat has never protested against this Pakistani action, nor shown the slightest concern for the Kashmiri inhabitants of the ceded territory. They are China’s slaves, with neither azadi nor jamhooriyat, nor with any guaranteed human rights enjoyed by citizens. The Hurriyat is supremely indifferent to their fate, which is an inconvenience for those playing mercenary politics and depending on Pakistan for a livelihood.

e myth of the Kashmiri women’s dazzling beauty is nowhere more present than it is here in Srinagar – notwithstanding the massive popularity of Katrina Kaif. Women are in large part absent from any real public presence. As and when you see glimpses of them through uttering dupattas and burkhas, it remains a preview to hungry eyes. Where women are beautiful and hidden, there the callous display of their men is intriguing. I see them unmasked as butchers, woodcutters, bus drivers, vegetable vendors, oarsmen, bakers, wool dyers, in the old and the new. Men in a laborious mien. No one is re ned, there is no polish, no nesse; these men are designed by a living that makes no small change for vanity.

Those eyes that stared at us for one and a half hours – they were forgiving eyes, understanding eyes. We Kashmiris do not need to speak to each other any more in order to understand each other. We do terrible things to each other, we wound and betray and kill each other, but we understand each other.

Jabbar Khan blundered by persecuting Hindu Kashmiris. Many of them left the Valley,

I was quite pleased with myself, and sent in my office note to the ZM. Later that day, he called me into his cabin, flung my suggestions on the table and growled, “Thank your stars, Kashmiri Lal, that my son got into IIT today and I am in a good mood, else I would have fired you for these idiotic suggestions. Now leave, before I change my mind.

On one level, this reawakening of the relationship between the refugees in India and the Khaches in Srinagar is related to the fact that the Srinagar Tibetan Muslims have, through their status in Kashmir as “non-state subjects,” come as close as one can to being refugees. Despite having lived in Srinagar for over six decades, the Khache still remain outsiders, owing to the political constraints that have made their acceptance by the Kashmiri community difficult. While always citizens of India, they are refused “citizenship” in Kashmir. Their status as citizens of India but refugees in Kashmir has caused many Kashmiri to confuse the Khaches’ situation with that of the Uyghurs and Kazaks who had arrived as refugees in the early 1950s, suggesting it was the Kashmiri government in 1959 that granted the Khache citizenship and settled them in Srinagar.112 There is great irony in noting that it was in Lhasa that foreigners often cast the Khache as Kashmiri and now, having settled in their ancestral homeland of Kashmir, they are treated as Tibetan.

Today, most Khaches in Srinagar prefer to be called “Kashmiri,” and they bristle at any implication that they are Tibetan. As one Tibetan Muslim explained, “In Tibet we are called Kashmiris and in Kashmir we are being called Tibetan.”113 When asked to comment further by a Kashmiri newspaper reporter, one elder Khache explained, “We are basically Kashmiri, but people still call us Tibetans, which hurts us.”114 Another puts an even a sharper edge to his response, “Don’t call us Tibetans. We are not refugees. We are Kashmiris.”115 One could perhaps dismiss these responses as a reflection of lingering fears from a bygone era if such distinctions did not remain of consequence. When asked, many younger Kashmiris expressed disbelief and even exasperation about their parents’ or grandparents’ decision to settle in Kashmir, a place where they were unwelcome, even as other Khaches lead relatively more prosperous lives in Kathmandu, Kalimpong, and Darjeeling. Like many second-generation immigrants, this younger generation feels only a distant tie to their grandparents’ homeland. “Even if tomorrow Tibet might be liberated from China, we will stay here only,” said twenty-year-old Irfan Trumboo.

Mr. Prime Minister, how long do we only condemn Indian immoral hegemony and violation of United Nations Security Council's resolutions. Stich your lips or defend Kashmiris, as Tit for Tat; do not wait for unfair states to resolve this dispute, Pakistan and its forces for what exists?indian

It is in the power of remembering that the self’s ultimate freedom consists. I am free because I remember. —Abhinavagupta, tenth-century Kashmiri philosopher and mystic

How can we comprehend the era from 1947 till 1989 – which Kashmiris see as ‘the lull before the storm’ – while in the Indian narrative it is reified as ‘peaceful’?

These young Kashmiris are symbolic not only of India committing human rights abuses, but more significantly, the country’s deep neglect of the demand for Kashmir’s sovereignty and self-determination. The continuing resistance in Kashmir, and the relentless struggle for self-determination and independence from India is not only a political fact but has become part of the cultural legacy of Kashmiris.

Just because Jews intruders started living on Palestinian land and finally become majority doesn't mean its not Palestinian land any more ?

The glorious reign of Sheikh Noor-ud-Din, Sheikh-Ul-Alam and by the title Alamdar-e-Kashmir ("Flag Bearer of Kashmir"), served as a beacon light to the Kashmiris of later generations, particularly during the many depressing days of political subjugation.

Kahwa—also known as Saffron tea , and referred to as the "drink of the soul"—is a Kashmiri saffron tea lightly flavored with Ginkgo biloba, German Chamomil and saffron.

Constant fear is the dominant feeling in all Kashmiri housholds

In 2021, the New York State Assembly passed a resolution calling on the Governor of New York to recognize the day as Kashmir American Day. According to the resolution, the day is meant to recognize New York's Kashmiri community and to "champion human rights including the freedom of religion".

grinding Kashmiri red chilies, garlic, cumin, peppercorns and tamarind into a smooth but thick paste using vinegar. The masala was versatile and could be used with other seafood dishes;

Break me, Hurt me, Betray with me. I will not do anything with you, the time will take my revange.

The blood of many a brave Tamilian, Andhra, Malayalee and Coorgi’, it said, ‘has soaked into the fertile soil of Kashmir and mixed with the blood of the Kashmiri patriots, cementing for ever the unity of the North and the South.

دل کی سرزمین" (Dil Ki Sarzameen) میری دل کی سرزمین پر کبھی اولے جو تھے برسے میری فصل بھی مٹی اور میرا آشیاں بھی ٹوٹا مجھ میں جو رہتے تھے میرے جو ہوتے تھے نہ تو اُن کا نام کہیں نہ کہیں نشان چھوٹا جو چھپے تھے راز دل میں جو تھی اُن سُنی کہانی وہ کِتاب جل گئی اور بنا مدفن ہے اُس کا

The Land of Heart” On the land of my heart Where once seeds were sown and it rained, My harvest turned to dust, And my dwelling shattered. Those who used to reside within me, Who used to be mine, Neither their names were spoken Nor did any trace remain. The secrets hidden in my heart, The untold stories that were there, That book burned down, And became its tomb.

The worst hypocrisy is that you are not willing to stand with Palestinians and Kashmiris because of your interests, and you even trigger a Veto against them. The world is not unaware and unfair, but you are undoubtedly.

It is well known that the term ‘Pakistan’, an acronym, was originally thought up in England by a group of Muslim intellectuals. P for the Punjabis, A for the Afghans, K for the Kashmiris, S for Sind and the ‘tan’, they say, for Baluchistan. (No mention of the East Wing, you notice; Bangladesh never got its name in the tide, and so, eventually, it took the hint and seceded from the secessionists. Imagine what such a double secession does to people!) – So it was a word born in exile which then went East, was borne-across or translated, and imposed itself on history; a returning migrant, settling down on partitioned land, forming a palimpsest on the past. A palimpsest obscures what lies beneath. To build Pakistan it was necessary to cover up Indian history, to deny that Indian centuries lay just beneath the surface of Pakistani Standard Time. The past was rewritten; there was nothing else to be done. Who commandeered the job of rewriting history? – The immigrants, the mohajirs. In what languages? – Urdu and English, both imported tongues, although one travelled less distance than the other. It is possible to see the subsequent history of Pakistan as a duel between two layers of time, the obscured world forcing its way back through what-had-been-imposed. It is the true desire of every artist to impose his or her vision on the world; and Pakistan, the peeling, fragmenting palimpsest, increasingly at war with itself, may be described as a failure of the dreaming mind. Perhaps the pigments used were the wrong ones, impermanent, like Leonardo’s; or perhaps the place was just insufficiently imagined, a picture full of irreconcilable elements, midriffbaring immigrant saris versus demure, indigenous Sindhi shalwar-kurtas, Urdu versus Punjabi, now versus then: a miracle that went wrong.

Relationships do require effort and patience, and sometimes holding on during tough times can lead to deeper connections. Holding on during difficult times can show resilience and commitment. Communication and understanding are key in resolving conflicts.

My heart is aching and burning, With every beat, I feel the yearning. Are you not feeling my pain, As tears fall like a gentle rain? In the silence of the night, Your absence casts a haunting light. Memories of your smile so bright, Now shadowed by this endless fight. I long to hold you close, my dear, To whisper words that you can hear. But distance keeps us far apart, And sorrow fills my weary heart. Each moment without you feels like a year, As I navigate this sea of fear. For in your absence, I am but a shell, Lost in a world where I once knew well. So hear my plea, my love so true, Let's mend what's broken, start anew. For life without you is but despair, My heartache, my love, please handle with care.

How to Prove my love” In the shadows of night, my heart does confide, Tell me, oh tell me, how to prove my love's guide. In this world of doubts, how do I find my way? Show me a path, where my love can truly sway. The stars above witness my love's pure decree, But how do I prove it, if no one believes me? Guide me, oh guide me, in this love's lonely chase, How do I prove my love in this endless race? My heart's true desire, a love that won't cease, But how do I prove it, and find my heart's peace? So tell me, dear soul, the way to love's release, How do I prove my love, and let my heart find peace?

We all know Jews have a well connected network around the world cuz they are hated everywhere. So what's stopping Hindus from doing the same given they too get similar hatred?

If someone enters your house and makes you hostage, captures all your belongings and makes all the decision related to your house, what will you think about this infiltrator? The same are the feelings of Kashmiris about India. India entered Kashmir on the request of Maharaja who wanted to save his own hegemony. But the people of Kashmiri wanted the right to determine their own future. India also accepted this right before the United Nations and now refusing to grant this right to Kashmiris, so how can Kashmiris be happy with India?

Gazal of Janid Kashmiri {NAHI HAI GHAM SIRF TUM KO } Nahi hai gham sirf tum ko, Mujhe bhi gham hai bohot jana, Ye zindagi ki raahon mein, Hai humne dukh se bhi takrana. Tumhare aansoon hain qeemti, Mere bhi dard hain kahin chhupay, Par humko mil kar chalna hai, Har mushkil se humko ladna hai. Raat ke andheron se darte nahi, Subah ki roshni ko paana hai, Dil mein umeedon ka chirag jalao, Har rukh ko roshan kar dena hai. Ghamon ki baarishon mein bhi, Sang rahe humara pyaar, Ek doosre ka saath denge, Mushkil ghadiyon ko aasan karenge. Tum ho meri zindagi ka rang, Meri khushi, meri duniya ho, Mushkil raahon pe chal kar bhi, Har manzil tumse hi roshan ho. To chalo saath hum mil kar, Har gham ko hum saath sahenge, Mere haath mein tumhara haath ho, Har dukh ko hum khushiyon mein badal denge.

Head is Heavy" Head is heavy with the load of pressure, The pressure that I bought unwillingly. A burden passed from hands I trust, Now rests on me, relentlessly. They say it's life, this endless fight, To pay the debts that hold me tight. Each step I take, a sigh of pain, And every dream, a fading light. Once I walked with hopes held high, But now I stumble, wonder why. The weight of bills, the cost of time, Leaves me drowning in a silent cry. Middle-class dreams, now feel so far, Crushed beneath this heavy bar. I wear a smile, though deep inside, I'm lost in waves I can't outride. Depression whispers in my ear, You'll never win, it's all too near. I long for peace, but find despair, In every shadow, every stare. I didn’t ask for this, nor choose, The life where I was born to lose. But still I stand, though frail and small, Fighting debts that never fall. Perhaps one day, I’ll rise above, With strength unknown, and unseen love. But for now, I carry on, In a world where hope seems almost gone.

INTENTIONS My intentions are pure, no malice inside Yet I’m being ruined, crushed by the tide I dreamt of goodwill with every step I took But my desires went unseen, no one gave a look I wished peace for all, just a moment of rest But in return, my heart carried only unrest I hid my tears behind every smile I made Yet no one saw the sorrow that stayed I wanted to see them happy, free from pain But my prayers vanished, like whispers in rain This question haunts my mind again and again Why do my pure intentions bring me only pain? My heart is sincere, but all I receive is scars Each effort I make shatters like fallen stars

TU Zindagi mein meri bas tu hi tu hai, Har khwab mein meri bas tu hi tu hai. Har saans mein jo bas gaya hai khushbu banke, Us mehka hua jahan mein bas tu hi tu hai. Mere labon pe tera zikr sada hai, Mere har qissa-e-gham mein bas tu hi tu hai. Chaand ke saath jo guftagu karun raaton mein, Wahan bhi mere lafzon mein bas tu hi tu hai. Jahan nazar uthaoon, tera chehra dikhta hai, Har manzar ke rangon mein bas tu hi tu hai. Zindagi mein meri bas tu hi tu hai, Har khwab mein meri bas tu hi tu hai.

MAR MAR KE JE RAHA HUN Je je ke mar raha hun, Mar mar ke je raha hun, Dil ka haal ye hai, bas Jise zehar pi raha hun. Khud se hi bair hai ab, Duniya se kya gila hai, Jashn-e-gham manata Aansu mein pi raha hun. Uljhnein meri saheli, Aansu mere saathi hai, Pal pal bikhar ke janid, Apni zindagi ji raha hun.

کہاں جاؤں گا خبر نہیں نکل رہا ہوں، کہاں جاؤں گا خبر نہیں چھوڑ آیا ہوں سب کچھ، دل کو قرار نہیں۔ گھر کے آنگن کی خوشبو، یادوں کا لمس سب کو چھوڑ آیا، کوئی آثار نہیں۔ تنہا ہوں مگر تیری یاد ساتھ ہے یہ بوجھ بھی اٹھا رہا ہوں، کوئی غمخوار نہیں۔ نہ جانے راہیں کہاں لے جائیں گی مجھے بس دل میں تیری محبت ہے، اور کچھ درکار نہیں۔ نہ منزلوں کی فکر ہے، نہ راستوں کا پتہ بس قدموں کو چلنے دیا، کوئی ہمدردی کارگر نہیں۔ میں چھوڑ آیا ہوں اپنی دنیا کا ہر نشاں مگر تیرا نقش دل سے مٹنے کو تیار نہیں۔ ہوا کا رخ بدلتا جائے، وقت بھی دشمن بنے تیرے بغیر یہ زندگی، کچھ بھی خوشگوار نہیں۔

The oldest among Kashmiris often claim that their is nothing new about their condition, that they they have been slaves of foreign rulers since the sixteenth century, when the Moghul emperor Akbar annexed Kashmir and appointed a local governer to rule the state. In the chaos of post-Moghul India, the old empire rapidly disintegrating, Afghani and Sikh invaders plundered Kashmir at will. The peasantry was taxed and taxed into utter wretchedness; the cultural and intellectual life, which under indigenous rulers had produced some of the greatest poetry, music, and philosophy in the subcontinent, dried up. Barbaric rules were imposed in the early nineteenth century, a Sikh who killed a native of Kashmir was fined nothing more than two rupees. Victor Jacquemont, a botanist and friend of Stendahl's who came to the valley in 1831, thought that "nowhere else in India were the masses as poor and denuded as they were in Kashmir.

I hadn't then really noticed the Kashmiris. They did appear very different with their pale, long-nosed faces, their pherans, their strange language, so unlike any Indian language. They also seemed oddly self-possessed. But in the enchanting new world that had opened before me- the big deep blue skies and the tiny boats becalmed in vast lakes, the cool trout streams and the stately forests of chenar and poplar, the red-cheeked children at roadside hamlets and in apple orchards, the cows and sheep grazing on wide meadows, and, always in the valley, the surrounding mountains- in so private an experience of beauty it was hard to acknowledge the more prosaic facts of their existence; the dependence upon India, the lack of local industry, the growing number of unemployed educated youth.

The idea of India is plural and inclusive. The Constitution of India is flexible and accomodative. As it stands, India incorporates a greater variety of religions (whether born in its soil or imported) than any other nation in human history. It has, among things, a Sikh majority state (the Punjab), three Christian majority states (Mizoram, Nagaland and Meghalaya), a Muslim majority state (Jammu and Kashmir), Muslim majority districts in Kerala and West Bengal, and districts dominated by Buddhists in Kashmir and Arunachal. India also has a greater variety of languages and literatures than any other nation, and a federal form of government. If flexibility is promoted more sincerely and accomodation implemented more faithfully, one can yet arrive at a resolution which allows for real autonomy, such that Manipuris and Nagas and Kashmiris have the freedom both to determine the pattern of their lives in their own state, and to seek, if they so wish, opportunities to work and live in the other states of the Union.

The Madras journal, for its part, responded by printing a lyrical paean to the union of Kashmir with India. ‘The blood of many a brave Tamilian, Andhra, Malayalee and Coorgi’, it said, ‘has soaked into the fertile soil of Kashmir and mixed with the blood of the Kashmiri patriots, cementing for ever the unity of the North and the South.

It was eventually remembered by Kashmiris as the moment when various militant factions came together against the state – unity of an unintended kind.

Irshad Malik, the Kashmiri militant now in London (who Firdous had wanted me to bring back to India when I was at R&AW), once said to me about PoK: ‘Uss taraf kya hai? Pakistan mein kya hai? Aap kyon fiqar karte hain? Inko jaane dijiye, paar dekhne dijiye, udhar kuchh bhi nahin hain.’ He said that Srinagar airport—and he obviously hadn’t been to Srinagar airport in at least twenty-four years—was better than any Pakistani airport. Hotels in Kashmir are as good as any in the world. ‘They have nothing there,’ he said. You should publicise these facts, he said to me: ‘Aapko toh film banani chahiye.

a ‘pundit’ is an indigenous Kashmiri Hindu or the descendant of one. You see,” he explained, “while the majority of present-day Kashmiris are Moslems, they were originally Hindus. It was only in the fourteenth century that they were converted, mostly by force, to become Moslems. Those who succeeded in remaining Hindus are known as ‘pundits.’ You find them all over India, where they are well known for their acuteness and subtlety of mind, their quick-wittedness and their intelligence.

Which country do you want to join, India or Pakistan?” It was surprising how many of those Kashmiris could speak English and still more surprising to find that the majority of the answers could be summed up as follows: “A plague on both countries. What we want is peace and a return to the days of Thomas Cook!” Occasionally a man would sigh for the return of Kashmir’s maharajah;

Persons with Disability (PWD), Ex-Serviceman (XSM), Kashmiri Migrant (KM). Please refer to the Norms for the same. There are 394 vacancies for the above position (200 Electronics, 120 Mechanical, 57 Computer Science,

At our own wedding, Stephen was sponsored by Kevin’s kebab van and the Kashmiri Palace – and our honeymoon was paid for by a company called Candid Camera Midnight Movies Ltd, although I’ve still no idea what they got out of it.

...the War on Terror is in fact a war against Islam. After all, this was never conceived of as a war against terror per se. If it were, it would have included the Basque separatists in Spain, the Christian insurgency in East Timor, the Hindu/Marxist Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka, the Maoist rebels in eastern India, the Jewish Kach and Kahane underground in Israel, the Irish Republican Army, the Sikh separatists in the Punjab, the Marxist Mujahadin-e khalq, the Kurdish PKK, and so on. Rather, this is a war against a particular brand of terrorism: that employed exclusively by Islamic entities, which is why the enemy in this ideological conflict gradually and systematically expanded to include not just the persons who attacked America on September 11, 2001, and the organisations that supported them, but also an ever-widening conspiracy of disparate groups such as Hamas in Palestine, Hizbullah in Lebanon, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, the clerical regime in Iran, the Sunni insurgency in Iraq, the Chechen rebels, the Kashmiri militants, the Taliban, and any other organisation that declares itself Muslim and employs terrorism as a tactic.

some of the Kashmiris belong to the lost tribes of Israel. In fact, there exists today in Srinagar the tomb of the man who founded the sect of Quadiani, whose theory is that a certain saint named Yus Asaf, who preached in many of the same parables as Christ, was indeed Jesus himself.

A kangra consists of a basket lined with earthenware and filled with glowing charcoal When winter comes a Kashmiri carries it with him wherever he goes

The first time Avis knelt on a chair and stirred eggs into flour to make a vanilla cake, she had an inkling of how higher orders of meaning encircle the chaos of life. Where philosophy, she already intuited, created only thought- no beds made, no children fed- in other rooms there were good things like measuring spoons, thermometers, and recipes, with their lovely, interwoven systems and codes. Avis labored over her pastries: her ingredient base grew, combining worlds: preserved lemons from Morocco in a Provencal tart; Syrian olive oil in Neapolitan cantuccini; salt combed from English marshes and filaments of Kashmiri saffron secreted within a Swedish cream. By the time Avis was in college, her baking had evolved to a level of exquisite accomplishment: each pastry as unique as a snowflake, just as fleeting on the tongue: pellucid jams colored cobalt and lavender, biscuits light as eiderdown.

You crossed over? You were trained in Pakistan?’ Naga asked Aijaz once he was sure Ashfaq Mir was out of earshot. ‘No. I was trained here. In Kashmir. We have everything here now. Training, weapons . . . We buy our ammunition from the army. It’s twenty rupees for a bullet, nine hundred for –’ ‘From the army?’ ‘Yes. They don’t want the militancy to end. They don’t want to leave Kashmir. They are very happy with the situation as it is. Everybody on all sides is making money on the bodies of young Kashmiris. So many of the grenade blasts and massacres are done by them.

Nothing,’ said Kaushalya wistfully. ‘The sun will rise. The birds will chirp and the city will go about its business. The world does not need us, my husband. We need the world. Come, let us go inside and prepare for Bharata’s coronation. Fortunes and misfortunes come and go but life continues.’ The motif of the beloved leaving on a chariot is a recurring one in the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Ram leaves Ayodhya on his chariot and the people of Ayodhya try to stop him. Krishna leaves Vrindavan on his chariot and the milkmaids of Vrindavan try to stop him by hurling themselves before the chariot. Krishna does not keep his promise to return but Ram does. Unlike the departure of the Buddha that takes place in secret, Ram’s departure is public, with everyone weeping as the beloved is bound by duty to leave. Ram’s stoic calm while leaving the city is what makes him divine in the eyes of most people. He does what no ordinary human can do; he represents the acme of human potential. According to the Kashmiri Ramayana, Dashratha weeps so much that he becomes blind. Guha, the Boatman The chariot stopped when it reached the banks of the river Ganga. ‘Let us rest,’ said Ram. So everyone sat on the ground around the chariot. Slowly, the night’s events began to take their toll. People began to yawn and stretch. No sooner did their heads touch the ground than they fell asleep. Sita saw Ram watching over the people with a mother’s loving gaze. ‘Why don’t you sleep for some time?’ asked Sita. ‘No, the forest awaits.’ As the soft sounds of sleep filled the air, Ram alighted from the chariot and told Sumantra, ‘We will take our leave as they sleep. When they awaken tell the men and women of Ayodhya that if they truly love me, they must return home. I will see you, and them, again in fourteen years. No eclipse lasts forever.’ Ram walked upriver. Sita and Lakshman followed him. Sumantra watched them disappear into the bushes. The sky was red by the time they reached a village of fisherfolk; the sun would soon be up. ‘Guha,’ Ram

You seem worried. Do not be; this burly fellow is merely our waiter, and there is no need to reach under your jacket, I assume to grasp your wallet, as we will pay him later, when we are done. Would you prefer regular tea, with milk and sugar, or green tea, or perhaps their more fragrant specialty, Kashmiri tea? Excellent choice. I will have the same, and perhaps a plate of jalebis as well. There. He has gone. I must admit, he is a rather intimidating chap. But irreproachably polite: you would have been surprised by the sweetness of his speech, if only you understood Urdu.

Hair cut shows which class these people belong . Kashmiris of the area under restrictions like curfew. Eye opener! Modi’s partipation in Yoga day 2024 in Kashmir.

Sab Khafa hai” Zindagi ke mod pe aisa aa poncha hun Mohabbat bhi naraaz, dost bhi khafa hai Ghar ke log bhi mujh se door ho gaye hai Aur khwabon ki duniya bhi veeran pari hai Dil ki har dhadkan mein dard ka shor hai Har saans mein bechaini ka dor hai Taleem ki rahein bhi ajnabi ho gayi Har rasta jaise andheron mein gum hai Mohabbat ke chiragh bujhne ko hai Doston ki baatein ab bojh ban gayi hai Ghar ka sukoon bhi kahin kho sa gaya Zindagi ki ronaqein jaise chhup si gayi hai Ansuon ki qatar, ghamon ki bahar hai Har khwab adhura, har khwahish beqarar hai Mohabbat ka rang, ab dhundhla sa para hai Aur dil ki har umeed, bujh si gayi hai Zindagi ke is safar mein tanha sa hun Jahan koi bhi saathi nahin mera Mohabbat ho, dosti ho, ya taleem ka rasta Sab kuch ab bikra, sab kuch hai veeran Phir bhi yeh dil kehta hai, umeed rakhoon Andheron ke baad roshni zaroor aaye gi Khwab phir se sajain ge, dil phir se chamke ga Zindagi ke is safar mein ek naya sooraj ubhrey ga

Swatantrya Shakti is one with God consciousness. There are not two elements, such as the mirror and the object which is reflected in the mirror. The reflected and the reflection are one. The mirror which is the absolutely independent will of God(swatantrya) us God consciousness

Dua" Yeh jo rahein tumne li hain Hum duago hain yeh sab hamwaar hon Khawab jo tumne sanware the dil mein Woh haqeeqat ki soorat namoodar hon Har qadam par mile tumko kamiyabi Zindagi mein khushi ke hazaron bahar hon Har museebat se tumko bachaye Khuda Saya-e-Rehmat tum pe hamesha barqarar hon Aaney walay dino mein ho roshan safar Tumhare liye khushi ke ambaar hon Yeh jo ilm ka khazana tumne paya hai Iski roshni tumhare gird hisaar ho Tum jahan bhi jao, roshni ho har qadam Andheron se tumhara koi wasita na ho Mohabbat ki khushboo tumhare sang chale Har dil mein tumhare liye pyar ho Gham ke saaye kabhi tum par na aayein Tumhari zindagi hamesha khushgawar ho Humari duaein hain, har pal tumhare saath Tumhari har dua bhi qubool o aashkaar ho

Waiting for You” I wait for you in every passing hour, Longing to see you, to feel your power. In the silence of the night, I dream of your face, Holding your hand in a warm embrace. Every moment without you feels like a year, My heart whispers your name, so soft, so clear. I wish to talk to you, to share my soul, To tell you that with you, I feel whole. I love you with a depth words cannot convey, In your presence, my worries melt away. I want to hold your hand, never let go, Through every joy, through every woe. I wait for you, my love, with all my heart, Hoping soon, we'll never be apart. In every breath, in every sigh, It's you I love, until the day I die.

Note: Whether Kamala Harris or Donald Trump becomes president of the USA, there will be changes; nothing nor the world will be able to enjoy peace and human rights. However, one change will be definite if Kamala takes the black presidential oath in the White House atmosphere. A man of accusations, Trump should enjoy the retirement of life with beauties. An open letter, which Ehsan Sehgal wrote to him, is republished in Medium to realize his political character and role.  Dear President of the USA, Donald Trump  Your Excellency,  Equality, justice, harmony, and love, within the concept and context of security and respect, are for the entire humanity, not only for the USA and its people. Global peace lies in a step that pulls out your troops from the Muslim States and stops interfering with its systems and way of life; all terrorists will disappear, and peace shall prevail.  One should realize the atrocities of Israel against Palestinians’ determination and India against Kashmiris that the United Nations and its Security Council failed to resolve and solve those disputes under the umbrella of the USA. Consequently, each one of us faces the consequences.  You, as a leader of a great nation, ought to be great and noble. It is possible if you change your distinctive thoughts and policies, you may change human history, becoming the historical leader of the entire humanity that suffers from injustice, hunger, and death.  As far as I know, the Pakistan Armed Forces have devotedly and significantly sacrificed along with the Armed Forces of the USA for global peace, so never degrade your national pride by ignoring, denying, and forgetting the sacrifice of Pakistani men and women, which they are still paying. You should cooperate instead of becoming influenced by the opposing third party to accuse Pakistan. They are a peaceful nation and are determined to stand along with the US forces to eliminate all sorts of terrorists for world peace. God bless you.  Ehsan Sehgal

Mera ishq Mazak nahi hai Jaana” Mazaq mein hoon, mazaq meri zindagi Magar mera ishq mazaq nahi hai jaana Teri yaadon mein basa hai mera dil Yeh dard, yeh haal, faraq nahi hai jaana Har pal tujhe sochta hoon mein tanhai mein Yeh khwab, yeh khayal, saraab nahi hai jaana Mere ashkon mein chhupi hai teri kahani Yeh dastaan, yeh bayaan, khaali nahi hai jaana Har lamha tujh se mohabbat karta hoon mein Yeh wada, yeh qasam, adakaari nahi hai jaana Mazaq mein hoon, mazaq meri zindagi Magar mera ishq mazaq nahi hai jaana

Tumhare bina zindagi" Main tumhare sath hamesha hoon, bas ye baat samajh lo Meri mohabbat sacchi hai, is ko apna yaqeen maan lo Tumhare bina zindagi, bas ek khaali kitaab hai Meri har saans tumhare naam, is ko apna khwab maan lo Ye jo shak ke saaye hain, inhein tum door kar do Meri wafa ko samjho, meri jaan, is ko apna haq maan lo Main jo toota hoon, ye tumhare gham mein hai Meri mohabbat ki shiddat, is ko apni aas maan lo Tum se bicharna, ye mera naseeb nahi ho sakta Meri jaan, mere dil ki baat sun lo, mujhe apna naseeb maan lo Jo dard tumhare dil mein hai, wo mere dil mein hai Meri mohabbat ki gawahi, is ko apna sukoon maan lo Main tumhara tha, tumhara hoon, aur tumhara rahoonga Meri jaan, is haqeeqat ko apne dil mein amanat maan lo Ab jo dil mein basa hai, wahi rahega hamesha Mere ishq ki shiddat, is ko apni jaan ka hissa maan lo Shaista, meri pyari Shaista, bas itni si guzarish hai Meri jaan, mujhe apna samajh lo, aur kabhi chhod ke mat jao