Corridors Of College(The Last Smile: A Father's Love Story by Jeevan Zutshi)

 

Living in Kashmir in 1962 was a great time for me personally, as I anticipated going to a professional college. I had applied at various engineering colleges and had received an admission letter from M.B.M Engineering College, which had a very good reputation in those days. It was located in Jodhpur, in the state of Rajasthan. 

Jodhpur is quite a distance from Kashmir and the train was the most economic mode of transportation from Delhi, but my father bought me an air ticket and financed my education and recreational activities. Those movies were the only entertainment that we knew of in those days. We would rent a bike and ride the few miles to the theater. Recalling it now, I realize how innocent the youth of my day were; we enjoyed such simple pleasures, such as riding my bike to catch the latest Bolywood flick. Once, I returned home to visit my family. 

We did not have trains in Jammu and Kashmir, so it was quite an experience to travel from Jodhpur to Delhi by train. I found myself in a third-class compartment with coal dust on my hair and face. Yet it was a lot of fun! I only studied one year in Jodhpur, for my mother had missed me too much and my uncle Bansi had recently returned from Europe to take up a faculty position in the Department of Electrical Engineering at the college I would next attend in Srinagar. 

I applied for a transfer and was accepted, of course, with the help of my father and Uncle Bansi. In late 1963, I was admitted to the University of Kashmir to attend Regional Engineering College at Srinagar. However, before I could join, I fell sick with typhoid. I stayed with my grandparents in Srinagar, confined to my bed. Babuji, my grandfather, took care of me like a nurse. Although I was young, I still recall that phase of my life as vividly as I lived it in that miserable fall of 1963. Finally, after a month, I was well enough to attend classes at my new college and to move into the college dormitory. Despite my rigorous schedule, including my study of civil engineering, I was not oblivious to the increasingly incendiary conflict back home. 

In fact, I would come to understand that my placid existence thus far belied the reality of Kashmir's larger situation: in truth, my entire life had been lived up to that point in what could only be termed a very fragile peace. For awhile, I found life at college less than exciting, and it appeared to me that I was not interested in becoming an engineer. But I moved on with it, because there was nothing else to do. Then Pakistan invaded Kashmir in spring of 1965, bringing with it the largest amassing of troops in Kashmir The Last Smile 24 Chapter Three - Corridors Of College 25 since the partition of India in 1947, which had occurred in the aftermath of the first outbreak between Muslims and Hindus. Pakistan's “Operation Gibraltar” was aimed to incite the region's Muslim population to throw off Indian rule. 

Although Pakistan did not succeed in its goal and the conflict was relegated to the armies at the border of the two countries, the five-week war caused thousands of casualties on both sides. It ended in a United Nations (UN) mandated ceasefire and the subsequent issuance of the Tashkent declaration. It turned out that Srinagar would offer me an education in more than civil engineering; the harmony I saw in my youth was disrupted by sometimes violent acts between the Muslims and non-Muslims. The fights at the cricket games had been only a precursor of what was to come; this newly seen violence was very different. 

The vicious and destructive side to this anger was becoming ever more clear. Although the violence served as a constant reminder to be alert, I continued to enjoy the five years I spent at the university. On weekends, my fellow students and I would take hikes in the hills. We would bring our lunches and go on boat rides out on the lakes. Kashmir is a truly beautiful place and the views from the hills looking out over the lakes are something to behold. This was indeed the best of times for me. 

When I was not in school or with my friends, I was at my mother's parents' home, about six miles from my dorm. Mine was not a remarkable life, but I enjoyed the rather typical life that a college student in any country is afforded. I enjoyed weekends with my friends, studying during the week, visiting my grandparents whenever I could, and going home to Sopore to visit my parents, sisters, and brother during school breaks. In such a way, the years flew by. Soon I had only one more year to go. 

I was quite excited about my future. However, in my fourth year at the university, the conflict that had been mostly dormant in my childhood broke through my placid existence: I became a victim of the violence I had worked so hard (both inwardly and outwardly) to avoid. When violence happens, you may push the reason for it out of your mind. And so it was for me. I did not spend much time thinking of the conflict between the two counties. 

Perhaps that was in part due to my upbringing, under the generous, unbiased guidance of my father. However, there was also the reality on campus. Although the campus was filled with Muslims, I did not perceive either political or religious tensions in our daily interactions. But they suddenly surfaced during a cricket match between India and Pakistan. All the students were glued to a radio, listening to the cricket match commentator. He said that a run had been scored against India by Pakistan; however, subsequently that run was disallowed. 

The spirits of all the Kashmiri Muslims were dampened by that refuted run. Some booing by non-Muslim students ultimately led to a riot. The dormitories were ablaze. Amid the chaos that ensued, two students lost their lives and I lost all my belongings, including my study materials. I was not prepared for such violence to erupt in my simple student life. Nevertheless, it did. So, instead of focusing on finishing my fourth year and preparing for my final year, I had to reconstruct the study materials of my previous years in order to prepare for my fourth year's final exams. 

I was both horrified and disheartened by this episode. Not only were my colleagues killed and our dormitory ravaged, but I became aware that I was hated simply because of my faith. Unfortunately, I now knew that my suspicions were correct and the seeds of hatred had finally been sown. However, I am grateful for it today. This single incident taught me more about life and my ability to cope with difficult situations than I may ever be able to fully understand. 

One thing I learned was that I could recoup such a loss. The lessons I learned from the events that occurred on that terrible day have come back to serve me many times. In particular, I have realized that it is when the things seem to be at their darkest, the light comes through. It was this memory that would enable me to rise from the depths of despair a few short years later. 

In 1968, The University of Kashmir at Srinagar and I parted ways; they gave me a degree in civil engineering. It was time to look for a job. I went back to live with my parents; however, my trip home did not take me back to Sopore. While I had been concentrating on my studies, I was not fully aware of the situation at home. For one thing, my father had not been doing very well in Sopore. His situation had altered. A landlord's son was trying to now make a living from a much smaller piece of land. 

Because the land could no longer provide enough for the family, he was forced to take up contracting work, which he was not very experienced at. He had been building small shopping centers or whatever was available. However, by the time I received my degree, his contracting work had been drying up for some time. And yet that was not the only reason my parents decided to leave Sopore. In 1963, the strand of the hair of the Prophet Mohammed, which had been in Hazratbal, Kashmir's holiest Muslim shrine, was allegedly stolen. 

Many Muslims in Sopore were upset over this and young boys in the community began throwing stones at our family home and my parents were verbally attacked as Hindus. It was one of the first times they had ever experienced such open hostility for representing a minority in the town. The incident troubled them greatly and my parents decided to leave Sopore and move to Jammu, the winter capital of the Jammu and Kashmir State. The Last Smile 26 Chapter Three - Corridors Of College 27 Jammu is predominantly Hindu, and there were no obvious tensions based on any religious differences or concerns, so life was different there for them. 

It was different for me also when I joined them there. Jammu is about 200 miles from Srinagar on mountainous roads and travel by car is slow going, even today. Jammu is very hot during the summers, but much more hospitable than Kashmir during the winters, which is why the government administers the affairs of the state during the summer in Srinagar and during the winter in Jammu. 

Jammu subsists to some extent on its tourist industry, as many people are attracted to its many Hindu temples and shrines. It is more city-like than the Kashmir valley, with retail stores crowding its narrow streets. Unlike the housing in Srinagar, these structures are not made of wood and have flat roofs. In Srinagar, the roofs are pitched, to divert the landing of snow. Although it was cheaper to live in Jammu and there was more contracting work for my father, he continued to struggle financially because of too many expenses. It was clear to me that changes needed to be made and, being the eldest, I was partly responsible for helping to turn things around. 

But it was difficult to imagine how to do it. As a college-educated civil engineer, I immediately found work with the government agency whose purpose was to locate water resources that could be used to generate power in Jammu and Kashmir State. Although my income was not large, I was able to help with some expenses and pay back my student loans. 

There was little to save, if anything at all. I was soon hit hard by the realization that, in order to contribute more, I would have to leave India. I needed to go where I could make enough money to pursue a better life. By 1969-1970, the only place where dreams that big could be realized was America. When you look back on your life, it is remarkable how much you yearn to find something you could have done differently--especially after losing a child. 

You would do anything to change the outcome, so you constantly gaze back at that fork in the road and wonder what would have happened if you had taken a different path. And so I often wonder whether I made the right decision in coming to America. If I had stayed in India, would my dear Amit be safe today? 

Would we have had a better future? Would I have had him in my life longer than the 30 years I had? (During these ruminations, I sadly remind myself that the very same supplements that contributed to his demise are now being sold to youth in India. It is a thriving business there as well, thanks to India's rapid Americanization.) As a young adult I was determined to fulfill my mission of creating a better life in America for my family. I felt an overwhelming responsibility to ensure that I tirelessly acted in accordance with my pursuit. I knew I had to do it for all of us. But just how I would manage it I didn't yet know.
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