Sadness of war
A young Indian soldier hopes for peace in Kashmir
Indian troops have been fighting an insurgency by Islamic militants in Indian-administered Kashmir since 1989. Here, a young Indian soldier who has just been stationed there reflects on the sadness of war.
Date du Cliché: 25 avril 2004
Lieu: Inde, Cachemire, Baramulla
Matériel: Canon EOS 500 - 50 mm - Canon Portra NC400
First impressions
I land at Srinagar after waiting for six hours for the flight to take off. Indian troops are highly visible on the streets of Srinagar.
It's winter here, that's why the delay, but still I'm excited. Almost think of it as my destiny. I don't believe in destiny, that's why almost. The air is cold. Bites me. It's fresh, exhilarating. It's different. But I feel unusually happy. Wonder why? There are vehicles here to receive us at the airport, and we drive back to our location.
Distrust
I drive through the city and I see people who wear clothes differently. The women are beautiful. Not like the good-looking women down in Delhi, but really beautiful. And it takes a decent amount of effort not to stare. But I manage.
I am so enthralled by the trees, the streams, the hills in the far distance, the cold air, the snow, everything. But there is something else. Every 50 metres there's this man standing with a weapon. In uniform. A soldier.
Every five minutes there is a convoy of army vehicles passing by with weapon-bearing, menacing-looking men, standing on top, looking down. Eyes furtively searching for something. Anything.
The air is heavy and not free. The shadow of the gun looms large and suddenly I feel very suffocated. The army is omnipresent. It's like darkness filling up a vacuum.
I don't think these people think of me as their own, the local public that is. But since they have no choice they accept me (they have no choice). And I think, why is it this way?
Why is it that the place I think of as my own country, people that I think of as my own people do not really want me here? Their eyes look at me with distrust, and resignation. And I want to get out and tell them that I'm alright.
Then I look at myself, and see myself in uniform and I see what they see. "Another soldier in uniform." And I guess they are not wrong in feeling what they feel. And I feel very sad at the state of affairs. I want to tell them that I am about as good or as bad as any of them, and I am not here to harm them.
Beneath the uniform I am just a young man in his twenties trying to find answers in life. I also love the smell of freshly fallen rain on the earth, laugh with my friends, smile when a baby smiles, love a beautiful woman, enjoy movies and music and do all the normal things that anyone does.
I am not responsible for the state of affairs.
Then the question pops in my mind, who is?
There come a multitude of answers: the Indian government, the Pakistani state, poor leadership, mismanagement of affairs, rigged elections and many more.
Just history?
But all this is just history and we cannot do anything about it. The real reason for the state of affairs is us - you and I. We are responsible for how things are and we alone can put them right. There are discussions and more discussions on the solutions to the problem and I really do not want to get into any of that.
All I am saying is that it is sad that small children are not amazed any more when they see a weapon-carrying man around them - a militant or a soldier. That if one is not home at night, the fear of never seeing them again sets in, that young teenagers grow up in an atmosphere of terror, never realising what it means to be free. What I am saying is that I may be a soldier, but I am definitely not the enemy.
In the end, there is still hope.
As we turn round the corner, we slow down. There are small children playing. One of them, a small boy of five or six, looks up and waves at me. And he smiles. A genuine smile that only children have. I wave back. He has not learnt yet that here you do not wave and smile at army men. There is still hope.
The soldier wished to remain anonymous. His account first appeared on the BBC Urdu service website.
Indian troops have been fighting an insurgency by Islamic militants in Indian-administered Kashmir since 1989. Here, a young Indian soldier who has just been stationed there reflects on the sadness of war.
Date du Cliché: 25 avril 2004
Lieu: Inde, Cachemire, Baramulla
Matériel: Canon EOS 500 - 50 mm - Canon Portra NC400
First impressions
I land at Srinagar after waiting for six hours for the flight to take off. Indian troops are highly visible on the streets of Srinagar.
It's winter here, that's why the delay, but still I'm excited. Almost think of it as my destiny. I don't believe in destiny, that's why almost. The air is cold. Bites me. It's fresh, exhilarating. It's different. But I feel unusually happy. Wonder why? There are vehicles here to receive us at the airport, and we drive back to our location.
Distrust
I drive through the city and I see people who wear clothes differently. The women are beautiful. Not like the good-looking women down in Delhi, but really beautiful. And it takes a decent amount of effort not to stare. But I manage.
I am so enthralled by the trees, the streams, the hills in the far distance, the cold air, the snow, everything. But there is something else. Every 50 metres there's this man standing with a weapon. In uniform. A soldier.
Every five minutes there is a convoy of army vehicles passing by with weapon-bearing, menacing-looking men, standing on top, looking down. Eyes furtively searching for something. Anything.
The air is heavy and not free. The shadow of the gun looms large and suddenly I feel very suffocated. The army is omnipresent. It's like darkness filling up a vacuum.
I don't think these people think of me as their own, the local public that is. But since they have no choice they accept me (they have no choice). And I think, why is it this way?
Why is it that the place I think of as my own country, people that I think of as my own people do not really want me here? Their eyes look at me with distrust, and resignation. And I want to get out and tell them that I'm alright.
Then I look at myself, and see myself in uniform and I see what they see. "Another soldier in uniform." And I guess they are not wrong in feeling what they feel. And I feel very sad at the state of affairs. I want to tell them that I am about as good or as bad as any of them, and I am not here to harm them.
Beneath the uniform I am just a young man in his twenties trying to find answers in life. I also love the smell of freshly fallen rain on the earth, laugh with my friends, smile when a baby smiles, love a beautiful woman, enjoy movies and music and do all the normal things that anyone does.
I am not responsible for the state of affairs.
Then the question pops in my mind, who is?
There come a multitude of answers: the Indian government, the Pakistani state, poor leadership, mismanagement of affairs, rigged elections and many more.
Just history?
But all this is just history and we cannot do anything about it. The real reason for the state of affairs is us - you and I. We are responsible for how things are and we alone can put them right. There are discussions and more discussions on the solutions to the problem and I really do not want to get into any of that.
All I am saying is that it is sad that small children are not amazed any more when they see a weapon-carrying man around them - a militant or a soldier. That if one is not home at night, the fear of never seeing them again sets in, that young teenagers grow up in an atmosphere of terror, never realising what it means to be free. What I am saying is that I may be a soldier, but I am definitely not the enemy.
In the end, there is still hope.
As we turn round the corner, we slow down. There are small children playing. One of them, a small boy of five or six, looks up and waves at me. And he smiles. A genuine smile that only children have. I wave back. He has not learnt yet that here you do not wave and smile at army men. There is still hope.
The soldier wished to remain anonymous. His account first appeared on the BBC Urdu service website.
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