Asha Khosa on Kashmir’s brave young girls’ band
NOMA NAZIR was born at a time when Kashmir’s air was filled with the smell of gunfire, grenade blasts and death amidst a raging turf war between the Pakistan-backed militants and the Indian security forces. Like most other girls of her background, Nazir spent her childhood in the relative safety of her home in Srinagar and stepped into adolescence learning about the world mainly through the Internet and cable television.
Today, at 16, Nazir is distraught over events that were triggered in the cyber world but have spilled into the real one. As a result she may end up having to shelve her nascent dream of leading the first Kashmiri all-girls’ music band. “I think the people of Kashmir have not liked our music,” said a teary-eyed Nazir (her face covered to evade identification) at Srinagar, a day after the head cleric of Kashmir, Mufti Bashirudin had termed her music band as “un-Islamic”. Within hours of this proclamation, Nazir, the band’s vocalist, drummer Farah Deeba and guitarist, Aneeka Khalid, both 15, made a formal announcement that they were closing down their band, which they had called ‘Pragaash’, which in Kashmiri means ‘the morning light’.
Said one of the girls, quite obviously devastated, “It is clear that Kashmir is no place for music – one has to probably go elsewhere.” She herself is believed to have already left the Valley for a south Indian city to get treated for depression.
The three teenagers and their families are bewildered at the public fury. After all, it was just two months ago that they had been the cynosure of all eyes in the Valley, after ‘Pragaash’ was adjudged the best performing band at a state-level music competition.
In the Kashmir Valley, like in the rest of the country, music is a big hit with youth – and represents a sort of catharsis after all those years of turmoil. Given this mushrooming interest, clubs offering professional training have cropped up all over Srinagar. The ‘Pragaash’ girls had attended one such local club after their school and would then practice at home. They performed for the first time at the all-Kashmir band festival organised by the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), even as music lovers cheered them on. Asked a close relative of one of the girls, “There was no problem then. Why now?” He added, “Right now, our priority is to ensure the safety of our girls and our families do not want to get into any controversy.”
Kashmiri women have been the target of religious extremists ever since a popular uprising against India had rocked the Valley in Nineties. The case of ‘Pragaash’ reminded many of an incident involving a Srinagar resident, Nusrath, who had represented the state in a national sporting event in 1991 during the peak of armed insurgency.
Nusrath, who is now a middle-rung bureaucrat in the government, recalled how she had received letters carrying death threats from militant organisations just when she was packing her bags to participate in national events at Jamshedpur and Hyderabad. “Such threats mainly come from your immediate rivals – people who grudge your success. Then, with the meddling of politicians and media persons, the issue snowballs into a national controversy,” she commented.
At that point, so intimidated were ordinary people by neighbourhood militant gangs that all the other Kashmiri women participants also backed out of the events. But Nusrath did not, “My biggest strength was my family,” she said. In Jammu, the police had to shift Nusrath to a safe place when one militant even accosted her in the stadium during a practice session. “After I returned, however, the very people who had threatened me came up to congratulate me and see my medal,” she smiled.
In the case of the ‘Pragaash’ girls, the threat came from the very medium they had trusted – the Internet. It started as freewheeling comments bordering on abuse against the band by at least six netizens – all of whom have now been booked by the J&K police – on social network sites. These comments were then conveniently picked up by hardcore militant groups in the Valley.
The head cleric, appointed by the government – Mufti Bashirudin – then stepped into the fray and declared the girls’ band as “un-Islamic”. Interestingly, the Mufti’s edicts left even separatists flabbergasted. Some have even condemned him for overstepping his brief. According to Syed Ali Shah Geelani, one of the most hardcore of separatist leaders, “Bashirudin has no authority to issue a ‘fatwa’.” Geelani recalled that earlier, too, the head priest had gone beyond his remit by seeking to banish Christian priests from the Valley through his ‘fatwas’.
The families of the girls believe there is a conspiracy behind the ban. Said the uncle of one of the girls, on the condition of anonymity, “We had been hearing of a whisper campaign against the girls but were horrified to see abusive posts on the Internet.” He also acknowledged that the families had received a flood of messages in support of the band from across India, but added, “Since we live here in Kashmir, such support means little to us in practical terms.”
In fact, sometimes the support had the opposite effect. Many, including the local media, were critical of the round-the-clock coverage of the ban by Delhi-based television channels. They perceived it as a case of over-reaction. Said Tahir Mohiudin, who edits the widely-circulated Urdu weekly ‘Chattan’, “This is a non-issue as far as women’s status in Kashmir is concerned. Kashmiri Muslim women have always enjoyed equality of status with men at a level not seen anywhere else in South Asia.”
Others believe that the incident was triggered by undercurrents in Kashmir’s knotty politics. Maqbool Sahil, a reputed historian of Kashmir, believed the ‘Pragaash’ incident reflected the ongoing tussle between the advocates of moderate and puritan Islam. “Singing, dancing and music were a part of Sufi traditions and were an acceptable aspect of Iranian culture that had percolated into Kashmir. We had no problems about women’s open participation in society.” According to Sahil, it is this legacy that those drawn to the Islam practiced in countries like Saudi Arabia are trying to undermine. They want Kashmiris to adopt a more puritanical Islam.
Despite the controversy surrounding them, however, the resilience and penchant for freedom and equality the ‘Pragaash’ girls demonstrated has won them some qualified support, even within the Valley. Asiya Andrabi, the once dreaded militant leader who led the Dukhtaran-e-millat,(daughters of the nation) that had become notorious for threatening women who did not wear ‘burqas’, was almost defensive this time. “They are innocent girls and I cannot even think of threatening them,” Andrabi told the local media in Srinagar. Her organisation had once launched a fierce street campaign against Bollywood films, cable television channels, beauty salons and liquor shops – all of which have re-appeared in Srinagar with the passage of time.
But will the brave young girl band of Kashmir ever strike up notes again? The answer to that question is likely to remain elusive, at least in the near-term. (WFS)