paradise lost

Psychological impact of violence on Kashmiris in India

Kashif-ul-Huda

Twenty years of violence between Indian Army and Kashmiri militants
has resulted in at least 20,000 deaths and 4,000 displaced, according
to the government figures. But the toll is even greater in terms of
psychological damage to the population. A recent study that looked at
the psychological health found that a third of the study participants
had contemplated suicide, a sign of extreme psychological distress.

The study published in the latest issue of peer reviewed journal
"Conflict and Health" was conducted by organization Medecins Sans
Frontieres (MSF)'s, Simon Fraser University of Canada, and Utrecht
University of Netherlands.

Study interviewed 510 Kashmiris living in Indian Kashmir. It found
over one-third of respondents have symptoms of psychological distress
and women show significantly higher level of distress. Feeling of
insecurity was a major reason for the higher levels of psychological
distress.

Survey was conducted in 2005 and includes 270 males and 240 females.
The most striking finding of the study is that one-third of those
surveyed had thought about ending their life in the past 30 days of
the survey. The survey found that there was a difference in the
reasons of psychological distress between males and females. Males who
had self-experienced i.e. if they had been arrested, tortured, or
abused show higher level of distress. Kashimiri women, on the other
hand displayed psychological problem by just witnessing the events.

In the scientific paper the authors explain that "for males, violation
of modesty, forced displacement, and disability were all associated
with a significantly increased likelihood (three times the odds) of
suffering from psychological distress. For women, the witnessing of
people being killed or tortured or dependency on outside assistance
doubled the odds of suffering psychological distress."

The data tabulated in the paper is very shocking when you consider
that 63% of the respondents have seen wounded people. 40% have
witnessed people being killed, 67% have seen other being tortured and
13% have witnessed rape.

44% of the respondents experienced being abused and 11% claimed that
their modesty was violated.

The level of psychological problem was found to be much higher than
similar studies done elsewhere in India and even when the cutoff score
was set to a conservative standard. When the cutoff score was lowered
to the Indian study the psychological distress was found to be over
71%.

Though one-third reported having suicidal thoughts, it does not always
result in a suicide attempt. But according to one estimate about
60,000 Kashmiris did commit suicide, last year.

Withdrawing themselves or isolating themselves was the most preferred
way of coping with the psychological problem. About half of them
showed aggressive behavior. Many turned to religion as a source of
support and finding peace.

Even though Kashmir lacks proper mental health care facility, still,
over 60% of the respondents visited the health clinic to seek help.
Some visited more than once in the 30 days immediately before the
study interview, and women found to be visiting health facilities more
than men.

The impact of violence, threat, and alertness has adversely affected
armed forces too. Elevated level of psychological problem is seen
among Indian Army personnel deployed in Kashmir. Past January, Indian
Army hired 400 psychiatrists to help control the high numbers of
suicides in its ranks.

Government should spend more money in improving mental health care
facilities for the people and the soldiers. Those fighting this battle
for Kashmir should stop and see what this battle for land is doing to
the people living on this land.

Kashif-ul-Huda

(The author is the Editor of news website: www.TwoCircles.net)

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tell me what is the time?

even gmail has themes now.

if there is a theme for my life, then this is it..this is it..

the sketch of a careless clock. the long needle is twisted like in a dali painting...the small one does not exist. and i am sitting against a wall where this broken clock hangs like a giant's shadow.and the look on my face looks absolutely desperate.
but there is a bottle of fun in my hand and around my neck there are long necklaces with junk, party jewels. and there is an eerie voice somewhere in the painting, i dont know how to paint that, which keeps repeating in the worst monotone that can ever be imagined: tell me, what is the time? tell me what is the time? tell me what is the time?

oh i have to cook !
i have to make that stupid silly sambar i promised my family and they believed it like stupid silly people.. B even took care to arrange the hing and the sambar powder on the kitchen shelf, with the sullen and silent reminder that i better make dal or else!
or else what? nothing. i will just fall further from the status of being woman, human, mother, wife...
as if i care !!

omg, i have to finish writing that book !!
he will call me today i am sure, with all those smiles and that kindness, which is far worse than axes that break your head. and i will feel my stomach throbbing with what i now recognize as the worst attack of squeamishness or guilt..
but everything passes.. the conversation will end, i will squeeze the end button like a ripe pimple, and i will throw the mobile into the heaps of clothes on the bed - btw i really have to wash my clothes or what will i wear to college on monday? - so that i wont even hear it when he calls me next time, and i will forget all about it !!!

i have to correct that thesis on english language teaching in yemen. that man has been begging and pleading for those last thrity pages: madam, i am writing you again, after waiting for more than three weeks...
as if i even complete reading it! or far worse, am i beginning to get some pleasure making him plead?

i need to get an hair cut. i need to make those life changing calls that i promised to jane, jeena and jessy (and of course, tom, dick and harry) and i need to at least reply mails that have been patiently asking me for the nth time, whether i can find some time to write back at least once, so that they can make some move, some decision, take a position, go hit someone, etc, etc...

i need a new painting on my lonely wall that feels no commitment to no one or anything at all. i need a real clock there, with real solid needles, that show the time. and the eerie ghastly voice needs to be replaced with the mechanics of tick tick tock...

and at any given point, i need to be able to give the right answer to anyone who asks: tell me what is the time?

bday rant

mind all confused. if there is a mind, its all confused. if there is confusion, it is in my mind all scattered.
if there is a scattered, confused, scattered, it is mind, mine.

these days..they endlessly pass through doorways, subways, metro buses, auto rickshaws, college corridors, like an unreal movie-ghost in a real-life play feeling totally spaced out. my mind.

this you that i search in the spectres in my real life in the phantom of a corridor in a mind all emptied out...

laundry done, dishes washed, floor mopped, cartoon channel disconnected, home work yet to be done, little table arranged at the window, little feet should stop dancing for a minute, then i can give you a kiss....

with one weird, wired, wicked, mama-mind all gone today on a holiday, far away, where no one can see where ...

the connections come loose in a switch board, in the city where there is a search patrol on for stories that you will never write, the manic brain in twisted mode, gasping for your name in the skies...

oh god please can't you make it this time, everything depends on the verdict that you deliver, am i lost or am i losing it...this humble, humiliating, honor-less waiting and this

mind

all mixed up

different

you feed rotis to cows. we eat cow-meat with rotis.
you eat rice with rotis. we eat rotis with rice.
you sing bhajans when we sleep. we sleep when you are screaming bhajans
you kill ravana on Dusserah. we ressurect his brother on Onam
you celebrate the glory of light. we celebrate the hope of darkness

a new post: for you

a new post about hope, in an ocean of vultures, with the eyes of television cameras sneaking down on our terror, making headlines.

a new post about mushrooms floating in chicken sauce against the the fragrance of Sikkim steamed rice.

heavy lidded scholars meeting in a dungeon room -
calls coming in about the new blast in Mehrauli, but the meeting will go on..
and then she gets up to speak as her dupatta slips... "lets bring out a parcha about this entire
communalization of terror."

a new post about miss-pink-gums-and-decayed-teeth-daughter,
her first playschool in Delhi - Usha Ganguli 'Shushu' Vihar, we tease her and
she crumbles into your lap in flower-laughter.

whatever the world is today above the head in smoke, sound, screams, anguish,
wringing hands, feeling helpless, switch off the television set please, i want to eat,
whatever the world is evil, monstrous, bad, i remain to watch you smile...child.

do you know every morning the peacocks come to drink water from our water tank?
and your friend's father has a ring tone, which makes a frog -in-the-well noise?

do you know that i still love bottle-green Nutrine sweets?
and that your grandmother wore her first pink chudidar today?

the splash of red was a poster torn out from the worstest place in the world, McDonalds,
and when it fell on the pavement it looked like a painting made in haste.
and then we stamped on it and walked ahead..?

and do you know that there are these people i met, who has this magic syrup,
which lets you see seven million colors dancing in the sun,
like a giant sparkling octopus?

She, India

She don't want to live in this city. Where the neighbors ask her daughter, as she is drawing a map on the cement floor with chalk, if the map is of India or Pakistan.

Its so difficult here. In the month in which they kill Ravan, all over. When saxophones from famished bands compete with devotionals - all remixes of the latest Hindi songs.

But they have nowhere to go. No place that they love better. And she knows that they are actually blessed. Compared to so many others.

They live inside a cocoon of noise. With televisions blaring about the terror ring, educated muslims, every body is afraid says CNN-IBN, both hindus and muslims.

And the muslims are four percent more afraid, they add.

In a few days time, in the ground opposite her house, they will burn down the effigies of her Ravana, she knows, and resurrect their Ram.

how?

how to carry on a working day life in the midst of such turbulence? 

find and submit attendance lists that are scattered all over the house? 

keep to deadlines promised sincerely with my heart in my eyes? 

plod through giant paragraphs of Virgil's Aeneid filled with pot-holes that i fall into and weep? 

how to get back to writing my book? 

how to stop being obsessive? how to sleep in time? 

how to quit scribbling wicked lines at the back of lecture notes? and being so silly dyslexic? 

how to get along with people who learned to count before they learned to speak?
how not to puke when the volgan is trying to get you to listen to his poetree? 

how to look through noodle strap blouses to see her quiet heart waiting for tender things? 

how to ward of accusations from pain filled eyes that blame you for the state of their being? 

how to brush these cockroaches away from these eyelashes and eyes? 

how not to burst into allergy after he has showed you the underbelly of damp and corrupted lives?

how not to  think of snakes and caves and purple machines droning to themselves in the hot steaming rain? how to touch your wrinkled hand, father, and kiss you goodnight? 

how to secure my daughter from the torture of all their mangled eyes? 

how to keep safe in here? how to live, love, lie and
how can i sleep tonight?