KOA Achievement Awards 2009
Isha Kaul | Aditi Jalla | Rudra Koul
Isha Kaul is a senior at The Academy of Science and Technology of The Woodlands College Park High School, The Woodlands, Texas and is the daughter of Sushma and Manoj Kaul.
Isha’s interests range from engineering design to music and painting. She has been an active participant in regional competitions in science and music, founder of the Humanities and Philosophy Club, a violinist in the school Chamber Orchestra and organized fundraisers for American Cancer Society. Isha is also very actively involved with various voluntary activities related to healthcare in the community. Her other activities include literature, painting and field trips.
Isha will be joining University of Texas, Austin to study Petroleum Engineering and Pre Med.
Isha wrote the following essay to become an awardee:
During my visit to Delhi earlier this year, I picked up a book from my grandfather’s bookshelf. It was a collection of short stories that my grandfather had written. I opened up the book but was unable to read it as it was written in a script that I could not read. I was told that the title of the book was “Yath Razdane” and that it was written in Nastaliq – the official script for the Kashmiri language. Finding myself unable to read the content, I focused on the cover. The cover was forest green, with a faceless man standing in front of a shattered building. It seemed to me as if the man had lost his face and his soul in “this city”. Which city was it referring to? And what was it in this city that had rendered this man faceless? The title and the image on the cover suggested to me that the content must be about issues surrounding the faceless man’s identity in a place outside Kashmir. Having known my parents, grandparents and all other relations in the family as people who proudly (and sometimes too loudly) wear their Kashmiri identity on their sleeve, I was intrigued by the thought that my grandfather had written about identity crisis of a Kashmiri. Shouldn’t this faceless man identify himself as being a Kashmiri no matter which city he was living in and be proud of it? Or have times changed so much that the Kashmiri identity is no longer the bedrock it used to be for Kashmiri Pandits? History is replete with instances of proud collective identities fading into oblivion if action is not taken to preserve and nurture it. I wondered if that was what was in store for the Kashmiri Pandit heritage.
I met Mr. Moti Lal Kemmu, a lifelong friend of my grandfather, in New Delhi when he came to offer his condolences at my grandfather’s passing away. One of the things he said to me was what my grandfather had told him a few years back: “Connection maa rood.” It was brief, yet sharp and sadly, very true. The last ones to have lived there, my parents’ generation is the last true link (connection) between Kashmir and my generation. My grandfather had realized that his and his children’s generation were perhaps the last ones to have been a part of the Kashmiri Pandit way of life. My ancestors have followed this way of life for thousands of years, and unfortunately it seems to be facing a real threat of extinction today. Kemmu Sahib saw Kashmiri Pandits’ displacement from Kashmir due to Islamic terrorism and economic considerations, as the main culprits endangering this centuries old culture. Perhaps the intriguing cover of Yath Razdane was telling me the same thing.
When I was seven years old, my grandmother told me the story of the origin of Kashmir, of how Kashyap Rishi drained Satisar to create the Kashmir valley. I had never before heard of a land being made by a scholar; usually, that job was given to God. She then told me the significance of being a Kashmiri Pandit. She told me that the word “pandit” means a scholar. For thousands of years, the Kashmir Valley had been the hub for the sages seeking knowledge. Perhaps, she concluded, that is the reason Kashmiri Pandits still stress on education in their lives.
I also remember her telling me stories of Shankar and Parvati the night before every Herat. Her rule for telling stories was simple yet challenging – she would only speak in Kashmiri. I preferred speaking in Hindi since I was raised in New Delhi, and at times I would struggle understanding Kashmiri. Sometimes, I would stop her asking what a certain word meant. After I had asked her “enough” questions, she would become infuriated. She would tell me, “Panun lungvage (language) gatzi aasyn!” At that time I did not understand why grandmother, who was fully capable of speaking in Hindi, would choose not to do so. It certainly would have made things easier between us. But now I understand her better. She had never even imagined that she would have to converse with her own grandchild in a different language. This change was brought upon unnecessarily, without her consent. Now, I try to speak with my grandmother in Kashmiri. Not only does it make her happier, but also it makes me further connected to the Kashmiri culture.
I remember the celebrations for different Kashmiri festivals back in India. On Herat, my mother would spend days cleaning the whole house and preparing food for the “big day”. At the time of puja, my grandfather would put on the cassette for Vatuk Puza and take the head seat near the Vatuk Nath that I had helped decorated earlier that day. I watched my mother cook rogan josh, kaliya, and kabargah all day and could not wait to eat it for dinner. For me, Herat could never be complete without such delicious dishes. The same goes for the day of Khechi Mavas. For years my family had me convinced that if I could steal the Yaksha’s cap on this day, I could make the Yaksha my slave and have him do my bidding. Even though after many unsuccessful attempts at stealing his cap I had realized that the story was a myth, I think that I will never let the essence of the story die within me. It has been a nice part of my childhood, and I would like for the next generations to have this experience in common with me – keeping a “connection” that my grandfather was afraid would be lost.
I spent first through fifth grade at a primarily Kashmiri school in Noida called Vishwa Bharti Public School. My art teacher had a painting that she made nailed onto her classroom wall. It had mountains, a little stream coming off from between two mountains, a little house by the side of the stream, and tall pine trees in front of the mountains. Years after I had seen her painting, my grandfather made me a scenic sketch. It was strikingly similar to my teacher’s painting. A few months ago, my grandmother’s brother drew a sketch, which was also very similar to my art teacher’s and my grandfather’s. It was strange for me to see three different people, at different times, draw a sketch which was so similar. When I asked my father about it last week, he explained to me that the scene shows the landscape of the Kashmir Valley. Most Kashmiri Pandits, uprooted from their homes, still retain imprints in their minds of the typical features of the Kashmir Valley. I enjoy painting in my free time and have learned how to make that landscape. Perhaps someday I will be able to recreate the image that Kashmiri Pandits have in their minds, on something more durable than paper or canvas.
Kashmiri Pandit heritage, the legacy of my ancestors, is special to me because in some form or the other it has defined me. It will be my endeavor to help preserve this identity and hand over the legacy to future generations. The “connection” will not be broken.