As Harzatbal’s evening call for prayer resounds over the Dall, Ajaz walks through one of Srinagar’s many martyrs’ graveyards.

The young man in worn-out jeans and a body hugging tee swaggers past unkempt tombstones counting friends and family that are buried there – there were 21 of them. He tells me how he can still see the smiling face of Mushtaq, who was his senior at school, who would have been 27 this January. He tells me about another friend, Javed, who was his parents’ only son. The day he died, he was wearing Ajaz’s clothes. Javed had come to our house in the morning through the and changed there. Javed was 23, and Ajaz still remembers even six hours after his death, when they took him forburial, blood still oozed out of his bullet wounds. Every epitaph standing ona grave tells a story – a tragic storyof a generation.

Ajaz lingers for a bit, staring-glassed eyed into a distance, till he eventually snaps out out of it.

“Enough of this tragedy, let’s go have some fun.”

Ajaz is part of Kashmir’s “lost generation”, an entire generation of youth who have growing up with in Kashmir ravaged in 20 years of turmoil.They are a generation numb with no real ambitions or motivations, just pre-occupied with a struggle for survival. Ajaz spends his days at 8 Ball, a smoky snooker den at Lal Chowk,in the city center. The parlour is inhabited by 15 to 20 year olds, innocent and trying hard not to be. Somewere tougher than others, but there was a limit to how much trouble they can find at 8 Ball. This is their home turf,a place they escape the tear-gas and rubber bullets of the old city – to gamble and smoke all too many cigarettes. Some of the older boys like Ajaz sometimes walk to the football ground nearby showing off their hair,their sunglasses, their cigarettes,their tattoos and sometimes even their girls.

Ajaz puts flame to a little block of hashish and watches it crumble into his palm. Sajid, a boy with the hard cheekbones and a black jacket with a woven trim, empties tobacco from a cigarrette with his long and delicate fingers. He looks mad for some reason but continues on diligently. If you look at them closely you get a sense of overgrown teen-age urgency and escape, the sense that all these details– the part in the hair, the length of the fingernails, the jacket trim, the cigarette grip — matter greatly.

“Smoking up is Haram. But I can’t go through a day without rolling one. It helps us forget,” Ajaz tells me as Sajid grunts in approval.

Ajaz’s cellphone rings to a polyphonic rendition of song from Ghajini, it’s Farhana. They flirted awkwardly on the phone, the conversation seemed no different than one two lovers would have in Mumbai. There was some romance in Srinagar after all. Ajaz first stopped at Broadway Cinema, a bombed out theater the upper floors of which have been now converted into a bar. A couple of beer cans were procured and cigarette cartons refurbished. He then waited at the earlier decided rendezvous point. Farhana waited till she was in the rickshaw till she let Ajaz light her cigarette. She was dressed respectably ina salwar kameez but she admitted that she only like wearing jeans and tops at home.

“I want to go to Delhi or Mumbai,so that I can wear a skirt and be free -just like in the movies,” she told me as the rickshaw sped toward the Dal Boulevard.

Ajaz waited till they were on the Shikhara to suprise Farhana with a can of beer. She popped it open and sipped as the boatman frowned yet at the same time maneuvered them further away from the orthodoxy of Srinagar. They steel a kiss as a dark pummel of smoke makes itself visible over the city.


 Akshay Mahajan born in 1985, grew up in Mumbai, India and discovered photography after a failed tryst with an engineering degree. Indian Photography has long been left on the sidelines. What it requires is the emergence of a younger generation with its own readings and concerns. What he hopes to do is better understand the visual vocabulary and make the Asian story more relevant and tell it more articulately. This is a space for him to explore, answer and rethink – What needs to be recorded? What needs to be preserved for our personal and collective memory?  

His goal is a larger exploration of Photography and Shared Territories in and from a new and ever-changing Asia. To share these new exciting visual perspectives. To create a work which is both global and locally relevant in India with a more specific look into cultures and identities. Since he himself is a part of this new class of privilege seldom documented in the developing world the work seems all the more intriguing to him.

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  • Srikant

    Nice narrative and pics – couldn’t have imagined colourful kashmir in black and white !

  • Hari

    How I wish I could see ‘paradise on earth’ back in its original form!

  • I was born here, grew up here and turned human here. And, part of the pain and the pride shall stay resident in me till they lower me underneath my six feet of earth.

  • Danish

    This is of course a real narrative that is untold in its very essence. Kashmiris are also human beings like all, they are equally tempted by the fantacies. This article though genuine in its essence, presents kashmiris as if they were angels in the past & now have transformed into something “modern savages”. The western values have penetrated into every nook & corner of india & their penetration into kashmiri society is not an exception. Long ago, even indian leading states were modest in the norrowest parlance, & slowly & gradually got transformed into something westernly oriented. Their spree in the valley was bound to happen. (In consistent with what Niel Furguson has espoused in his “Civilization: West & The Rest”……wch was confronted by Mishra’s latest book on the same with arrow reverced )….Kashmir has not only been robbed of its moral ethos but also its culture wch in the words of Al Beruni was “Exclusive Cultured Kashmiriyat Naturally Guarded By Natural Dragons”……

    • I agree with you completely Danish, my aim for this essay was try show Srinagar in a way it is not usually portrayed – away from the usual pictures you see of stone throwing in the old city but concentrate on the lives of normal youth, who sadly have grown up in the face of some form of violence or the others. 20 years is a long time for any conflict.

  • lawerence victoria

    An empathic rendering of Kashmir beyond the headlines.