The new week started today and with it started classes again; and I am thankful for some semblance of normalcy that they brought to my life. More importantly, they restored some amount of routine; which I have been mindful to adhere to in the past week; but then endless hours at home are not very conducive for discipline. I had to structure my day around the class, which meant waking up on time; getting ready, which doesn’t necessarily mean being fully groomed, just the mind being fully alert; and taking meals on time.

In the past week, I re-arranged my room a little bit, so now my study table faces the long windows that of the which opens to a balcony which overlooks a large stretch of trees and a railway track. This has certainly uplifted my mood, since now I don’t perpetually face the wall that the older layout forced me too. It does bring some distraction in the form of solitary gazing and day dreaming; but given the current scenario, I think that is forgivable. Who knew just moving a table would be such a life altering event, that it would warrant a full paragraph worth of writing.

I spoke to L, and we figured that we need to talk less. We realized that we spend a lot of “prime” time, that is by definition the time in which we are highly likely to be productive, talking to each other. I have a feeling he had had this epiphany a while ago, but was too kind to point it out. So my brilliant mind conjured the idea, that we should talk while eating; and hence from tomorrow, we are going to attempt multi-tasking. However, talking to him is definitely something I look forward to doing everyday.

This week is going to be busy with assignments and upcoming tests; but I am strangely okay with all of it. It takes me away from the New York Times home page which I have been refreshing obsessively off late and it has done nothing except raise my anxiety levels.

I am compelled to self-reflect, in this situation, is ignorance bliss or is information power?

Today was a bleh kind of day. I woke up inspired, but that did not translate to much productivity. I did manage to finish the report that is due for one of my group projects, the PhD girl gang is reviewing it now. I had planned to get some reading done on welfare economics, but I felt oddly tired and couldn’t accomplish much. And no, its not due to “the virus that must not be named”, it’s just that time of the month.

I spoke to L, who stepped out today to send his tax reforms, despite the deadline having been extended by 90 days. But, then he is a bit of over achiever anyways and with the government signing a check for 2 trillion dollars, we shouldn’t trust them to have the change for our refund later on. Also, L slyly pointed out that he finds phone distracting (I think it’s just a nicer way of saying that he finds me annoying). In any case, that means we are following the military clock to catch up, 1100 hours or 1900 hours. Any attempts at conversation otherwise will not be entertained.

My mother continues to hyperventilate, but that’s just a pre-requisite for being a mother. Now that my father is also at home till the 15th April due to nationwide lock down in India, she finds chats with me a reasonable excuse to avoid him for a while. I guess China, for a change, was right in reporting that lock downs increased divorce rates.

I have a class tomorrow, and I am oddly looking forward to it. It can offer some semblance of normalcy.

My balcony looks out to a large stretch of just huge evergreen trees and I enjoy the view. But L made me self-reflect today, that if my apartment faced the other side, I could at least see people walking their dogs. It would make me miss “life” a tiny bit less.

I had vowed to get back to work with a vengeance, but missed my morning alarm (hint:snooze). However, I had an appointment with my PhD girl gang at 10, so had to pull myself out of bed and kick start my brain cells before that. One of them kindly stayed up for us all the way in Korea. We had a productive one hour discussion and I still have a lot of follow up work to do, so I have my tasks set out for tomorrow.

The next was operation milk. I ran out of it yesterday, which meant I missed my morning cup of “chai” and felt absolutely unequipped to deal with life. I am too scared to venture out to the local super market and so turned to the yoda of our times, Amazon. I have always considered grocery shopping as a sacred activity, an act too holy to be performed online. However, I broke this vow, and viola! Whole Foods delivered milk and a lot of other stuff on my doorstep. Thank god for small mercies in life.

Down one cup of chai, I was able to focus better on work, and got some studying done. Interestingly, the topic we are leaning in Microeconomics is Welfare Economics, in which the agenda is to maximize the well being at an adequate level; something our economy is struggling right now as it tries to find the optimal balance between physical well-being and economic well-being of the individuals. I can only hope that the math eventually works out.

I spoke to my dear friend L, who I haven’t been able to meet, but we are trying to keep each other’s spirits up by catching up frequently, berating each other for our respective unproductiveness, sharing more information from whatever we managed to scavenge from the internet when we weren’t being productive and then stressing some more about the state of the world. I am also trying to call my parents more frequently just to prevent my mother’s complete nervous breakdown and also to convince her not to believe in every WhatsApp forward that pops up on her phone.

And while doing that I self-reflect, in times such as these, there is no place I’d rather be than home. I have never been very bothered so much by the physical distance, than now. There is nothing more comforting than the nook of my room where I could escape from this madness, and no bigger indulgence than my mum’s food and my dad’s bear hug. So, Ma-Papa and my room, you have my heart.

I finished another book today as part pf my #bookcupandscribd series; Writers and Lovers, by Lily King. It as highly recommended by Jenna Bush Hager, and while I liked it, I wasn’t completely enamored by it. Also, I think I need to pick my books more carefully; anything that invoked a feeling of loss and grief should be best kept away from right now.

Almost 2 weeks of no school, I had almost forgotten that assignments still need to be submitted and was jolted out of the hibernation by my PhD gang girlfriends, with whom I have scheduled a call for Tuesday morning. One of them went back to her home country Korea; but not matter where we are, we are in this together (by “this” I mean social distancing and also PhD which is also similar to social distancing in many ways).

My dear friend(won’t name him here) was feeling very low and called upon me to channel my very limited literary prowess to give him an inspirational quote. So my self-reflect of the day is,

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

I guess it remains upon us to locate the light within ourselves.

Today is technically day 8, but then according to a hindi proverb, it’s morning whenever you wake up. So, let’s restart the clock and count today as day one. I was worried that I would blow up my meagre income on buying kindle books(for those interested in my nerd escapades, follow my insta-blog kindle_o_phile). A good samaritan pointed out that Scribd is offering one month free subscription and I pounced on the opportunity. The adrenaline rush helped me power through a full 300 page book in one day; Queenie by Candice Warty Williams and I am about 25% through my second book, Writers and Lovers by Lily King. So while I binge watch Netflix and bing eat pistacchio flavored ice cream, I am also trying to keep my mind intellectually engaged. In between this, I tried to do some school work, tackling my nemesis, Microeconomics, with very little vengeance. But, from tomorrow I say bring it on Mr. Kenneth Arrow.

There was also a comfort food session of Bhel Puri with my flatmates, from whom its physically impossible to social distance.

Self-reflection of the day: Will I be able to do better in Microeconomics this time since more often than not I attribute my underperformance to lack of dedicated self study time, which seems to be in abundance at the moment.

This weekend, I took a firm step towards adulthood (mind you, I have legally been an adult for about a decade now); I went to see a movie alone. I obviously paid for the tickets using my credit card. It stuck to me much later that this was not such an obvious thing to do in the 60s, when the protagonist of the movie said that during the era, women could not have credit cards in their own names, even if they had a steady income. The protagonist was Felicity Jones playing the role of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court and the movie was “On the Basis of Sex”.

Women’s rights have come a long way since then, and a lot of credit for this advancement goes to women like Justice Ginsburg, who fought tirelessly for equal citizenship for women and methodically demonstrated that sex based discrimination harmed everyone, even the men. One of her most famous clients was a man who was denied social security benefits, because it did not occur to the lawmakers that a widower could be the primary caregiver for his infant child.

All this while, she never stopped being a woman. Her brand of feminism is subtle, but effective. She never ceased to follow two lessons that were imparted by her mother and mother-in-law respectively. It is pointless to waste time on emotions that sap your energy like anger and sometimes its wise to turn deaf, more so because she is a woman. These restraints aside, she never lost sight of the real goal. Some of her wins in the Supreme Court have been landmark rulings for Women’s Rights, and even her losses are famous, her dissents are some of the most valued legal writings of the current bench of the Supreme Court. She was taught in law school that “Courts ought not be affected by the weather of the day, but will be by the climate of the era”. This is what she tries to demonstrate to the Judge in one of my favorite scenes from the movie. When he points out that the word “woman” does not appear even once in the Constitution, she counters effectively, “Neither does the word Freedom”.

A lot of this success would not have been possible without the help of her “partner”, as she called him, Martin Ginsburg. He was so secure in his masculinity that he jocundly called himself a member of “The Dennis Thatcher Club”, a club of men whose wives had jobs that they would have loved to have. A renowned tax lawyer in his own right, he was not shy of taking on the traditionally feminine roles like cooking or moving cities for his wife’s job. Their fifty-sex year marriage was a prime example of a fruitful partnership, unquestioned devotion and supreme respect for each other as a person as well as a professional. Perhaps, it was because of security of this support at home that in an interview that I read of hers some time back, when asked if women can have it all, Justice Ginsburg said confidently, “Yes, but maybe not at the same time.”

When I was 10, I dreamed of seeing the world. I believe every child does that, just like he or she dreams of going to the Lego Land next weekend. I like to take pride in the fact that I took my dreams more seriously. I had learnt countries, capitals, rivers and airports and any other factual information that might be of use. I watched lonely planet during summer vacations and kept a diary of the new places they talked about. As I grew, the opportunity presented itself to fulfill my dream and I grabbed it with both hands. But, when more of it was presented, I grew skeptical. Why? Was my dream fulfilled and there is only so much I wanted of it? Was the accomplishment not as exhilarating as I had hoped it to be? Was it anger because things did not plan out as I wanted them to? Or plain and simple, was I scared of a change?

I grew up in different parts of India owing to my father’s transferable job as a geologist in the national oil company. So I was attuned to moving around. I thought it was normal for people to live in different cities and vain enough to think that those who never lived in different places had incredibly boring and flavorless lives devoid of diverse experience and adaptive abilities. The fact that moving to a new place also meant leaving behind a lot components of my daily life did not bother me much. I always felt that getting attached to people and places was for the emotionally weaker beings, and I had attained some state of nirvana where I was above and beyond such emotional entanglements.

When I finished school, I got an opportunity to study for my undergraduate degree in Singapore. Needless to say, I was thrilled. I am a single girl child, which is basically an anomaly in Indian society. Everyone around me expected that my parents would be devastated and I would abandon my plans out of concern for them. But after all, I had inherited my genes from them. To say they were supportive, is an understatement. They actually came all the way to my dormitory in Singapore to help me settle down, which involved taking care of minute details that I had a trash can and a shower cap. The experience lasted 4 years with multiple trips back home and even to other parts of the world like London and Las Vegas for conferences. Nearing the end, there was a decision to be made of future, because fundamentally human beings spend more time planning the future than living in the present. There was a possibility of a job in Singapore, or graduate studies in the United States. The first one guaranteed immediate financial independence; the other was an opportunity for more adventures, a new destination and of course some knowledge and another degree. Without much deliberation, I chose the second.

Singapore is a dot on the world map, whereas the United States occupies probably quarter of it. I had hoped that larger size equated to bigger opportunities and hence I devoted myself whole heartedly to graduate school work. I had a full load of courses worth 16 credits and then spent a few hours at a part time job. In the summers, I found an internship that I felt did not harness my skill set adequately and had made up my mind to never return to the company after those three months. By some comical twist of fate, I have been employed with the same company for past 3 years. Graduate school tested the limits of my resilience. There were days when 24 hours did not seem enough to go through my “to-do” list. To add to the struggles were two years of historically the most terrible winters that Boston had seen ever seen. Coming from a tropical climate, my body was on a rebel path. Overcoming all these challenges, I graduated and started my job. At this time, l was on path to be a successful immigrant story, just like all the characters in Jhumpa Lahiri’s novels.

Now, it is pertinent to the topic of this essay that I give a bit of discourse on the United States Immigration policies. I am very sure by this time, everyone has had their brains overloaded with information on this topic from newspapers and Twitter alike. Every student gets a 12 month work permit after graduation. Every graduate student with a degree in a STEM discipline gets an additional 24 months. In this period, employers of these students are expected to file for an H1-B petition for them. A H1-B is a work visa, which is the first step towards residency in the United States. For reasons surpassing understanding, this visa is granted based on a lottery. Yes, not skills, not degree, not salary; a lottery. And with the current number of applicants, the chances of getting picked are approximately 40%. I had a STEM degree that gave me three chances with the lottery.

I did not get picked the first year. I thought, “Well, never mind, next year.” But when I did not get picked for the next two years as well, I was in panic mode. I was at the risk of being unemployed and had to figure out a “Plan B” in next 6 months, before I became an illegal immigrant in the United States. I spoke to my employers, who valued me enough to listen to my woes and wanted to retain me somehow. Since my company has offices worldwide, we could probably figure something out. The resolution: move to Ireland and work out of the office in Dublin. A younger version of me would have jumped at this opportunity, but the current edition was disheartened. I can’t even explain clearly to myself the reason for this. I was angry that it was not London that I was being transferred to, which is traditionally a more lucrative destination for immigrants, never mind Brexit. I was angry that Ireland did not have good weather. I was angry that I would have to leave my apartment, my friends and my beloved books. The reasons for my anger were exactly those for which I had laughed at others in the past.

But, for the lack of options, I decided to move. Like an action packed thriller, my Irish work visa was approved a week before my United States visa expired. That gave me just about enough time to pack and leave, and not at all enough time to say proper good byes. It has been 4 months since and I have settled reasonably well in Dublin. I was homeless for a month and did not have a bank account for a little more than that. But after the initial battles, it has been relatively calm. I am proud of the way I have dealt with the situation, of course the anger and cribbing aside. I am thankful to my parents and friends for being the constant voice of reason and to my colleagues in Dublin who have welcomed me warmly. I am annoyed at people who disperse free advice, even though they have never been in a situation remotely similar to this. However, some part of me is still angry. Angry that my career was decided based on a lottery. Angry that while the government is often shut down over debates for illegal immigrants, situations like mine are probably not even considered.

I have had a lot of time to introspect off late. Why am I angry? I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I am not able to let go. I can’t let go of the helplessness that I have faced in the past few months and embrace the opportunities that have been presented to me. I can’t reconcile to the fact that this move had to be made, not because I wanted it, but because a random algorithm did not pick up my name. This stubbornness might be making me myopic and completely incapable of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. In moments of extreme hopelessness, I have to remind myself, that this is not the end of the world and that while probability may have failed me, my skills will not.

“Vaadi”

“I, Rohan Shastri, hereby solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the Constitution of India, as by law established and that I will, as in duty bound honestly and faithfully, serve in the regular Army of the Union of India and go wherever ordered, by land, sea or air, and that I will observe and obey all the commands of the President of the Union of India and the commands of any officer set above me, even to the peril of my life.”

The oath echoed in Rohan’s ears as he rode in his jeep on the meandering roads of the beautiful valley. God had certainly blessed with valley with unmatched beauty, but humans had left no stone unturned to blemish it. Anyone remotely aware of the history and politics of the Indian subcontinent would know that it was one of the most dangerous places to be. But for a soldier like Rohan, beginning his career with the Indian Army, this was a place that would help him prove his mettle and repay the debt to his motherland. What other reason could possibly motivate him to leave his hometown in the backwaters of balmy Kerala; to embrace the cold bosom of this valley.

Rohan was deep in thoughts when he heard a thud, then black clouds engulfed him. He felt himself falling into the deep trenches of the treacherous mountains. How long he lay like that, he would probably never know. When he woke up next, it was a tiny room in a house. A pair of soft hands were slightly pressing his head. Mummy? No. Then who? He struggled to open his eyes. The face that greeted him was mesmerizing, to say the least. She must be around 20. Her face to could light up a moonless night, her light green eyes could pierce through his soul, her lips were the color of fresh ripe strawberry and the deep pink flush on her skin could add color to a barren desert. Who was she?

“Welcome to Kashmir,” she said in her melodious voice. “You have been unconscious for past three days. The bomb explosion destroyed your jeep. Your driver could not survive, may Allah grant him place in jannat.”Her soothing voice was able to calm down the agitation inside Rohan. “I forgot to mention, my name is Dua. You are in my house, near Srinagar, Abba found you lying by a rock near blast site and brought you here.”

“I need to report to the army cantonment. I might be mistaken for dead and if my family is informed of the same; hell would break lose.”

“Army cantonment?” a stunned Dua said. “I didn’t realize you were from the army. You were not wearing the uniform, and the jeep wasn’t an army jeep.”

“I was told to travel as a civilian, for safety reasons.”

“Oh Allah, Abba shouldn’t have brought you home. You must leave soon. I am sorry, this is against Kashmiri hospitality, but this is more for your own good than mine,” beseeched Dua.

“Why?” Rohan knew he had to leave, he also knew that he would leave a piece of his heart behind. He was a toughened soldier, all brain and brawn and very little heart. But, he had been hit by some force which drew him more to this woman, than the call of duty which he was honor bound to answer. This force, the realisation dawned upon him, was “love”. But, could it happen in seconds? Hadn’t he questioned its existence all his life? But, right now, in this moment, it felt as true as his own breath. He was going to let himself fall willingly.

“I am not going to answer that, it would be better for you. But you must leave. Also, remember to change your dressing once every day and get yourself checked at the army hospital. You will be in my prayers.” Dua’s sense of urgency made him restless. He decided to leave, but he wanted to say that just as he would be in her prayers, she would be in his heart.

“Captain Rohan Shastri reporting Sir.”

“I am so relieved to see you Captain. We thought we lost you, even before we had the opportunity to meet you. But since we hadn’t found anything about you and it had only been three days, we didn’t inform your family yet.” Major General Chaudhry was the head of Northern Command of the Indian Army. A tough officer, he was a veteran of many of India’s post-independence wars and skirmishes. He was known to be tough, but just. Under his leadership, the unethical atrocities of Army towards civilians in Kashmir had reduced and the reputation of the army had improved. “Havaldar Sangram Singh, show the Captain his room, and then take him to the hospital for a checkup. See you at dinner captain.”

Rohan had finally joined officially. He was patrolling through the streets of Srinagar one day, when he thought he saw her. “Dua,” escaped his mouth. She turned around stunned. It was not a good sign for a Kashmiri girl to be summoned by an army man. She took baby steps toward him, he raced towards her. “How have you been? I am fine now. I was hoping to visit you. I need to meet you father as well, to thank him. I am so glad to see you.”

“I am glad you are okay, but we must never meet.” She turned around and left.

Sundeep Singh, a fellow captain, who had been observing them, came toward Rohan after she had left. “Was that Dua Malik?”

“I know her name is Dua, not sure about the surname. Her father found me after the blast. She nursed me back to health. I owe this life to her.

Sandeep was stunned. “You really don’t know who she is?”

“I told you who she is,” said a confused Rohan.

“She is Rahman Malik’s sister. He is the second in command of Al-Jihad, who have perpetrated countless blasts in the valley for past many years, including the one you were a victim of. I am sorry, but I would have to report your contact to the Malik family to General Chaudhry. We would have to interrogate you.”

Rohan felt the world around him spinning. That is why she kept saying that they should never be in contact. It was for his good. But, how good would his life be if she were not in it.

“Rohan, I am satisfied with the interrogation. Obviously, I hadn’t expected to find anything that would incriminate you, but you should understand that we have to follow protocols. In this Kashmir, you shouldn’t trust your own shadow. You are free to rejoin from tomorrow,” General Chaudhry informed Rohan.

“Sir, I had a request. Can I meet her once?” implored Rohan.

Major Chaudhry knew the young man was possessed by the force of love. The officer in him told him not to permit, but the man in him knew that this wouldn’t be harmful. “Go ahead, but you would have to take a chaperone along. I will ask Sundeep to accompany. I am sorry son, but this has to be done.”

“Okay.”

She was watering the flowers in her kitchen garden when an army jeep stopped outside her house. “Oh Allah, Abba is not home. What should I do?”

She opened the gate and started speaking immediately, “We haven’t heard from my brother since the last time you visited. I have nothing new to tell you. He is as much fugitive for this house, as he is for your army.”

“Due, I came to see you.”, spoke Rohan finally.

“Oh,” said a relieved Dua. Then suddenly, as if something struck her, she started ranting, “But why? I told you we must not meet. I just blurted out the reasons for you. Why do you come again and again despite my warning against it?”

“I love you.”

“Oh. But you must not be here.”

“I said I love you,” repeated a desperate Rohan.

“Love. It is forbidden in Kashmir. Where just bullets speak, the language of love is not understood. Love is a sin here. I would pay its price by my life, but you are an officer. You would pay its price by your honor. I know it is more dear to you than your life.”

Rohan was left speechless for a while. He gathered himself, then responded, “I will work for a tomorrow where a Rohan and a Dua could love without the fear of consequences; where bullets would be forbidden and love would be sacred. This good bye maybe forever, but I am leaving behind a piece of my heart, which you would always have; which would keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive in you and the pain of separation alive in me.”

*Vaadi means a valley in Hindi. “Abba” is a way of addressing one’s father in Urdu. “Jannat” means heaven in Urdu.

“Vaadi” was originally published in P.S. I Love You on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“I, Rohan Shastri, hereby solemnly swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the Constitution of India, as by law established and that I will, as in duty bound honestly and faithfully, serve in the regular Army of the Union of India and go wherever ordered, by land, sea or air, and that I will observe and obey all the commands of the President of the Union of India and the commands of any officer set above me, even to the peril of my life.”

The oath echoed in Rohan’s ears as he rode in his jeep on the meandering roads of the beautiful valley. God had certainly blessed with valley with unmatched beauty, but humans had left no stone unturned to blemish it. Anyone remotely aware of the history and politics of the Indian subcontinent would know that it was one of the most dangerous places to be. But for a soldier like Rohan, beginning his career with the Indian Army, this was a place that would help him prove his mettle and repay the debt to his motherland. What other reason could possibly motivate him to leave his hometown in the backwaters of balmy Kerala; to embrace the cold bosom of this valley.

Rohan was deep in thoughts when he heard a thud, then black clouds engulfed him. He felt himself falling into the deep trenches of the treacherous mountains. How long he lay like that, he would probably never know. When he woke up next, it was a tiny room in a house. A pair of soft hands were slightly pressing his head. Mummy? No. Then who? He struggled to open his eyes. The face that greeted him was mesmerizing, to say the least. She must be around 20. Her face to could light up a moonless night, her light green eyes could pierce through his soul, her lips were the color of fresh ripe strawberry and the deep pink flush on her skin could add color to a barren desert. Who was she?

“Welcome to Kashmir,” she said in her melodious voice. “You have been unconscious for past three days. The bomb explosion destroyed your jeep. Your driver could not survive, may Allah grant him place in jannat.” Her soothing voice was able to calm down the agitation inside Rohan. “I forgot to mention, my name is Dua. You are in my house, near Srinagar, Abba found you lying by a rock near blast site and brought you here.”

“I need to report to the army cantonment. I might be mistaken for dead and if my family is informed of the same; hell would break lose.”

“Army cantonment?” a stunned Dua said. “I didn’t realize you were from the army. You were not wearing the uniform, and the jeep wasn’t an army jeep.”

“I was told to travel as a civilian, for safety reasons.”

“Oh Allah, Abba shouldn’t have brought you home. You must leave soon. I am sorry, this is against Kashmiri hospitality, but this is more for your own good than mine,” beseeched Dua.

“Why?” Rohan knew he had to leave, he also knew that he would leave a piece of his heart behind. He was a toughened soldier, all brain and brawn and very little heart. But, he had been hit by some force which drew him more to this woman, than the call of duty which he was honor bound to answer. This force, the realisation dawned upon him, was “love”. But, could it happen in seconds? Hadn’t he questioned its existence all his life? But, right now, in this moment, it felt as true as his own breath. He was going to let himself fall willingly.

“I am not going to answer that, it would be better for you. But you must leave. Also, remember to change your dressing once every day and get yourself checked at the army hospital. You will be in my prayers.” Dua’s sense of urgency made him restless. He decided to leave, but he wanted to say that just as he would be in her prayers, she would be in his heart.

“Captain Rohan Shastri reporting Sir.”

“I am so relieved to see you Captain. We thought we lost you, even before we had the opportunity to meet you. But since we hadn’t found anything about you and it had only been three days, we didn’t inform your family yet.” Major General Chaudhry was the head of Northern Command of the Indian Army. A tough officer, he was a veteran of many of India’s post-independence wars and skirmishes. He was known to be tough, but just. Under his leadership, the unethical atrocities of Army towards civilians in Kashmir had reduced and the reputation of the army had improved. “Havaldar Sangram Singh, show the Captain his room, and then take him to the hospital for a checkup. See you at dinner captain.”

Rohan had finally joined officially. He was patrolling through the streets of Srinagar one day, when he thought he saw her. “Dua,” escaped his mouth. She turned around stunned. It was not a good sign for a Kashmiri girl to be summoned by an army man. She took baby steps toward him, he raced towards her. “How have you been? I am fine now. I was hoping to visit you. I need to meet you father as well, to thank him. I am so glad to see you.”

“I am glad you are okay, but we must never meet.” She turned around and left.

Sundeep Singh, a fellow captain, who had been observing them, came toward Rohan after she had left. “Was that Dua Malik?”

“I know her name is Dua, not sure about the surname. Her father found me after the blast. She nursed me back to health. I owe this life to her.

Sandeep was stunned. “You really don’t know who she is?”

“I told you who she is,” said a confused Rohan.

“She is Rahman Malik’s sister. He is the second in command of Al-Jihad, who have perpetrated countless blasts in the valley for past many years, including the one you were a victim of. I am sorry, but I would have to report your contact to the Malik family to General Chaudhry. We would have to interrogate you.”

Rohan felt the world around him spinning. That is why she kept saying that they should never be in contact. It was for his good. But, how good would his life be if she were not in it.

“Rohan, I am satisfied with the interrogation. Obviously, I hadn’t expected to find anything that would incriminate you, but you should understand that we have to follow protocols. In this Kashmir, you shouldn’t trust your own shadow. You are free to rejoin from tomorrow,” General Chaudhry informed Rohan.

“Sir, I had a request. Can I meet her once?” implored Rohan.

Major Chaudhry knew the young man was possessed by the force of love. The officer in him told him not to permit, but the man in him knew that this wouldn’t be harmful. “Go ahead, but you would have to take a chaperone along. I will ask Sundeep to accompany. I am sorry son, but this has to be done.”

“Okay.”

She was watering the flowers in her kitchen garden when an army jeep stopped outside her house. “Oh Allah, Abba is not home. What should I do?”

She opened the gate and started speaking immediately, “We haven’t heard from my brother since the last time you visited. I have nothing new to tell you. He is as much fugitive for this house, as he is for your army.”

“Due, I came to see you.”, spoke Rohan finally.

“Oh,” said a relieved Dua. Then suddenly, as if something struck her, she started ranting, “But why? I told you we must not meet. I just blurted out the reasons for you. Why do you come again and again despite my warning against it?”

“I love you.”

“Oh. But you must not be here.”

“I said I love you,” repeated a desperate Rohan.

“Love. It is forbidden in Kashmir. Where just bullets speak, the language of love is not understood. Love is a sin here. I would pay its price by my life, but you are an officer. You would pay its price by your honor. I know it is more dear to you than your life.”

Rohan was left speechless for a while. He gathered himself, then responded, “I will work for a tomorrow where a Rohan and a Dua could love without the fear of consequences; where bullets would be forbidden and love would be sacred. This good bye maybe forever, but I am leaving behind a piece of my heart, which you would always have; which would keep the hope of a better tomorrow alive in you and the pain of separation alive in me.”

*Vaadi means a valley in Hindi. “Abba” is a way of addressing one’s father in Urdu. “Jannat” means heaven in Urdu.

I recently read Hidden Figures by Morgot Lee Shetterly. It had been on my to-be-read list for a very long time, but I decided to pick it up over Thanksgiving weekend, mainly to fulfill the “Non Fiction November” Challenge that I had signed up for on Goodreads and Instagram( “bookstagram” to be precise). The book for me has been more like a lecture in personal development, in which I sat on the front row, took notes and will now revise. The difference is that these notes will not help in any written exam; they will forever serve as invaluable references in the exam called “Life”. Since I have taken notes, this post is going to be in bullet point format.

• As a working woman, I am constantly vexed about explicit or implicit gender inequality at work. However, these woman were fighting a battle on two fronts: the battle of being a woman and the battle of being black. “Black woman” in science in the early and middle 20th century was a phenomenon that was unheard of. While gender inequality at workplace remains an issue to this day, I think our problems have certainly become more unidimensional.
• It is absolutely necessary to keep ourselves abreast with technological innovations and enhancements and to reinvent ourselves once in a while in our careers. These women were hired as “computers”, which basically meant human calculators. Then with advent of superior calculators and computers their roles started to become redundant. They taught themselves to use computers, write codes in FORTRAN and in general adapt themselves to the demands of the time. It certainly needs more effort, but makes one indispensable at workplace.
• We need to learn to pick our battles; at home or at workplace. As Dorothy put it very simply, “What I could change, I did; what I couldn’t, I endured.” Their resilience in face of adversity was commendable.
• Feminism doesn’t always need to be carried as a tag on our collars. It could be something as simple as getting a job well done. It’s about make the most of the available opportunities. When these women were exploring novel frontiers, the word “feminism” probably did not even exist. But, they did more for feminism than many self proclaimed feminists have.
• Numbers don’t lie. Math is either right or wrong. If you get it right, it seldom matters what color your skin is. These women have made a place in history solely on the basis of their mathematical talent. They helped put a man on moon, John Glenn had more faith in Katherine’s calculations than those of IBM computers.
• America’s racial history is not something it should be proud of. Most of the woman were hired at the end of World War II where America was fighting for the rights of Jews. However, in its backyard, segregation was so widespread and yet so normal that it wasn’t even considered a problem.
• A lot of learning happens when curiosity triumphs over fear. Katherine feared , but she was a too curious to hold back. She knew you had to take the first step and that would open a whole world of possibility.

Phew! That’s a lot of takeaways. They are very generic, passed down to generations as adages. But, these women are live examples of the timelessness of these teachings.