I belong to the generation of the 90’s; a time when struggle for the independence of Kashmir was passing through its bloodiest phase. A few months before it all started, I was enrolled in a prestigious school in Srinagar, but my education started at home.
As one of my former principal writes in his memoirs – which appeared in the school magazine a few years later – we had only 60 working days that year ─ the rest of the year was consumed by curfews, crackdowns, and strikes. Living in a posh colony shielded me from the outside world; I couldn’t see what was happening outside my fortified home, but even walls couldn’t stop the voices of freedom pouring into my life.Like any child who recites nursery rhymes, I recited my own,


