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Despite all these days, the pain of losing their remains. Grief, unfortunately, does not follow a defined trajectory. It is as palpable as it is indescribable. This bloody emotion that just occurred on March 18 at Balakote in Tehsil Mendhar. Won’t go away. Which bores down into you like a corkscrew, right into her (s) very core, and hollows her out, and fills the hole that’s left behind with something just a little less solid, a little less complete than what was there before. Some fill the hole with busyness. Some with work. Some with social lives. Some with booze. Some with relationships.  But they?

They guess their try and fill the hole with words. And they suppose that as emotional crutches go, they’ve heard of worse. Even now every time they think about the unfortunate incident, it never fails to wind and startle them. Stop them in their progressive tracks and they wonder will they ever, ever, get used to it? As the initial tears of shock dry up, what’s left behind slowly sinks down into them. And makes the life that’s left behind just that little bit heavier that it was before.

Will they ever adjust, they wonder to themselves, to the fact that their father, mother and 3 brothers are gone? Here they go again, nearly a decade later, talking about grief. Would they ever just get over themselves? Despite all these passed days, the pain is still here. Every time they write a piece about missing of their beloved ones and always think about the indescribable incident afterwards, ‘Well, tick. There’s that particular subject covered off. Right, what’s next when they will come to back from Govt Medical College (GMC) and Hospital?’ And then a couple of months later they will seem to always find themselves back in front of this real bloody life  screen, writing about it again, somehow trying to make sense of the fact that their loved ones  no longer around, without wanting to appear to be overly sentimental about it.  

Or self indulgent. Or just plain pathetic. And they are acutely aware of the fact that their real sibling dead in Pakistan shelling, and they find themselves-conscious about the fact that, despite this passage of time, despite all those years that have rolled by, all those words they have spoken and written, they still feel a gap where departed soul, which they can’t quite find anything to fill. And they feel like they’ve somehow failed. Parents die.

Children move on but injured badly. So why can’t they? And yet here they are again. Trying to get whatever they feel inside out onto this page of life. Because all they really know is that keeping ‘it’ inside, do they no good at all. So out it all comes. Roll out the dredger. Churn it all up again. It’s all still in there, simmering away beneath the sad surface. Whether they like it or not. And maybe, just maybe, the odd ‘churn’, the odd wallow, the odd ‘Feeling Sorry For herselfves’ session, will help them reconcile themselves to the facts before them. Because ignoring them certainly isn’t. Unfortunately, grief does not follow a defined trajectory‘would lost lives ever just get over it!’ Their reall as well imaginary reader or feeler responds, and that thought makes them want to shut up instantly. Because, rest assured, oh pragmatic one, the judge inside them thinks the very same thing.

Thinks that nigh on how the shell destroyed their all dreams off later, this is a subject that they should no longer need to ‘ address’ in any shape, manner or form. So for all those out there who may raise their eyes to heaven, rest assured, a very large part of their entirely agrees. On this incident one can views on said subject. ‘Would they ever just bloody move on? ‘But another, kinder, part of they are not so self-critical. Recognizes that this is how they feel about missing their lovely father, mother and three brothers. And still that is OK. That, unfortunately, grief does not follow a defined trajectory.

However inconvenient that may be. That time may be a great healer, but there’s no formula for how long. And if mind and heart Judge do not agree, or are irritated, or annoyed, or aggrieved, at them bringing up the subject again, head off now and click on the ‘Latest’ button about new shelling from across the border. And for anyone else out there who might equally struggle on occasion, sure stick around and they might just find some common ground. Her Uncle Mohd Shakoor and Grandmother Mansha Bee will bake in the oven of pain till to their final breath. In the end,we the people of this tehsil are drowned into the deepest pain-well and we have all kinde of support with Mahreen and Nohreen and pray to Allah that He may place the departed soul in most graded Jennat,the Jennat-ul Firdoss.

The writer is working journalist & President Press Council of Mendhar Poonch (J&K) can be mailed at (This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.)