Welcome home Kashmiri Pandits, my dad’s neighbours. My father told me about his childhood he lived in a society of composite culture of which Kashmiri Pandits were a part. Often I have heard his longings for those days of the past he lived with his few ‘ba’te’ (kashmiri Pandits) friends. On watching the news reports about their return to the Kashmir valley soon under the ‘separate homeland’ route I saw some unusual gestures developing on his face. He narrowed his eyes and focused them at LG LED screen resting on a wall some ten feet away. To avoid distraction, he asked the ‘chiller party’ (family children) to dine early and sleep as they were singing their favourite rhymes which reached to his ears as noise. Though not being a heavy television viewer, he has developed a great curiosity towards current affairs. He had not studied at college and university like I did; he often asks me about the current developments in society and the world. But this news report on Kashmiri pundits is his subject of interest as his love for the past and milchar (love for each other) and baijut (brotherhood) has been agitating him since 1990s which I could not understand as I was born in the different times, in the times of war. In my mind the images of guns, of gun firing,  of explosions blowing up the vehicles, which are smoky, black and white quite apart from what films contain, of encounters, of burning houses, shops and even villages,  of torture and terror, of butchering Kashmiris, of wailing mothers waiting for the return of their disappeared sons, of kunan-Poshpora rapes, of Shopian murder and  gang rapes, of  motionless faces of more than hundred youths killed in the summer 2010, of Afzal Guru, etc are the memories that constitute our collective past. Always, I reconciled myself with the notion that 1990s was like a war in Kashmir and the energy it produced often blew away the gloom and unpleasantness that had overpowered me. The 1990s episode fractured the society, its social fabric and essentially kashmiriyat (common identity). Ironically, I am witnessed to only one side of kashmiriyat and my father seems to have experienced the other side better. My side of kashmiriyat comprises of history devoid of emotions, knowledge without practice and a land divided in parts. My father’s side of kashmiriyat is rich with emotions and experience.  Even during the commercial breaks he did not allow me to switch over to other channels. His interest in the story regarding the return of Kashmiri pundits raised some pertinent questions in my mind which I wanted to ask. Before I could approach he in a jittery told me, “Alag rozun ha chu tawan, yem ba’te ketehan museebatan watan” (living separate is tough and an invitation to problems, how many problems these pundits can handle). He seemed to have developed some dissonance to the news reports on TV. His old memories which he wants to re-live and re-paint with his ba’te friends do not seem materialisng through the ‘separate homeland’ mechanism. He left me alone with uneasiness and anger making its features visible on his face.  Though the story ended there but his words “Alag rozun ha chu tawan, yem ba’te ketehan museebatan watan” has made many rounds in my mind and hatched a new story.  An urge developed in me to understand and feel, if not only read that milchar (love for each other) and baijut (brotherhood), for my father is nostalgic. This has refreshed in me some recent and relevant memories. I remember that bright day back in 2010 when I met Ashwath Bhatt, a Kashmir Pandit, an actor at Film and Television Institute of India, Pune who was invited for a guest lecture. His academic as well as professional excellence is well recognised in the acting field. I am amazed when he received me with impeccable respect and affection in a big gathering of students and trainers. I am witness to such unique and special hospitality second time during my internship at Star News at Mumbai where I worked under Vibah Koul, a kashmiri pandit who was the head of the entertainment section. Having this wonderful imagery in mind I can borrow some pixel information from them to recreate my father’s old days rather golden days with his ba’te friends. Now I am desperate to see that milchar (love for each other) and baijut (brotherhood) reviving in my society. I am ready to welcome my dad’s neighbours, their respectable return. I promise to stand with them for their causes and live with them. I swear to guard them.  I do not want to see their homes far away from my dad’s as this separation has pained him so long. Also it will provide me  an opportunity to feel and inculcate that kashmiriyat, milchar and baijut  which will make a wonderful story to be told to future generation. Wellcome back KPs!