Why Kashmir cricketer Parvez Rasool needs both congratulations and pity

Congratulate Parvez Rasool, but pity him, too! Selected to represent Team India on the tour of Zimbabwe, his spinning abilities will now get spun to promote contesting political projects. To his persona, people will ascribe multiple meanings, rather than perceiving him as yet another cricketer wishing to become an international star. They will not seek his consent to appropriate him: his very presence on the cricket field, in Indian colours, will have a political charge independent of his feelings and thoughts and intentions. The prelude to his inevitable appropriation was witnessed in the media coverage of his inclusion in Team India. Just about every national newspaper placed the news on the front page, hailing the selectors for choosing the first Kashmiri to wear the Indian cap. The front-page choice of news editors magnified manifold the momentous nature of Rasool’s selection, best comprehended through a comparison. [caption id=“attachment_944701” align=“alignleft” width=“380”]  The symbolism of Parvez Rasool’s selection for India extends far beyond the cricket field. PTI[/caption] Ask yourself: did Debashish Mohanty peek out from the front page on becoming the first Orissa player to turn out for India? Was the same honour bestowed upon Kerala’s Tinu Yohanan? In the newspapers published from their respective states, yes. But in the national media? No. Indeed, the Kashmiri identity of Rasool gives him a special resonance, apart from his cricket abilities, vouched for by no less than the great Bishan Singh Bedi. Rasool is no Kashmiri migrant who settled outside the Valley. He grew there, acquired and honed his skills even as the bullets flew around and bombs exploded. The state’s cricket infrastructure, from all accounts, is moribund. No doubt, for an individual to overcome these terrifying odds and sneak into the Indian cricket team is laudable. Yet, ironically, his feat holds out contradictory meanings for the people residing in the Valley and those outside it. For Kashmiris, the selection of Rasool is an eloquent testimony to his special talent and grit, ensuring he wasn’t cast into oblivion in Kashmir’s long years of mayhem. Perhaps he also represents the Kashmiris’ fortitude, their ability to keep intact their sanity in chaos, their capacity to fashion personal dreams and ensure the abnormality of their conditions did not cast their gloomy shadows over the normal, of which sports and entertainment are gleaming symbols. For those Kashmiris who play or are fervent followers of cricket, Parvez Rasool represents a triumph of their passion, their style and skills, however mediocre the team’s performance in the domestic tournament. Cricket has the quality of providing space for individual brilliance, a quality which sustained cricket in India during the years it lost more matches than it won. For people outside Jammu and Kashmir – the policy-maker, the journalist, even the ordinary person – the emergence of Rasool symbolises the return of relative normality to the Valley. He is yet another addition to the examples now cited to contend that Kashmiris have turned away from Pakistan and are no longer as alienated from Delhi as they were earlier – the perceptible decline in terrorist violence, the rising voter turnout in state elections, the presence of a popularly elected government, and robust economic activities evinced particularly in the construction business. Obviously, all these arguments are forgotten in debates over the need to withdraw the draconian Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA). In fact, in an astonishing example of circular reasoning, its continued application is justified on the grounds of preserving the gains from normalcy. Indeed, a Kashmiri, Hindu or Muslim, can’t escape from the political, not even Parvez Rasool, whose performance will be hitched to bolster existing agendas, and construction of a few new ones. For Delhi, the inclusion of Rasool in the national team will be projected, though not often through explicit statements, as evidence of the fairness of the Indian system, in cricket as well in other sectors. It at once becomes an argument against those who describe New Delhi’s policy in the Valley as discriminatory and callous. His selection will be articulated in the public sphere as a symbol of hope to the Kashmiri youth, an invitation to them to acquire an education and enter what is called the Indian mainstream, which essentially comprises individuals in the race for grabbing opportunities in teeming metros. Again, obviously, Kashmiri Muslims will find it difficult to rent a place and their boys will be periodically picked up and interrogated every time a terrorist attack takes place. But to the murmur against stereotyping, the Indian state can or will invoke Rasool, who was detained in 2009 for questioning in Bangalore where he was representing the J&K team in the CK Nayadu cricket tournament. It was believed he was transporting explosives in his cricket bag. When asked about the incident following his selection, he told one media outlet, “I have forgotten that incident and I wish everybody else forgets it.” But The Times of India quoted him as saying, “I wanted to prove I am a cricketer, not a terrorist." What must have been an ignominy for him will now get spun into a story of inspiration for others who may have encountered such treatment. Rasool will also become an argument against the Pakistani state, which hasn’t relinquished its claim over the beleaguered state and harps on the alienation of Kashmiris from Delhi. He will represent India’s regional and religious plurality; many wouldn’t miss the irony inherent in his bowling or batting against Pakistan, should such a match involving him were to ever occur. The meaning Rasool bears was communicated through a Hindustan Times report which had claimed in February that the government was pushing for his selection in the Indian team to win “hearts in J&K.” It is irrelevant whether or not the news was correct. What is pertinent is to note the prevalence of a feeling, or hope, that his presence in the Indian team could have a salutatory impact on Kashmir. Respected cricket writer Ayaz Memon, commenting on Rasool following the seven wickets he snapped in a warm-up match against Australia early this year, optimistically noted in Mail Today, “I would also venture to add another important dimension to the Rasool story: of how sport can be effectively used to smoothen out political and social turmoil. It’s not easy, but not impossible either.” Kashmiris perhaps will feel achingly disappointed at the thought that the selection of Rasool was because of political exigencies, not his cricketing talent. Nevertheless, his selection poses a political challenge to the Valley, whose passion for cricket borders on fanaticism and whose residents are known not to support the Indian cricket team. In fact, way back in 1984, the packed Srinagar stadium lustily barracked the Indian team against the West Indies, prompting the Board to never take an international match there after that. Will they now support Rasool and not India? Will they pray for a stellar performance from Rasool and a defeat for India? Many will find it delicious to imagine him bowling the last over against Pakistan in an ODI clincher or requiring him to score those last few runs in the last over for a victory. In such a contradictory situation, how would the Kashmiri react? Or imagine a situation in which Rasool is declared the man of the match. Considering his penchant to lace his statements with the Arabic equivalent of “In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful” and “Praise is for Allah only”, as seen in TV interviews following his selection, rest assured he will, in his acceptance speech, mirror the lexicon of Pakistanis, who erroneously perceive themselves as representing the Muslim cricket world. For many, Rasool will become a counter-argument against the idea of Pakistan. You can’t but imagine the flip side of these imagined situations. Suppose Rasool bowls a poor last over and loses the match, or he gets run out at a crucial juncture of the match, don’t feel shocked on hearing disappointed voices hark to his Kashmiri identity and drop innuendoes about his betrayal. All this tells you about the burden which will be Rasool’s, a burden a 24-year-old, in cricket or otherwise, ought not to shoulder. It also tells you about the travails inherent in possessing a Kashmiri identity. The author is a Delhi-based journalist. Email: ashrafajaz3@gmail.com