girls don't cry

SHAISTA, LIKE so many children of this troubled valley, has seen blood at close quarters, been traumatised by the violence and has learnt to live with death and not knowing what tomorrow will bring.

Her elder brother Waseem and her grandmother were both victims of a terrorist attack on their village. Both died of bullet wounds. Shaista was only four then but still vividly remembers that time.

That, and the fact that her father was not around. "My father used to be away from home most of the time. I don't know where he would go to, I used to wonder why but never found out. He was never home," says Shaista.

One day he went away and never returned. Teenaged Fayaz, a neighbour, says people believe he either went over to "the other side" or that he will surface some day as a faceless name on a list of those presumed dead.

Shaista still hopes he will return, she would like to show him her skills with the stick, support her dreams. "If my father was there, maybe I would stand a better chance at moving elsewhere and pursuing hockey more seriously," she says. At this point though, looking around, it looks like she has an insurmountable challenge ahead.

And then her youngest brother pipes up. "Centre pe baaji ko koi nahin hara sakta (no one can get past my sister at the centre)," chirrups Faisal, Shaista's youngest brother, barely out of toddlerhood. Faisal, who already dreams of playing hockey too, clutches his sister proudly and mutters again with undoubted pride, "No one can take the ball away from her."

News Source : Samachar