A Decade Later, A Kashmiri Scribe Returns To Reclaim Her Byline

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational Photo

By Khurram Rasool

Ten years... That's how long it's been since I last sat at a newsroom desk. My fingers racing against deadlines, my words shaping stories, my byline carrying weight in Kashmir's media landscape.

A decade ago, I walked away from the adrenaline rush of chasing stories, from the ink-stained pages that once held my voice.

I left on my own terms. At least, that's what I told myself.

Marriage, motherhood, the expectations of a life that demanded more of me than just my profession. I embraced it, but in doing so, I unknowingly exiled a part of myself.

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For years, I told myself it was just a pause, a necessary detour. But time has a way of distorting perception.

The pause became an absence, and the absence became a void. While I poured my energy into nurturing my children, I felt myself fading, reduced to the echoes of who I used to be.

My voice-once firm, once fearless-became a whisper within my own home, suffocated by routine, lost in the mundanity of everyday existence.

I had never intended to be gone for this long. When I stepped away, I believed it was temporary. My mother would care for my baby, I would soon return to the field, and the rhythm of my career would pick up where it left off.

But life has a way of unravelling even the best-laid plans.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer. The woman who was my anchor, my silent strength, was suddenly in a battle we never saw coming.

For a year, I watched her fight, clinging to hope, bargaining with fate. And then, just like that, she was gone.

Her absence was more than just grief. It was a collapse.

My world crumbled, and I was left to navigate the terrifying unknown of new motherhood without her guidance. The sleepless nights weren't just for my baby, they were for me too, drowning in a solitude no one could see.

I was lost, emotionally fractured, mentally drained. Depression crept in silently, tightening its grip, making me question if I would ever find myself again.

While I faded into this void, the world outside kept moving. Kashmir changed. Journalism changed. And I? I disappeared.

And then, something shifted. Not overnight, not dramatically, but slowly-like the dawn stretching over the Dal Lake, reclaiming the sky inch by inch.

The urge to write, to be heard again, grew louder. It was no longer just about storytelling, it was about identity.

But the Kashmir I had left behind had changed, and so had its media landscape. Journalism in this valley had always been a battleground, but now, the ground felt more unsteady than ever.

Sands were shifting, spaces were shrinking, and the voices that once dominated the discourse had faded.

Could I still fit into this world? Could I still carve a place for myself?

Doubt lingered, but so did defiance. I am not who I was ten years ago, but I am not less. If anything, I am more. More aware, more resilient, more ready for revival.

Motherhood did not weaken me, it fortified me. The time away did not diminish my worth, it deepened my perspective.

This is not just a return to journalism, this is a reclamation of self. A comeback not for validation, but for liberation.

My byline will no longer be a relic of the past, it will be a force in the present.

Khurram Rasool is a senior journalist based out of Kashmir. She can be reached at [email protected]

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