My Story of a Bridge too Far......
If I f one tries to think about history, it seems to me - it's like looking at a range of mountains. And the first time you see them, they look one way. But then time changes, the pattern of light shifts. Maybe you've moved slightly, your perspective has changed. The mountains are the same... but they look very different. - Richard Harris It was in the summer of 1967/68 that my mother and I first came to Kashmir valley. My father was stationed at Baramulla, on the banks of Jhelum River, a little outside of Srinagar. Baramulla was even then, an important military town sitting astride the Uri- Srinagar Road, which along with its travelling companion, the Jhelum river crossed over to POK a little ahead at Uri. Twenty years ago bloody history of rape and loot had been taken place on this road…. But to me the scars of the humanitarian crisis were not perceptible. Perhaps my teen years could not perceive. Once again it was summer, but it was summer of 1975, and as an ad