Chronicles from Kashmir: An Annotated, Multimedia Script

This book explores this ques� on through a site-adap� ve 24-hour theatrical performance. Developed between 2013 and 2018 by the Ensemble Kashmir Theatre Akademi and Nandita Dinesh, the play uses a dura� onal, promenade format to immerse its audience within a mul� tude of perspec� ves on life in Kashmir. From a wedding celebra� on that is interrupted by curfew, to schoolboys divided by policing strategies, and soldiers struggling with a toxic mixture of boredom and trauma, Chronicles from Kashmir uses performance, installa� on and collabora� ve crea� on to grapple with Kashmir’s confl icts through the lenses of outsiders, insiders, and everyone in between.


Summaries and Deconstructions
What is happening in Kashmir?
A deceptive simple query to which there are no simple answers.
Like other complex issues that leave their considerers perplexed for stretches of time, the answer to the question "What is happening in Kashmir?" depends on a range of factors. It depends on who is being asked the question. It depends on who is doing the asking. It depends on the context in which the question is being asked -the place, the time, the perceived intentionality, and the audience.
Answering a question about what is happening in Kashmir is complicated because there are myriad ways in which the region's story has been told and re-told. To choose only one of these versions would give the reader an incomplete picture; it would create a false sense of certainty about a conundrum that has perplexed the finest of minds, for decades.
So, in an attempt to highlight the polyvocality that has been so crucial both to Chronicles from Kashmir's development and to my own understanding of the region, there follows a less-than-conventional approach to framing Kashmir's historical and contemporary socio-political condition. In this less-than-conventional approach, a one-paragraph summary of the conflict is deconstructed, in order to performatively communicate the various layers of what has happened/ is happening/ is understood as happening in the region of Kashmir.
Before going into the summary and its deconstructions, I have to tell the reader that my knowledge of these different layers of Kashmir's condition stems primarily from formal interviews and informal conversations with a range of individuals within and outside Kashmir, with a healthy sprinkling of archival research. My process of understanding Kashmir's history has been theatre-based, subjective, and fragmented, and it is precisely this lens that I would like to share with the reader of this book. So, embrace the subjectivity that follows. It is intentional; it is problematic; it is, to me, more real than any declarations of certainty and fact when it comes to understanding Kashmir. 1 4. This assurance also included a promise that, when law and order returned to the region, a plebiscite would be held so that the people of Kashmir could decide their fate.
5. Would they want to join India? Pakistan? Or function as an independent nation-state?
That's the reductive, less complex version. But now, let's break those ideas apart, shall we?
1. Perhaps the most well-known version of Kashmir's history is the one in which the conflicts are described as being rooted in the Partition of 1947, when the Hindu ruler of a majority Muslim region initially refused to join either of the newly created nation-states of India and Pakistan.
• There are others who say that the region of Kashmir -comprised of Jammu, the parts of the Kashmir Valley that are currently within Indian borders, Ladakh, the parts of the Kashmir Valley that are currently within Pakistani borders, Gilgit, and Baltistan -has never been conflict-free. According to this view, there have always been conflicts between the different groups inhabiting Kashmir, and many of today's tensions existed much before Partition. It is the historical conflicts, these opinion-holders suggest, that underpin the ongoing stalemate that exists when it comes to solving the region's problems.
• There are others who say that the region was, historically, a centre of religious syncretism and that it is the communal agendas of India and Pakistan that have caused a seemingly unresolvable situation Summaries and Deconstructions 3 in which positions are being drawn based on religious lines. In this view, the religion of the ruler during Partition was politicized in relation to the religious composition of his citizens -a politicization that has since rendered a chasm across the region and the subcontinent. Part of the argument that is contained within this narrative is that Kashmiris have historically been unique; different; embodying a Kashmiriyat (Kashmiri-ness, for the lack of a better translation) that has been threatened by forces of communalism. So, for those who agree with this view, all the regions of Jammu and Kashmir belong together, as an autonomous nation-state. Kashmiris are not, and have never been, Indian or Pakistani.
• There are those who say that the region of Kashmir should have gone to Pakistan as soon as Partition occurred. And that it was the placement of power in the hands of minority groups that did not allow this natural affiliation to take place.
• Then, there are the arguments that fall somewhere between all of the above.
2. This initial refusal changed when Pakistani forces invaded Kashmir a few years later, causing the Hindu ruler to approach India for assistance -assistance that was offered on the condition that Kashmir would accede to the Indian nation-state.
• Could the event be called an invasion if scores of people in the region wanted to join Pakistan to begin with, but were disallowed because of their Hindu ruler?
• And if it wasn't an invasion, what was it?
• How might we interpret India's involvement at the behest of a monarch, rather than his citizens?
• Did the Hindu ruler truly come to India for temporary assistance? Or did he, knowing that his citizens would otherwise never agree to an accession to India, use Pakistani aggression as an excuse for accession?
• What are the ethics of the Indian Prime Minister's offer, in asking for an agreement of such massive gravity, at a time when Kashmir's ruler had his back against a wall?
• Then, there are the questions that are offshoots and derivatives of all of the above.

Chronicles from Kashmir 4
3. Indian Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, is said to have assured Kashmiris that this accession would be temporary and last only until law and order returned to the region.
• Some speak to a continued involvement by the Indian government in perpetuating Kashmir's turmoil precisely to prevent the return of law and order. After all, if law and order never return to Kashmir, the pre-conditions for the plebiscite will never be met.
• The counterargument that is offered here, of course, is that law and order are never achievable because of Pakistan's involvement in the region (not India's).
• Who would decide that law and order have come to prevail in Kashmir? Would that status need to be decided and verified by the UN? Or would it be a status that needs to be declared and agreed upon by the governments of India and Pakistan (and China, for the parts of Ladakh that fall within its control)?
• Then, there are the questions that are offshoots and derivatives of all of the above.
4. An assurance that also included a promise that, when law and order returned to the region, a plebiscite would be held so that the people of Kashmir could decide their fate.
• Even in the unlikely event that a plebiscite is under consideration, which Kashmiris are we talking about? The Kashmiris who live in the Valley that is under Indian administration? Does that also include the citizens of Hindu-dominated Jammu and Buddhistmajority Ladakh? Does the pool of plebiscite respondents also include the Kashmiris who live in Pakistan-administered Kashmir, Gilgit, and Baltistan? What about the Kashmiris who live in the part of Ladakh that is contested by China? What about the huge Kashmiri Diaspora that now inhabits regions across the world, many of whom -the Kashmiri Pandits (Hindus) in particularare said to have been driven out of the Valley in fear for their lives? When we talk about carrying out a plebiscite, which Kashmiris are we referring to?
• Who would conduct the plebiscite? How would it be implemented? Who would monitor the results? What would be the plan for transition, for each of the possible outcomes?
• Then, there are the questions that are offshoots and derivatives of all of the above.
• the use of the promenade -where the audience walks from one space to another rather than engaging with a performance in one, predetermined location and position; • site-responsive strategies -where performances take place in response to unexpected spaces.
Beginning in 2009, in every theatre project that I undertook, I would try to find a way to include these elements -sometimes successfully; most of the time, not so successfully. It was a time in my practice when I could not articulate why these particular aesthetic choices spoke to me. All I knew was that they did, and that I had to explore them.
The same organization that I had worked with the previous year agreed to host us, in a different city this time: Anantnag. And while the project got off to a very slow start, with neither of us thinking that anything more than a few theatre-games-based workshops with the young women would be possible, circumstances slowly began to shift.
Suddenly we found ourselves meeting people, running additional workshops, forming wonderful friendships, and being connected to theatre folks around the Valley -one of whom was the director of the Ensemble Kashmir Theatre Akademi (EKTA); an ensemble that would become my partner for years to come.
As these connections developed, so did my thinking about the role for theatre within the Kashmiri context. Would it be possible for Indian army soldiers to immerse themselves (theatrically) in the life of Kashmiri civilians? And if they did, would such an immersion enable them to become more empathetic in the way they carried out their jobs? Would it be possible for militants to step, theatrically, into the shoes of soldiers in the Indian army? Could Immersive Theatre, in this context, become a powerful way for Others to engage in perspectives and experiences that they had not lived themselves?
With grandiose ideas for how theatre could intervene in the region, and a newfound potential partner in EKTA, I realized that I needed to develop a critical framework to better articulate my considerations. After all, creating cross-community Immersive Theatre works in an active conflict zone needed some rigorous analysis and design.
Enter the decision to pursue a doctoral project and to frame that undertaking as a theatrical exploration of the grey zones in Kashmir's conflicts. 2 The grey zones -the Chronicles from Kashmir 8 areas of murkiness where traditional understandings of victimhood and perpetration need to be questioned -in relation to soldiers, militants, and civilians in Kashmir.

2013
This year saw my first collaboration with EKTA and the first time that I had to systematize the process of conducting a formal workshop around Immersive Theatre. Given the newness of these challenges and partnerships, I decided to start my collaboration with EKTA by focusing on the most accessible of three identity groups that I wanted to work with: civil society.
The workshop's focus on understanding the civilian experience in Kashmir was informed by the ensemble members in the workshop, civilians who shared various aspects of their experience with me; I realized that these experiences revealed many blurred boundaries between the more obvious identity groupings of civilian, soldier, and militant. The month-long process led to the creation an immersive performance about women's experiences in the region; a performance entitled Pinjare (Cages) that could only admit two spectators at a time, and that was targeted toward male, Kashmiri spectators.
In addition to this focus on aestheticizing the grey zones of civilian experience, 2013 was also the year in which I started-always in consultation with my colleagues at EKTA-creating future theatrical partnerships with Kashmiri militants and with soldiers in the Indian Army. And while my attempts to reach active militants failed, my attempts to reach the army did not. A Brigadier agreed to speak with me, to chat about the potential for arts-based practices in the training of soldiers; he also agreed to attend a performance of Cages. This was all before I left Kashmir, of course. After I left, the Brigadier simply became impossible to reach.
As many project initiators do, I learned more from my failures than my successes. From my failure to reach the militants, I realized that there was no way an active militant would agree to speak with me and that even if they did, all of us would be at too much risk. From the failed conversations with the Brigadier, I eventually learned about the ways in which armies tend to isolate themselves. From intense conversations with audience members of Cages, I slowly began to unpack the sheer extent of the politics in which I was embroiled by my very presence in Kashmir: as a woman; as an Indian. Summaries and Deconstructions 9 2014 When I returned to EKTA in 2014, the goal was to figure out how to include the voices of militants, when active militants would not or could not engage with me. I quickly realized that former militants were perhaps the only group that would be able/willing to meet with me; creating material for a Documentary Theatre piece about former militants thus became the focus of that year's collaboration with EKTA.
Upon connecting with an organization that works for the welfare of former militants, two EKTA actors and I travelled to parts of Kashmir I had never been to before: homes that lay inside small villages; homes that were far away from witnesses; homes in which former militants talked to me about their particular experiences. They described why they had joined the militancy; what they were fighting for; why they had decided to leave.
I did all of this not realizing that I was stepping into a veritable minefield. That listening to the voices of these men and their wives, as an Indian woman, was going to spark reactions that I did not even know to expect, let alone predict. Although the process of creating Meri Kahani Meri Zabani (My Story, My Words; MKMZ) was incredibly rewarding for myself and for the actors -and seemingly for the folks we had interviewed -things changed quickly, intensely, and in a volatile fashion.
The man who was my primary contact in facilitating interviews with the former militants disappeared after the first showing of MKMZ. The post-performance discussions with audience members who had not been involved in the interviews became explosive. And quickly, I realized that I had to question both my right to tell the stories that I was telling, and my dubious decision to share those narratives with people who had borne the brunt of each other's traumas for decades. Suddenly, I had to acknowledge the idea that the work I was making in Kashmir might not be for Kashmiri audiences; that my grandiose notions of sharing work about an Other with an Other, in that context, was impossible.
So I left EKTA that year, considering two potential target audiences for the work we were creating: an audience of young Kashmiris who might be more willing and able to engage with content about the histories of their land; an audience of non-Kashmiris, like myself, who did not have the lived experience of war and needed to learn more about the region in order to become better allies, in whatever way we could.
That's the primary question with which I left Kashmir in 2014: for whom were EKTA and I creating this work? And how could we do a more effective job of framing it for its target audiences? Did we need to consider a pre-performance workshop of some kind, to ensure that our spectators -especially in Kashmir -had the chance to hear about our intentions and objectives, before being immersed in the work? 2014 was also the year in which I accepted the fact that my overtures to reach out to the Indian Armed Forces in Kashmir were likely to go unacknowledged. So, what were the voices in the army that would engage with me? Where were the Armed Forces personnel who had the time and ability to do so, rather than being constantly on alert in an active conflict zone? Who were the sub-group of soldiers in the Indian Armed Forces that I could access, given the specific resources that I had at my disposal? With these questions in mind, there was only target group that I could work with: cadets in training at a Defence Academy in western India. So, that's what I did. A process that led to a creation called Waiting, composed from monologues written by the young men: for what/whom were they waiting?
The rest of 2014 was spent collating and curating the material that had emerged from the previous years' collaborations with EKTA, my work with the cadets, and experiences from my visits to Kashmir in 2011 and 2012. Slowly, a script began to form, in dialogue with a work that I had been obsessed with for a long time: Griselda Gambaro's IFF. 3 As a first step, I sat with Gambaro's work and forced myself to adapt each of her scenes in a way that would make sense for Kashmir. At this stage, I very much considered the work as an adaptation of IFF, rather than a new work that simply used Gambaro's script as inspiration.

2015
The first iteration of our Kashmiri adaptation of IFF stuck closely to the source material. But as most plays tend to do, the shape of the text morphed as soon as it was in the actors' hands and voices; we collaboratively designed ideas that altered both the form and content of Gambaro's work. Suddenly, I realized that Gambaro's play was nothing more or less than a point of departure for us. Our IFF was a different play. And while a couple of the scenes functioned as adaptations (The Experiment and The Man & the Woman) our IFF had started to grow into its own aesthetic.
But once again, despite a rewarding process of exchange and collaborative development with EKTA, the response from the audience members was explosive.
The adult audiences that were composed of members of Srinagar's theatre community rejected the fragmented, promenade form: the distance from Realism troubled this audience; it is possible that their discomfort was gravely magnified by my being Indian. "You can never imagine what we have lived through," was the response that seemed underscore it all. And they were right, of course; I cannot.
This year, though, learning from the lessons of years past, we also made sure to work with a younger audience: high-school students in Srinagar who, we thought, were distant enough from the material to engage with it differently. And once again, we were wrong: "This is not our past," the young people said. "The things that you're showing us are still happening. They are not history. They are our present. Why are you showing us what we are already living with?" Listening to the young people was illuminating. They were able -through their youthful articulation -to enable me to understand what the adults, with their emotional intensity, had not managed to communicate. Nothing I could create in Kashmir, if it was about Kashmir, could be for Kashmiris. It would have to be for others like myself. Non-Kashmiris. Foreigners. Outsiders.

2016
When I returned to Kashmir a year after that revelation about target audience and audience framing, the mission was to return to EKTA and to sculpt IFF -which had now been renamed Information for/from Outsiders: Chronicles form Kashmir -for an audience of outsiders.
Unfortunately, this was not to be. Two days before the workshop was set to commence, a young rebel/militant/terrorist/leader (depending on who you ask) was killed by the Indian Army. And just like that, a curfew was declared in the Valley. I had been in Kashmir during the occasional strike or protest in years past, and these events had led us to cancel rehearsals and the occasional performance. But 2016 was different. This year, there seemed to be no end in sight to the protests. There seemed to be no way for the actors to reach the theatre's premises for the workshop. The two actors who already happened to be at the facility were so distracted and stressed that trying to create smaller-scale versions of the workshop simply didn't work. And somewhere in the middle of all of these events, when we were having wide-ranging conversations about the future of IFF, I asked a colleague: "What if this became a 24-hour performance?" I did not expect his response: "Why not?" And just like that, on a curfew night in Kashmir, the vision for a 24-hour piece came alive.
I have since been able to articulate that decision in more eloquent ways: the impact of durational immersion on spectators; the necessity of duration in communicating fragmentation and complexity; the necessity of duration in fostering experiential understanding.
But on that night, when the idea first came up, it was almost a whim. There was a curfew. There was nothing else to do. And so, we imagined.

2017
From the day after my colleague and I had that conversation, I wrote. In bits and pieces. In scenes and fragments. No longer were IFF or Chemins useful to me as points of reference. This was a new beast.
In mid-2017, with a rough draft of a script for a 24-hour performance in hand, the ensemble and I decided to meet somewhere else in the subcontinent, outside Kashmir. After all, hadn't we all realized that the play would be more suitable for an audience of non-Kashmiris?
We went to the only place that would agree to host such an effort, which was also the only place that we could afford. So, in July 2017, a team of about twelve artists went to Kamshet, in western India. The plan was simple: we would workshop the draft that I had been working on for the past year and, ideally, we would test drive an initial version of the 24-hour performance for an audience of non-Kashmiris.
We didn't know if we could make it happen. We didn't know if we'd actually manage to pull all of this off in less than a month. But, somehow, with the collective commitment of an ensemble, Chronicles from Kashmir came together.
At the end of an intense period of rehearsal and rewrites, we were able to share a trial performance with a group of audience members that included individuals who knew us, and who were willing to be part of the "dress rehearsal," as it were. This was the first time we had been able to try the entire 24-hour event with a live audience and the "dress rehearsal" was seminal in our understanding of an event that we had, until then, been only able to rehearse in fragments.
We made a lot of mistakes with that audience; we learned and adapted and re-rehearsed for the next performance: this time for many audience members with whom we did not have prior relationships, and some of whom had travelled for over a day, by train, to get to the experience.
We started the second performance and were only about halfway through the first scene when the police showed up.
The first two policemen who walked in were in plain clothes and I had no reason to think that they were anyone but audience members who were arriving late. But they were police, they said; officers who ushered me out of the performance space so that they could inform me in hushed tones that they had been told about a group of Kashmiris doing something that warranted attention. They had been informed, the police said, that a 'foreign' director was in-charge. "Can we see your visa?" "I don't need a visa. I have an Indian passport." "Oh." Was it the amplified sound of the azaan in a Hindu-dominated locality that caused someone to report us to the police? Was it the sound of fireworks, in conjunction with the sound of the Muslim call to prayer, that set off alarm bells? Or was it a simple case of bias and prejudice and factionalism?
Whatever the case, to this day, we do not know who called the police on Chronicles from Kashmir. All we know is that the police showed up and, suddenly, our theatrical accomplishment became something else. Something unnerving.
The police were a continued presence at the second performance of Chronicles from Kashmir, adding a chilling layer of reality to the content that was being explored. My phone calls to well-placed colleagues went to naught. "This is not an India in which our connections work," I was told.
"Get out of there now. Before they file a criminal case against you, and you cannot leave the country." A criminal case against me? For what? Hadn't I offered to let the police officers read the script? Hadn't I told them that they were welcome to stay? Weren't they the ones who refused my invitations because the script was too long to read? "Did they take any pictures?" "Well, yes, they took some pho -" "You shouldn't have let them do that. You never know how they are going to use them. Can you leave now? Can you get out of the country?" We were in hour 12 of the performance. The police had left in hour 7. Maybe the storm had passed.
They returned though, in hour 19. And this time, they wanted names. What were the names of the artists who had created this performance, and what were our addresses? What were the names of the audience members, and what were their addresses?
These were the questions that scared us.

Chronicles from Kashmir 14
We knew there were some risks to the work that we had undertaken, but we didn't expect to have to identify our spectators to the police. We knew that talking about Kashmir could be controversial, but we did not think that it would bring authoritarian voices to our doors. After all, one of the reasons we had decided to go outside Kashmir this year was to give the actors a break… from curfews, and strikes, and fear. But here we were. Doused in the very fear that we were trying to escape.
In a time when Indian newspapers were publishing a fairly regular dose of articles about Muslims being lynched upon suspicion of eating beef, we were terrified. It would have been one thing if the risk was only to me, or to some of the more experienced members of the ensemble who better understood the risks. But it was quite something else when the risks were for an entire company. It was quite something else when the risk was shared by a 16-year old who had partly signed up for this project simply to go outside Kashmir -he had never done that before.
When the risks begin to include so many others besides oneself -including audience members -standing up to the establishment does not seem idealistic or passionate. It just seems stupid.
So, given the fear that was permeating the cast, given that our audience the next day was going to be composed of students from a local high school, we decided to call off the next performance of Chronicles from Kashmir.
We have not been able to perform the work, live, since then.

2018
When multiple festivals and future host organizations in the Indian subcontinent turned down our proposals to perform in their spaces, always citing safety as the reason behind their reticence, our goal became to find new ways to keep the work alive. Through the written script. And, we decided, through film. So, after a year of fundraising and connecting and hustling, we were ready to shoot a film version of Chronicles from Kashmir, a month before the script was set to be published in Mumbai.
Once again, we began our time together with great hope: the hope that this year would be different; the hope that the time away from Kashmir, shooting the film, would be rejuvenating for the ensemble.
But, once again, our hopes came to naught. Two weeks into our shooting schedule, with one week left to go, I received a message from the educational institution that was hosting us.
"You need to leave tomorrow," I was told. "Journalists in this area are asking questions about why we have Kashmiris shooting a film here. This is a Hindu-dominated area. There have been issues in the past. We cannot take any risks." "We cannot afford to change our tickets and leave tomorrow. I simply don't have the money to make that happen." "Maybe we can pay for you to leave?" "Or maybe we could find a compromise? What if we agreed to restrict our filming to the building in which we are being hosted? You know, what if we voluntarily place ourselves under house arrest of sorts, only coming close to your premises when we need to bring food back up for the ensemble?" "Maybe that would work." For the next week, ten of us undertook an inexplicable form of voluntary house arrest. From having access to an entire campus to shoot Chronicles from Kashmir, suddenly, we only had one building and the area surrounding it. We couldn't go outside that area for fear of being seen. And being asked to leave.
Between this residential situation, and a simultaneous ban that Facebook imposed on our publisher, prohibiting them from selling the about-to-be-launched first edition of the script on their online marketplace, we found ourselves -again -in the eye of a storm. A storm that had come about so subtly, so unexpectedly, that I still have trouble believing the extent of the fuss that went into censoring a small group of people who were coming together to make theatre.
None of us have names that call attention. None of us come from high-powered spheres of influence and celebrity status. We were -we are -simple folk.
What was all the fuss about?

2019-2020
The first edition of the script exists.
The film exists, in a heavily condensed two-hour-long form and as additional standalone segments from the 24-hour experience.
And here we are.
At another turning point in Kashmir's history -the abrogation of Article 370 -when things are more unpredictable than they've ever been.
When the government's unilateral decision to revoke Kashmir's special status in August 2019 left the region without phone lines for two months.
When, as I write this, the internet remains disconnected and schools remain closed and life remains crippled.
So, here we are.
As artists and as educators.
Wondering, now what? "Now what?" has led to this second edition of Chronicles from Kashmir that includes more than the script for a performance. An edition that includes: "Now what?" has led us to decide that we want more learners, within and outside formal educational environments, to use our script as the jumping-off point to engage with a larger study of what is happening in Kashmir.
"Now what?" has brought us here. To this.
I write this introduction as my colleagues in Kashmir continue to remain under varying forms of lockdown.
I write this introduction after more than a year of wondering whether or not I have the energy to deal with the potential backlash that a second edition might provoke. I write this introduction after I was finally able speak to my colleagues in EKTA, after months of no communication, and realize that our time together couldn't end like this. Without "more." "More." More hope. More struggle. More collaboration. More imagination. "More." There has to be "more." Right?

A Note on Adaptation & Design
• If you are approaching this piece as a complete outsider to the conflicts it speaks of, PLEASE engage with Kashmiris -and others with experience of Kashmir -in your local context. They will be best positioned to guide you on elements that you do not understand.
If your local experts disagree with some/many aspects of this text, you are welcome to adapt/edit/change the material and to make choices that seem most ethical in your context.
If there is no one that you are able to engage with locally, and you find yourself in need of guidance, please reach out to us: ChroniclesFromKashmir@gmail. com Participants can expect: • Walking and physical exertion.
• Interaction with the performers.
• Regular provision of food and drink.
• Time to sleep, if they choose.
• Access to washrooms.
Participants should: • Wear comfortable shoes.
• Have some form of government-issued photo identification.
• Pack one change of clothes and a towel.
• Carry medication for any pre-existing health conditions.
• Bring extra water/snacks, if they need time-regulated food/drink.
• Make sure they have other locationspecific materials (like raingear), based on weather conditions in the performance context. What would be the potential impacts of not sending this information to spectators before their arrival at the event?

Chronicles from Kashmir 22
Participants should not: • Carry phones or any other technological devices: it is recommended that they let near and dear ones know that they will be out of touch for a day. In case of emergencies, the number for one crew member can be provided.
• Bring any materials that might be used as diversions from the experience (such as books, for example): all materials will be subject to inspection and approval by a member of the production team.

Militants
As you read the scenes, make a tally of which perspective is being shown in each one.
Yes, some scenes could be categorized in multiple columns.
Many of them will depend on your interpretation.
But do the counting. Just as an exercise.
And see what such an approach might reveal. Welcome to this journey (emphasizes the word), ladies and gentlemen. We are so very glad to have you with us.
This journey… it's something special. Something unique. A journey during which you will become part of a conversation between an ordinary Kashmiri (points to himself), and an ordinary non-Kashmiri (points at GUIDE #2).
There are no diplomats here; no agencies; no NGOs -just two people from the "inside" and the "outside;" two people who have chosen to come together to explore if, and how, they might be able to walk together.
What is the place for an outsider in the face of our struggles in Kashmir today? This is the question that lies at the heart of this journey. GUIDE #2: Over the course of the next day, you will walk around different spaces with us. In some of them, you will be asked to watch and listen. In others, you will be invited to become part of the action. In all of them, you have a choice to be involved as much as you wish.
Please always wear your ID cards and please, always carry the bags that have been given to you.
Before we start our journey, are there any questions?
Audience members are given the opportunity to ask the GUIDES questions about practical matters: When will they get to use the toilet? When will they get to eat?
If questions go beyond practicalities to the content or intent of the work, the GUIDES simply smile and say: "We hope you will find an answer to that question over the course of our time together." When the spectators have asked all their questions, the GUIDES lead them to the next space.
The path to the next space is incredibly pristine; clean; a well-manicured lawn, for instance. Perhaps it even has a lake. There are flowers in full bloom. The GUIDES and the audience stroll through this space; relaxed -taking their time to arrive at the next setting. What changes?
What stays the same?
The GUIDES lead the audience into a space. The walls and floors of the space are covered with paper or blackboards. As spectators enter, they see the TEACHER standing alone, writing the same statements over and over again -while simultaneously reading them aloud.
TEACHER: (reading and writing) I will not disobey my parents. I will not disobey my teachers. I will not disobey my elders. I will not disobey those in power. COORDINATOR: (To the PUPIL) You. You pay attention. The teacher will read out a list of word-association pairs, such as: day-sun, night-moon, mother-love, and so on. Then, he will repeat a word from one of the pairs and ask you to choose, from four options, the correct word association for it. You must remember which of the four words was associated with day in the original list that the teacher read to you. If you make a mistake, you'll receive an electric shock as punishment. This will help you learn.

His writing increases in speed
PUPIL: Why will punishment teach me?
COORDINATOR: The shock won't be strong.
COORDINATOR: No! Unless you really blunder. But that's impossible. They're very obvious associations. For idiots.
The COORDINATOR walks over to the TEACHER and hands him a sheet of paper.
COORDINATOR: Here is the list of words. A clean game: read slowly, with good pronunciation.
COORDINATOR: Very good! Now you must read one word, then four more, so that the pupil will pick the correct association. If he makes a mistake, say "Error," press the first button, and tell the pupil the voltage with which you're punishing him. Then read the right answer. Punishments start at 15 volts and end at 450 volts. As you see, it couldn't be easier. Begin.  TEACHER smiles and gets ready to question the PUPIL again.
TEACHER: All right, pupil. We're going to continue now. You need to learn. Nation: prison, bars, India, torture.
PUPIL: I DON'T KNOW. TEACHER: I will not press the button. I will not press the button. I will not press the button. I will not press the button… During the conversation that follows, the GUIDES -slowly -take stones that have been placed in some part of the space and hand one stone to each audience member. The spectators are invited -via the GUIDES' gestures -to place the stones given to them inside the bags they were given when they arrived. The stones are their souvenirs.
Stone souvenirs are handed to audience members at multiple points in Chronicles from Kashmir, and in each instance, the stones can be slightly different from each other: different sizes, shapes, colours. All that is essential is that the souvenir is a stone. Or something like it. Something like a stone that will increase the weight that an audience member has to carry in their bag.
Every single stone souvenir that a spectator gets during their journey is somehow embellished with a piece of paper that is glued/tied/painted/creatively embedded onto it. This piece of paper is intended to be a keepsake, of sorts; a keepsake that the audience can choose to engage with after their journey through Chronicles from Kashmir has ended. Each time a stone souvenir is given to spectators, therefore, there is a description in the script of what the stone might be embellished with. In this scene, the stone that the GUIDES give each spectator contains the information about the Milgram experiment (something like McLeod, 2007).
So, as they speak the lines below, the GUIDES hand a stone souvenir to each audience member and silently invite them to place the object in their bags. The hotel?
The market?
The river?
The school?
The WOMAN sits in front of the MAN.
MAN: You're the woman we took from the school.

Silence.
WOMAN: Why did you come to the school that day?
Silence. WOMAN: You have a mother.
WOMAN: Imagine this. Your mother is in a place where she feels safe. She is in a place where she does her best to move beyond the chaos around her. A place where she is happy.
And then, one day, some men come to that place. They rip it apart. They break down the walls. They tear up the floors.
What are the various gender dynamics that are at play in this scene?
How do these dynamics get muddled when the WOMAN is portrayed by a male actor (as in the video)?
They take your mother to places that… places that no woman, no person, should ever have to go to.
The men, some of them have their reasons. Some of them don't. They take your mother because they can take her. Because they have the power to take her. Because they are men, after all. Those men can take your mother wherever and whenever they want. And there is nothing that she can do about.
After all, she is a woman. After all, this is a war… Your mother comes back a different person. She is never the same again. No place is safe for her anymore.
What do you tell that mother? Silence.
WOMAN: What do you tell that mother? Silence.
WOMAN: What do you tell that mother?
Getting no response, the WOMAN goes close to the MAN. She jabs at him with the pistol. Slaps him around. Still getting no answer, she puts the gun down and grabs his collar, shaking him till he responds.
WOMAN: What do you tell that mother?
What do you tell that mother?
What do you tell that mother?
What do you tell that mother?
What do you tell that mother?
WHAT DO YOU TELL THAT -Silence.  As the spectators wander through any installation space, the GUIDES individually (and informally) hand each of them a stone souvenir to place in their bag. The description of each souvenir is included at the end of the respective installation's script.
On the door of each installation space, the following instructions should be posted clearly: 1 The media company's name is used as wordplay: to refer to these booths' focus on popular, mainstream media.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR THIS SPACE
This is your space.
A space to think, to reflect, to add your own voices to this tapestry of experiences.
You can choose to take a break while you explore this space: go to the restroom grab a snack watch the film. Please ask one of the GUIDES for help in finding what you need.
You can always request a timeout and choose to rest in our "sanctuary space." Again, simply let a GUIDE know if this is what you need.
We pride ourselves on our hospitality.
The "sanctuary space" is a quiet room that is designated for nothing else: no scenes; no installations. It is where spectators, escorted by a crewmember on audience duty, are taken if they need a break from the experience.
The exhibits below are described in no particular order -each one will, ultimately, have to be installed as best fits the chosen site.

Exhibit #1: Interactive Question
The instruction below is posted in one part of the space; the audience is provided with materials with which they can add their responses.
Write about a time you were a part of something that you did not agree with.

Exhibit #2: Interactive Question
A large black board with the question below; the audience is encouraged to write on the board with pieces of chalk.
What is discipline?

Exhibit #4: Interactive Question
An open trunk with the instruction below; audience members write their answers on pieces of paper and place them inside the trunk.
If you were forced to leave home -possibly forever -and could only take the things that you could carry yourself, what would you take?
Exhibit #5: Word Cluster The following words are displayed -together, apart, on the floor, on the ceiling -whatever best fits the space. There should be comfortable seating spaces in front of the screening, allowing spectators to rest and simply watch the video, should they desire to do so. During the installation, just as in the preceding scenes, the GUIDES give spectators a souvenir to carry in their bags. Here, the souvenir is a stone that has wrapped around it a piece of paper containing extracts from a text like Kashmir's Exile Poetry: An Aesthetic of Loss (Shameem, 2016).

Suggested Menu for this Installation Space
After the spectators have had about 30 minutes to explore the installation space, the GUIDES invite the audience to exit.
As the audience exits this space and moves on to the next one, they walk along a path that is designed using a variety of suitcases, trunks, bags: objects that are associated with migration.

Scene Four: The Artists
The GUIDES knock on a door. ART CRITIC: Yes, yes. We'll go to festivals across the world and we will show them how beautiful and ancient Kashmiri culture is.
DIRECTOR: Thank you so much, sir. That would be wonderful.
ART CRITIC: We can sell tickets and of course, all of you will be paid. Let me see a little bit more of this wonderful performance -I love what I have seen so far! DIRECTOR: Actors, why don't we show him that speech. You know, the one about the pigeons?
The ACTORS mutter their agreement and set up. ACTOR #3 stands on the backs of ACTORS #1 & #2 and performs the following speech in an extremely loud volume (a piece that alludes to stylistic elements from Bhand Pather).
People of this village please listen to me.
Pigeons from here have flown there and have been caged.
Pigeons from there have flown here and have been caged.

Our horses have been afflicted with an unknown disease…
Maybe from eating the grass there; Maybe from eating the hay here; Or maybe everything, here and there, has become infected?
In any case, the only certainty is that death looms large. Here.
And There.  Finally, GUIDE #1 reaches the last puppet, the one who resisted. When the actor asks this puppet "What if they did not control you?" the puppet looks back at him and replies, "Then maybe…" The last puppet smiles, and in a bizarre image covered in string, this actor hands out stone souvenirs to the audience while the GUIDES watch him with curiosity: these souvenirs are wrapped with a paper that has pictorial instructions for how to build a puppet drawn on it.
The GUIDES invite the audience to follow them to the next space by walking down a path that is evocatively designed with puppets.

INSTALLATION B
The general instructions that introduce INSTALLATION A also apply here. The exhibits below are described in no particular order -each one will, ultimately, have to be installed as best fits the chosen site.

Exhibit #7: Buzzfeed Booth
The poster for the Bollywood movie Fanaa is pasted alongside a screening of the film; the audio comes through speakers and in so doing, becomes the soundscape for the installation space. There should be comfortable seating spaces in front of the screening, allowing spectators to rest and simply watch the video, should they desire to do so.

Suggested Menu for this Installation Space
Slightly watered-down tea, with snacks that are ordered from a place like the Tihar Jail Initiative's Bakery (Tihar Jail Initiative, 2017).

Stone Souvenir
During the installation, just as in the preceding scenes, the GUIDES give spectators a stone souvenir to carry in their bags. Here, the stone is covered with images like those created by Banksy (see Moloney, 2017). How does one balance the richness of tradition with the joys that come with experimentation? Where is the line between making art that sells and selling one's voice as an artist? These are important questions that artists have faced, still face, and will continue to face, across time and space. When we tell them that they should become doctors and engineers and lawyers, but very rarely do we tell them to become artists. So, it starts there, and because we've created a culture where the arts are not valued as much as other things here -when the people who do want to become artists go out into the world, they are faced with nothing but challenges. Add to that the fear of censorship… where artists become afraid to say what they're thinking because of fear of repercussions not only from expected sources like the government and other armed agencies, but also from the harsh criticism from their peers and neighbours and families… I honestly don't know how some of Kashmir's artists have found the strength to keep going.

An informal conversation occurs between the GUIDES while the audience meanders through the installation.
GUIDE #2: I must say though that despite all these challenges, I have been amazed by the number of creative and artistic people I have met in Kashmir. There seems to be a growing spirit of entrepreneurship and creativity here; people who are writing poems and articles and movies and songs and plays… It's admirable. I don't know where they find the fight… The conversation continues informally, and improvised; or it just winds down.
After 30 minutes, the GUIDES ask the audience to follow them to the next location.
As the audience exits this space and moves on to the next one, they walk along a path that is designed using thick ropes. For her to come back to me and say to me that yes, she was wrong in her choice. I want her to feel that I was the best guy she could have ever met, and she made the biggest mistake of her life by choosing him. I am just waiting for the day that I will finish the Academy, become an officer, and go to her wearing that shining olive green uniform… Is that why she left me? Because I am an army man and she would have to be both the father and mother to our children?… I don't know.   (Kakar, 2017).
Over 100 military personnel commit suicide every year (Pandit, 2017) Why Are the Armed Forces in Kashmir Plagued by So Many Suicides and Fratricides? (Maqbool, 2017) India's Troubled Soldiers (Ramachandran, 2013)  GUIDE #1: Shouldn't we wait to see what happens with this situation? If the young man who was protesting will find justice?
GUIDE #2: I think that will be a long wait, janab. Who knows what he will find and when he will find it.
GUIDE #1: You're right… Please, lead the way. Let' move on.
As the audience members move out from this space and into the next, they walk through a path made of sacks. Choose one of these to read when we go inside.
The readings to choose from might include, but are not limited to: DIRECTOR: Right, let me do that then. So, we are here to shoot a film about some of the experiences of Sikhs in Kashmir. We're a little short of actors so that's why… well. You get the point. Now, most of our interviews are already done but we also want a few clips that are less… direct. Images that are more abstract… more conceptual.

Shahnaz Bashir's (2015) A Bunker in Every Mind
We want to create a movie about the experiences of Sikhs in Kashmir, but we also want to make it in a way that is… (he gesticulates with his arms, trying to find the right words). Look, bottom line: you all don't have to worry about a thing. We will tell you exactly what you need to do. Yes?

Chronicles from Kashmir 120
The sequence of images that follow are deliberately described by content, rather than form. Based on the number of spectators and based on the space available, the construction of the images should differ. What is necessary though, is that the topic of each image is maintained.
The images can be understood as a tableau. A still image.
In these images, the DIRECTOR arranges the audience members into a particular composition and asks them to remain frozen in that position until he tells them that they can move.
Once the audience members are in the position desired by the DIRECTOR, the ASSISTANT DIRECTOR, CAMERA PEOPLE, and LIGHTING PERSONNEL take a short (1-minute) video of that particular image.
After each image has been filmed, audience members are told to relax, and immediately the recording is shown to the DIRECTOR on a screen that is also visible to the audience. The audience must be able to watch the recording as well.
After each recording is shown, the DIRECTOR and the ASSISTANT DIRECTOR have a brief conversation about the product. Sometimes, they want to reshoot an image because something hasn't been communicated accurately. Sometimes, they are happy with an image. Sometimes, they absolutely disagree on an image and have to either agree to disagree or to discard that image all together.

IMAGE #1: The Sikhs as a unique minority in the Kashmir Valley
After IMAGE #1 is staged, the DIRECTOR tells the audience to freeze in that position. The crew films that image for 1 minute. The video is played back for the DIRECTOR and the people in the image.
DIRECTOR: Yes, that works. That looks good to me. Anyone disagree?  The DIRECTOR and crew remain in a corner, looking at the footage. Audience members work with the make-up artists again and once they are back in their everyday clothes, they can choose to speak to the DIRECTOR and the crew about any questions they have about the images of which they were part.
The same song that played in the beginning plays at the end. Tea and biscuits are provided to the audience as a thank-you from the film crew.
During the tea break, the DIRECTOR and other crew members thank each audience member and hands them a stone souvenir that is wrapped with an image that documents Sikhs living in Kashmir.

Once audience members are out of their costumes, have had their tea break, and have received their souvenir, the GUIDES take them to the next space down a path that is made up of visuals of lesser-known Kashmiri voices. Voices from the Gujjars, or from Kashmir's LGBTQI+ community.
But also, possibly, more conceptual imagery that alludes to voices of everyday inequalities that are inevitably glossed over amidst the more spectacular narrative of war. ACTORS give each audience member a stone souvenir that is covered with a step by step guide on how to write a manifesto. Something like: How to Write Your Manifesto In 5 Steps (Grammarly, 2014).
Once all audience members have a stone souvenir, a moment. Then, all the ACTORS exit.

GUIDE # 2: Let's move on?
When the audience members are led out of this space and into the next one, they walk down a path that is installed with microphones.
Pause for a few seconds. If no audience members step in, GUIDE #2 pounds the apple on the floor. Applause.

INSTALLATION C
The general instructions that introduce INSTALLATION A also apply here. The exhibits below are described in no particular order -each one will, ultimately, have to be installed as best fits the chosen site.
Before the audience enters the space: GUIDE #1: Before we enter this space, there is something that I would like to share with you all. I know you might be tired by now. Walking around these different spaces. Encountering different kinds of pain in each one. I wouldn't blame you if you were tired. Perhaps even a bit… bored?

(Pause)
War is not always about the bombs. Or the curfews. Or the spectacular stories of protest. War is also banal. Ordinary. Boring. So, experience the tiredness. The exhaustion. The boredom. Notice the ways in which your mind becomes numb -exhausted -from hearing one more story about pain and suffering. Feel those responses with every pore of your being. Maybe, then, you will understand just a little bit more about Kashmir.
Long pause. GUIDE #1 looks the audience in the eye.

Exhibit #4: Buzzfeed Booth
A poster of the Bollywood movie Haider is pasted alongside a screening of the same film; the audio comes through speakers and in so doing, becomes the soundscape for the installation space. There should be comfortable seating spaces in front of the screening, allowing spectators to rest and simply watch the video, should they desire to do so.

Suggested Menu for this Installation Space
Salty chai (Noon chai) and Kashmiri breads.

Stone Souvenir
During the installation, just as in the preceding scenes, the GUIDES give spectators a souvenir to carry in their bags. Here, the souvenir is a stone that has wrapped around it a piece of paper containing the following text: After 30 minutes, the GUIDES ask the audience to follow them to the next location. As the audience exits this space and moves on to the next one, they walk along a path that is designed using woollen webs. If conversation runs out, people eat in silence. There is still music playing.
Once everyone is close to being done with the food, maybe when noon chai is being served: GUIDE #2: So, I should tell you all why I brought you here for dinner. Shabnam was one of the first people that I met in Srinagar -she wasn't married then… (everyone smiles). We met through my colleague here, actually (points to GUIDE #1) and when Shabnam heard that I had never tried yakhni, she invited me to her house the next day and with her family, I enjoyed my first taste of this dish… Shabnam was instrumental in educating me about Kashmiri food and so now, whenever I guide a group like you, I bring them to meet Shabnam and taste her food… (GUIDE #2 turns to the WIFE) Do you want to tell them the story or should I?
The stories are shared informally, conversationally. It is talk between friends who have just shared food together; it is not a "performance." WIFE: I can tell the story… So, when he came to my house that day, my parents were telling him about how yakhni was the reason they got married… (She smiles). They had an arranged marriage -my parents -and on the day that my father's family went to meet my mother and her family for the first time, she had prepared yakhni for them. When my grandfather came back home and described my mother's yakhni to my father… he says he had no choice but to agree to marry her. (WIFE, HUSBAND, and BROTHER smile). So now, any time they have a fight, she makes him yakhni; as a way to remember that day….
HUSBAND: Yakhni is the last dish to be served in our Kashmiri wazwaan and it has brought even the most nefarious wrestlers onto the right path (he smiles). Pause.
GUIDE #1: Hmmm…. (he takes a few seconds to think). So, when I was young… 10 or 11 years old, maybe. I can't really remember umm… anyway, we lived in the city at that time. My father had a government job and was posted there. And when we went to the city for the first time, I remember thinking that I would never fit in. So much noise. So much activity. We were village folk, you know?

(A pointed look is exchanged between WIFE, BROTHER, and HUSBAND).
One day I was walking home from school with my brother… or was it my sister?
One of them. Maybe it was my… anyway, that's not important. So, we were walking home from school, and I saw this old man at his shop… He was making… I can't even remember now what he was making.
What I do remember though, is that he called me into his shop and gave me some of the food he was making as a treat… the smell inside that shop was so… It smelled like home, to me. And for the first time, in the city, I felt at home. I know this doesn't directly answer your question but -GUIDE #2: No, no, you answered my question just fine. Pause.
GUIDE #2 points to someone in the audience who has been happy to participate from the beginning; someone who does not seem like they will be too uncomfortable at being asked to speak.

GUIDE #2: What's your favourite memory associated with food?
Audience member is given a chance to respond. If the person called upon to respond says something, great. If not, the conversation is allowed to unfold till it seems to reach a natural conclusion.
GUIDE #2: OK, Shabnam. I think it's time for us to go now. Thank you so much.
WIFE: Are you sure you don't want some more tea or something before you go? GUIDE #2: We would love to stay but you know we have to take these folks to as many places as we can before they leave.

WIFE, HUSBAND, and BROTHER shake hands with each audience member and, as a goodbye gift, give each of them a stone souvenir that is wrapped in beautiful paper containing a quotation. Something like this:
Perhaps, instead of interculturalism, what we need in India is a stronger awareness of our intracultural affinities. It is only by respecting the specificities of our "regional" cultures that we in India can begin to understand how much we have in common. (Bharucha, 2003:39) When the GUIDES lead the audience members to the next space, they are on a path made of wooden planks. A bridge, perhaps?
As you can see in this video, scenes from Chronicles are set in physical spaces that contain the same function as those in the script, i.e., scenes that take place in toilets are staged in toilets; scenes that take place in kitchens take place in kitchens. This The text was entirely improvised anyway.
Given the complexity of the tasks involved in this eight-hour section of the experience, the format below has been chosen to give the reader a clear idea of what is to unfold. For an even more rigorous breakdown, please see the timeline that has been included at the end of the script. ***

Duration: 1 hour and 10 minutes
The audience reaches a home where a wedding is underway. Spectators are offered traditional Kashmiri tea and actors speak with them, in their roles as members of a wedding party.

WATCH THE VIDEO
The Wedding

WATCH THE VIDEO
The Curfewed Night, Part 1

WATCH THE VIDEO
The Curfewed Night, Part 2 This event is the mehandi raat and is a ceremony in which the groom's little finger is decorated with henna. The next morning, the groom traditionally goes to the bride's home, to bring her back. A cake is cut during this night; there is dancing and singing. The groom's friends are the ones who lead the festivities. The groom's father -the head of the household -coordinates all the events.

Night
Halfway through this time period, a curfew is announced outside. While there is still celebration in the air, the atmosphere in the house changes because of the curfew. The curtains are drawn. Music plays, but the volume is low.
Audience members are asked to help members of the home with tasks (since more guests are supposedly en route and plans have had to be changed because of the curfew). Spectators help with decorating the space; arranging the bedding; cooking; taking photographs. The audience members should be made to feel like part of the wedding -it should also enable them to talk to the actors informally; to share what they have seen in the performance thus far; the questions that they have.
Neighbours interrupt from time to time, asking the wedding party to keep their voices down. Maybe there's an occasional sound of protests; of teargas shelling; of pellet guns.
Toward the end of this time frame, the groom is brought in, there is song and dance; celebrations reach a peak. ***

Duration: 40 minutes
In the midst of the celebration, there is banging at the door. A man, injured by pellets fired by the Indian army, runs in and wants to hide. Some actors playing the wedding hosts rush the pellet victim to another space, where the guests won't have to see him.
Others talk about how to take the injured person to hospital, but no one is ready to risk his life due to the restrictions outside.
Suddenly a few army men enter the house and start asking about the injured man. They spill all the arranged sweets, pull out the clothes that are there, and start an identification parade of all the family members -guests and locals are separated for this. The army officers start searching all the rooms, drag out the pellet-injured man from the room, and take him along with them.
All the family, friends, and guests, after a shock, start rearranging the sweets and redo the arrangements for the mehandi raat. After re-settling the arrangements, the head of the family directs the groom to prepare for the mehandi.
A decorated cake is brought out and put on the table.
There is a wanvun in the background. The groom is made to sit on a stage. His feet and hands are washed. The mother of the groom applies mehandi to the little finger of his right hand. The mother of the groom also applies mehandi for the groom's friends and other guests. Now sweets are distributed among the guests.

Wanvun
A style of choral singing that is particular to Kashmir Then, the groom cuts the cake; he takes a bite of it, then it is cut into pieces, and distributed among the friends and guests. The sweets are also distributed among the guests.
Since the curfew is still underway, mattresses are laid out in a space, and the GUIDES ask audiences to get some rest while they go out and try to figure out how to continue the tour amidst the curfew. Once the GUIDES leave the space, a projector turns on and the following images/events take place within that framework. Audience members are welcome to stay awake or to sleep for a bit. ***

Duration: 8 hours
Hour 1 20 minutes of static 20 minutes of a special light on an actor For these twenty minutes, this actor has one primary action: tweezing the hair on his face. As he does so, he looks into a mirror; looks at his reflection. Each hair that he tweezes, has a story; a voice. A story that only he knows. 20 minutes of a "guest" The "guest" appears through Skype; through a documentary video; through screenings of existing artistic responses/commentaries to particular wars in other contexts. This video has a single objective: to place Kashmir amidst global struggles for autonomy; to provide nuanced perspectives about the place for an outsider in these contexts; contemplations about who the outsider might be.
In this hour, the "guest video" should focus on Palestine.

***
Hour 2 20 minutes of static 20 minutes of a special light on an actor For these twenty minutes, this actor has one primary action: applying henna, like nail polish, on her hand and toenails. It is a ritual; something she does every day. And in its banality, in being utterly commonplace; she is a vision. 20 minutes of a "guest" In this hour, the "guest video" should focus on Kurdistan.

***
Hour 3 20 minutes of static 20 minutes of a special light on an actor During this time, the actor's phone is paired with the projector. We see him/her chatting with a Facebook account. Someone who talks to them, asks personal questions, disappears for a minute or two, before coming back and asking more questions. At one point, once intimate details have been revealed, the person on the other end of the Facebook chat, attempts to blackmail the actor; asking to be paid money in order to keep their secrets. The vignette culminates with the actor attempting to discern the identity of the person they are speaking with. 20 minutes of a "guest" In this hour, the "guest video" should focus on the Zapatistas.

Duration: 40 minutes
The GUIDES walk in, turn on the radio, and begin setting out some food. The audience members are woken up by the GUIDES, who tell each of spectators that the curfew has been lifted, and that they should gather their energy before continuing on with their journey.
Audience members are given time to freshen up and eat before leaving the wedding household. The hosts of the wedding give each audience member a little bag with souvenirs, one of which is a stone that is covered with text about weddings in war zones (like Harris, n.d.).
As the audience members are led out of this curfewed night and into the next space, they have to navigate through a path made of barbed wire.
In addition to the challenge of actors needing to remain in character for an extended duration, the challenge of scenes like A Wedding and a Curfewed Night is how to maintain the stakes.
How do you get an audience to buy into the stress of a curfew, while knowing that they are -in reality -safe?
How can the audience be made to experientially understand the gravity of a situation, without blurring the lines between their own realities and fictions?

Scene Twelve: The Mirrors & a Poetic Lament
A room full of mirrors.
The text, punctuation marks, and spaces -everything below can be staged as the directors see fit.
But the mirrors need to be used. The I's and the you's and the us's and the them's and the we's and the you's and the I's -Possession Distance Belonging Alienation Always. The belonging. And the alienation.
This could be the last time.
And if it were The last time, Like the time before was And the time before that could have been -This could be the last time.
And if it were, I think I might break.
Into a million, disconnected pieces.
That could never be whole again.
This could be the last time.
And I wait.
To be broken. Again.
They say I should write hope They say I should write difference They say I should write paths And options And ways Whose perspective(s), in your opinion, lie(s) at the heart of this scene?

And roads And bridges
But sometimes, This is all there is to write.
Broken fragments that pour out of you at an airport or train station, over burnt chai and the never-ending cigarette Sometimes, This is all there is.
A deluge.
An outpouring.
A flood.
Across the distance, I think I see you Sometimes, I think you see me But I'm never sure. I know you aren't either.
We both could go somewhere else.
Be somewhere else. Choose someone else. But we keep coming back to each other.
And I have to wonder Maybe this is not the last time? Is this. Lament.
The wheels, they just keep on turning.
A moment of silence.
The GUIDES lead the audience to the next space down a path made of shards of glass.

The Third Coalition
Like the one that came before, this COALITION is a space of collaborative creation; of a group of people coming together, albeit temporarily, to "make something": an atmosphere, a spirit, a hope, a recognition. As spectators enter this outdoor area, they witness performers sorting trash into specific piles.
Upon arrival, audience members are handed overalls and gloves, and are divided into four groups.
Audience members can choose not to be part of the process. They can choose to simply sit by. But without everyone's participation, won't the composting just take even longer?
The composting is, clearly, an allegory: for taking "trash" and making it something else. For the collective effort it takes. For the proportions that need to be right. For the time it must be given.
And given the directness of the allegory, nothing more has to be said.

Make sure that the audiences are given clear directions on how to compost!
The main composters are actors; Kashmiris. They wear their realities in their bodies; in their breaths. They tell the spectators what to do. They teach them how to compost. And at the very end they say, "Thank you for your help. Now… now only time will tell." In the middle of the composting process, tea and biscuits are brought in.
Once audience members' groups are done, they are given buckets of water with which to clean their hands. The actors join the audience for tea when their respective groups are finished; the GUIDES indicate that it is time to leave when all the spectator groups are done with their composting tasks.
When leaving this space, the audience walks through a path constructed with sticky mud to get to the next location.
been shattered. Our dignity that has been sullied. My struggle will not end till we have our birth right. My struggle will not end till we are liberated from our oppressors. My struggle will not-cannot-end until we are free. And till then, until that day of freedom arrives, this stone will be my weapon.
All the PELTERS take a stone, take aim, and throw it in one direction. They take more stones, throw them in another direction. They scream.

MAN
(as an older person): Today I will make it from here to there.

He takes slow steps to a clock and adjusts it.
Today I will try to make it from here to there.

He takes slow steps and stops.
Today I should make it from here to there.

He takes slow steps to a clock and adjusts it.
Today I might make it from here to there.

He takes slow steps and stops.
Today I will get there.

He takes slow steps and stops.
Today I will.
He takes slow steps to a clock and adjusts it.
Maybe today I will.
He takes slow steps back to Monday.
Maybe today I will.
He sits down on Monday. I work.
I work.
I take the bus home.
I take the bus home so that it takes more time.
I sit in the traffic, hoping the news won't play on the radio. Again.
There is no point in thinking about the world.

Exhibit #1: Activity
A space that is lined with sacks of uncooked rice and demarcated into eight, clearly defined, areas using ropes/tape/wire/something else. Each demarcated area has a number posted in it, and audience members are instructed to place as many grains of rice as the number in that demarcated area.
Here, please place the exact number of rice grains as the number posted.

This area has two sections
Section 1: 1500 3 When 20 minutes have passed, the GUIDES place the following signs in each area. Every time this performance is staged, the numbers need to be explicitly attributed to a specific source or to multiple sources.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
Section 1 represents the number of displaced Kashmiri Pandits.
Section 2 represents the number of Kashmiri Pandits who have been killed.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area represents the number of civilians killed in Kashmir since 1947.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the number of 'militants' who have been killed in Kashmir since 1947.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the number of government forces who are currently stationed in Kashmir.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the number of Indian government forces that have been killed in Kashmir since 1947.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the number of disappearances that have occurred in Kashmir.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the population of Kashmir.

SIGN
Each grain of rice in this area represents 100 people.
This area symbolizes the number of 'militants' who currently operate in Kashmir.

Exhibit #2: Gallery
In a corner, there is a lone woman who is repeating the lines below over and over: lines used in the protests of the Association for the Parents of Disappeared Persons -APDP -in Kashmir.
LADY: Give us -the disappeared children.
Give us -the disappeared husbands.
Give us -the disappeared brothers.
Give us -the disappeared.

Exhibit #4: Buzzfeed Booth
A poster of the Bollywood film Jab Jab Phool Khile is pasted alongside a screening of the same film; the audio comes through speakers and in so doing, becomes the soundscape for the installation space. There should be comfortable seating spaces in front of the screening, allowing spectators to rest and simply watch the video, should they desire to do so.

Suggested Menu for this Installation Space
A rice-based snack, like phirni: a dessert that is prepared with rice, milk, a variety of dried fruits, and sugar.

Stone Souvenir
During the installation, just as in the preceding scenes, the GUIDES give spectators a souvenir to carry in their bags. Here, the souvenir is a stone that has wrapped around it a piece of paper containing the definition of a "mass grave." After 30 minutes, the GUIDES lead the spectators out of this space.

Why broken eggshells?
What effect does the use of this material in the passage between the installation and the following scene create?
As the audience exits this space and moves on to the next one, they walk along a path that is designed using broken eggshells.

Scene Sixteen: The Women
As audience members enter this space, regardless of that person's gender identity, they are asked to dress as Kashmiri women are likely to dress. This is a space that is for women. And if anyone wants to really engage with the stories of Kashmir's women, they need to look for these spaces. They need to make the effort. To understand that feminism in this Valley has its own face. Its own logic. Its own rhythm. While NS, LD, and HK speak, PA is making flyers for the disappeared -the same flyers (and actor) should be used outside Installation D; they are also the flyers that cover the stone souvenirs that are handed to audience members during the scene below; the same stones that AB is also using. Some audience members can be invited to make the flyers and stone souvenirs with PA.
At some point in what follows, AB and PA hand out stone souvenirs to each spectator.
Other audience members, in their roles as women, are given a host of different tasks to take on -by the GUIDES, or by PA and AB: • One person is asked to iron clothing • One person is asked to peel potatoes

• One person is seated by a small stove and is provided with materials to make chai
• One person is given a toy gun • One person is given paper and pens • One person is given photos of men, with a marker You get the picture.
The woman reciting the poems below can move around the space. They can be more formally "staged." Whatever works. GUEST #3: I'm going to say that the answer is b): conflicts between India and Pakistan.
HOST: That answer is… incorrect! The correct answer was a): a desire for selfdetermination. You, sir, remain at 1,000 Rs. Next question for all the contestants.
Where are Gilgit and Baltistan located? Audience is given a chance to answer.
HOST: The correct answer is c): Gilgit and Baltistan are administered by Pakistan. All right, let's make this more exciting now. The next question is a bonus question and whoever gets this right will get 10,000

Suggested Menu for this Installation Space
Snacks and drinks that look like they could be medicine: think of pill-shaped candy; drinks that have the consistency of antacid.

Stone Souvenir
During the installation, just as in the preceding scenes, the GUIDES give spectators a souvenir to carry in their bags. Here, the souvenir is a stone that has wrapped around it a piece of paper containing text about the intersections between mental health and war, especially in Kashmir. Consider the following resources: Murthy & Lakshminarayana (2006) and Tamim (2016).
After 30 minutes, the GUIDES ask the audience to follow them to the next location. GUIDE #2: But sir, why will any of them want to follow me after this?
GUIDE #1: I think they will understand that we all make mistakes. It will be worse for us to cancel now and leave things like this… Pause.

Chronicles from Kashmir 200
The safest place for Pandits will be in the hearts of Kashmiri Muslims -not in the camps.

Pause.
PANDIT #2: Some of our people are telling us that we should not go on an individual basis until there is a plan for how to settle the entire community. Others are telling us that we should start going back and test how things are. Others are talking about creating demarcated areas in which we can live under some kind of protection. And some, some even want a part of Kashmir just for our community. I don't know whom to believe any more. The way in which the web is wound should not make it too easy for the audience members to disentangle themselves from it. GUIDE #1 is the first to extricate himself and he helps each spectator free themselves from the web. Once GUIDE #2 is free, he starts handing stone souvenirs to audience members who are free of the web. Each stone is covered, simply, with the following terms:

Repatriation Reintegration Rehabilitation Reconstruction
The group moves to the next space, navigating a webbed pathway.

Scene Twenty: The Seesaws
A room full of seesaws. Audience sits on seesaws.
The characters speaking these lines are also on seesaws. The characters are in fatigues: they could be representatives of a nation-state's armed forces, or a group of guerrillas. CHILD #1: My mother hasn't been at home for a few days.
CHILD #2: Where has she gone?
CHILD #1: I don't know… These policemen came to our house. They seemed nice but after they took us to the station, I haven't seen my mother again.
CHILD #2: I'm sure the policemen had nothing to do with your mother not coming home. CHILD #2: Look. Let's try the alphabet song again. That'll take your mind off things.
They try the rhyme again. CHILD #1 makes the same mistake again. He begins to cry.
CHILD #2: Don't cry. Please. I'm sure your mother is fine. My mother has not been home in a long time either and I'm OK. You'll be fine too.
CHILD #1: Where is your mother? CHILD #2: One of my friends, papa ji. He says that his mother isn't at home anymore.
FATHER #2 (CHIEF): What happened to her? Is she sick?
CHILD #2: No, he said that one day she was there and then some men came -policemen -who took her away somewhere.
FATHER #2 (CHIEF): I see… Well, if they were policemen, I'm sure it was something they needed to ask her. Maybe his mother had some work or some relatives to visit after the policemen asked her their questions, and your friend doesn't know about that. Don't worry, I'm sure he's just missing his mother and she'll come back soon.
As CHILD #1 finishes handing out souvenirs, the GUIDES take the audience down the next path, which is composed with extracts about Kashmir from school textbooks around the world. CHILD #1's song can be heard on the walk.

Scene Twenty-Two: The Hope
The audience walks into a room that has actors who are wearing masks. Masks on the backs of their heads. A poem from the Zapatistas (Enlace Zapatista, 2013).
ACTOR #1: Our strength, if we have one, is in this recognition: we are who we are, and there are others who are who they are, and others who we still don't have the words to name, and are nevertheless who they are.
When we say "we" we are not absorbing and, in doing so, subordinating identities, but rather emphasizing the bridges that exist between different sufferings and different rebellions.

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They look for ways to make themselves comfortable; we look for ways to serve.
They look for ways to lead; we look for ways to accompany.
They look at how much you earn; we at how much is lost.
They look for what is; we, for what could be.
ACTOR #4: They see numbers; we see people.
They calculate statistics; we, histories.
They speak; we listen.
They look at how they look; we look at the gaze.
They look to see how you can take advantage of the current conjuncture; we look to see how we can create it.
They concern themselves with the broken windows; we concern ourselves with the rage that broke them. ACTOR #5: They look at the many; we at the few. They see impassable walls; we see the cracks. They look at possibilities; we look at what was impossible until the eve of its possibility.