The quest continues Basharat Peer, the author of Curfewed Night, talks about Kashmir, independence and his book By Huma Imtiaz

I picked up Basharat Peer's Curfewed Night while en route to Delhi, not without a little trepidation though that the Indian immigration authorities might go through my luggage and object to my carrying a book on Kashmir. Nevertheless, as I began reading the book, the rest of the three hours that it takes to fly to Delhi from Karachi passed by in a daze. A memoir, Basharat's matter-of-fact and honest account of life in Kashmir, the poignant accounts of the people he met, the journeys he went through, the constant fear, the sadness of seeing his land falling victim to decades of warfare, and the hope of azaadi,(freedom) were an eye-opener at the very least.

We meet on the sidelines of the Jaipur Literature Festival. Basharat instantly puts me at ease when I introduce myself as a Pakistani journalist and encourages me to talk in Urdu. He's soft-spoken, and has a surprising saaf lehja (clear accent) when speaking Urdu, a throwback to his days spent studying at the Aligarh Muslim University, and is a relief to hear after two days of trying to figure out what somvaar and mangalwaar mean.

So we sit down, with cups of tea, and start talking. "Was it painful," I ask, "writing this book?"

"It was difficult," says Basharat, "but the more difficult parts were about other people, not my story, because I used my personal story as an entry into the major themes and events that have had a huge impact on Kashmir. After I had done my reporting and I was writing, I had the feeling that I was among one of the more sheltered ones, you know, I was a middle-class kid, could get an education, and go out in the world. Then as a reporter you meet people who went through absolute brutalities, and lived with very little hope -- writing about those people, that was really hard. It didn't feel like I was writing about someone else, I mean whoever's mother they may be, they're still my own people. The nature of the relationship is that there is a sense of community, a sense of a collective self. When I was writing about Kashmir, it didn't matter whose family it was, it is my story, my history."