From "Haider" to Hope: a True Kashmir Election Story

Bandipore: The larger-than-life story of one of Kashmir Valley's most infamous militants-turned counter-insurgents, Kukka Parrey, travelled to thousands of cinemas this year through the recently-released film "Haider".

12 years after he died, a casual reference to him is unfeasible in Bandipore, his home and operating base. His name evokes either intense anger or fear.

Parrey was assassinated in 2003 by militants of the Hizbul Mujahideen. He had launched a pro-India counter-insurgency outfit, Ikhwan-ul-Muslimoon that targeted militants loyal to Pakistan and was accused of grave human rights violations.

While Parrey's notorious and controversial years form a crucial component of "Haider", it is his son, Imtiaz Parrey, who is a principal now in the state election. Imtiaz, in his early 30s, is running as the Congress candidate from Bandipore, once considered a militant zone and a frequent transit route for infiltrators from Pakistan.

At his house, Imtiaz, seated next to his father's grave, argues that history has been unkind and unfair to Kukka Parrey. He says those years in Kashmir were all about Gun vs Gun. Today, he cedes, democracy must be allowed to over-power violence.

"If my father's legacy were limited to violence, I would not have the support of so many people, big leaders would not have endorsed me, I would not be as strong a candidate as I am," he told NDTV. "There is not one family in Kashmir that has not been hurt by violence."

Haider, set in the 90s in a Kashmir besieged by violence, has evoked either love or strong dissent. Parrey's is not the house of a fan.

"This film is not our story. If the writer had spoken to us, it would have been different. We know what we are. 'Haider' is not our story," said Imtiaz.

A short walk away, in below-freezing temperatures, the long lines at polling booths make a powerful statement about democracy, and a new sense of participation  and perhaps even hope in its processes.

But in those same long lines are reminders that the Valley's past is still an open wound, and that elections alone may not bring the healing needed.

As Abdul Rashid is waiting to vote, he points to a spot barely 10 steps away - this is where his brother was shot dead by renegades in those tumultuous times.

At his home, he breaks down under the weight of that memory. Clutching a photograph of his brother's dead body, punctured by bullets, he says, "My brother did nothing. He was an innocent man."

Some of Abdul's neighbours say they won't vote, and shout slogans against the elections. But Abdul says he is counting on his vote - and millions of others - to forge change.

So as Bandipore delivers a 70 per cent turnout, both perpetrators and victims seek a departure from a violent past. Will the shadow of the gun lift this time?