It's was a regular mid August evening in Bangalore. The downpour had toned down into a drizzle, luring civilians out from their self-imposed lockdown. The non-stop pour since yesterday made it impossible to step out untill necessities. Children were estatic for the holiday on weekday and adults took excuses from work.

Our protagonist had also taken a day off. He slept till noon and had a lazy brunch of tofu sandwich and black coffee. While switching through OTTs for a binge worthy show he got a call. "Hello Gagan, how are you man?" he said picking up the call. "By the grace of God, buisness is thriving. Tell me yours?" Gagan asked in turn. "What to tell bro! Handing clients and reviewing their cases takes away my time," he replied sighing. "You are minting money and travelling abroad, what else is required? Now for these luxury a little work must be done, right?" Gagan asked. Brushing off the person discussed another topic with him.

After an hour, the men decided to cut short. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, we are having a get-together tomorrow. Will you be available?" Gagan squeezed the invitation at the end. "Probably, my schedule says so. At what time? Venue? Any dress code?" the person asked. "I shall ping you. Gotta go, bye," said Gagan and ended the call.

The person gets up from his couch and heads to the bathroom for a hot shower. Usually, his schedule does not permit him time for self-care. He just grooms the body parts sticking outside his corporate outfit and during weekends he is too tired to leave the bed. His well furnished house in M.G Road lies bare as the whole week he slaves in the office.

Next day at 12 pm, he drove to a continental resturant for the get-together. His group was already there in a reserved seat. They got up to greet him. "Glad you were able to make it, Asif," said Gagan and pulled a chair besides him. "I was free till 3 pm, you see, otherwise this job hardly lets me get around," Asif replied and sat on the chair.

"Flexing, in front of your lawyer friends?" commented a guy. "Now it's not my fault that you didn't opt for a corporate law degree. By the way you also get a large sum from the rich brats you represent, Sunil, " replied Asif mockingly. He hated Sunil and his nosiness. Lawyers like him love to bite off more than they can chew. He wasn't like that, he took cases that had the higher chances of winning. If a higher sum was involved, he ramshackled his brain to turn the case on his favour. He was ambitious not foolish.

Where is Mudassar? Didn't you invite him, Gagan?, " asked Cyril lighting up his cigarette. A waiter immediately came to table and warned them about the restaurant's policy. Putting the situation under control, Gagan replied, "You know him. He labelled this place as a 'graveyard of poor people's dreams' and went on a rant." The group laughed. They recalled his antics and his ideal values of representing the minorities.

"Wasn't Mudassar your closest friend in college, Asif?" asked Sunil steering a dispute. "He was close to all of us, ain't?" replied Asif drink the soup. "He was no doubt but at the point both of you had long and secluded discussions of your own," commented Cyril. "We were young and idealistic, it was natural discussion went longer. After you get a grip on reality, all of them shattered," Asif explained.

The group parted ways at 2:30 pm. Asif drove his Mercedes towards his home. "If it wasn't for Gagan, I wouldn't have come. What do Sunil and Cyril think of themselves? They are jealous of my status," he fumed. Maybe Asif has a secret desire to see Mudassar in the venue?

Mudassar and Asif are inseparable during college. They met each other during the freshers and became fast friends. Asif admired Mudassar's idealistic ideas for being the representative to the unspoken and Mudassar admired Asif's strong will and hardworking nature. One day while discussing the essays of Spivak, Asif revealed, "You know, my full name is Asif Noon. I belong to the Gujjars tribe of Kashmir." "Does that affect our friends? If any you should be proud of your tribal heritage," Mudassar replied. "It affected me. I was looked down. Classmates saw me as leech sucking on their opportunities," said Asif baring his heart to his close friend. "You are the most hardworking person I know. Moreover aren't we all privileged one way or the other?" Mudassar said comforting him.

The train of thoughts stopped abruptly when his official phone rang. "I didn't have anything for the day, who could it be?" he wondered while answering the phone. "Asif, at what time are you coming to the form today?" his colleague asked. "Is there anything important? I am stuck in traffic," he lied. "A client has specifically asked for you," his colleague informed. "Request them to wait for half and hour more. I am on my way," he said and drove the car towards his law firm.

Upon entering the room, he was greeted by two female appearing individuals. "Thank you for waiting this long. How may I help you?" he asked politely. The duo looked at each other and one of them spoke, "Are you Asif Noon by chance? Not Asif Quadri nor Asif Khan but the Asif Noon?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Actually we are researching on pahari tribes of Jammu and Kashmir especially Gujjars. And our paper is due on September and it's near to impossible that we get an first hand account of them within the time."

"So?"

"We had this seminar in our college where the guest speaker talked about a Gujjar friend of his living in Bangalore and we requested him to give your office address at the least."

"What is his name?" asked Asif curiously. "Mudassar Syed" the other researcher said. "And what makes you think that I want to be the part of this thing you are dragging me into," he asked agitated. "Kindness from a human to another. We shall pay you a negotiable amount. And it will take only an hour of your life," the researcher suggested.

"See even though I am Gujjar, I don't identify as one. It has been years since I last visited home. A wrong person you came to," he said and left the room. "So this is what you do for a living now, Mudassar. Ghost me and spilling my secrets to random group of people," thought Asif angrily.

The two researchers passed him speaking loudly to each other, "It wasn't entirely fruitless coming here. At least people like him would thank us for tracing his heritage for him." "No wonder the employees here were confused when they heard the name. What kind of person does not want to identify themselves as the part of community they belong to ? Trying to 'modernise' themselves it seems. If they were that 'modern' wouldn't they embrace their identity?" agreed the another.

This statement pierced Asif like an arrow. It was the second time he heard similar words. Was knowing his identity that big of a deal? He had left this question behind. Why did it crawl back to him? All these questions hovered in his mind.

"Sir, may I come in?" Asif asked knocking the door. "Yes, you may" said a feminine voice. "Asif, my boy! Come sit," the person said. "Thank you ma'am, " he said and sat in front of her. "I was tapping your progress, you have brought considerable amount of clients to the firm. Impressive, " she complimented him. "Thank you ma'am, " he said mechanically. "Looks like it has taken a toll on your body. Do you want to take some time off? Consider it as a paid vacation." she suggested. "Thank you ma'am," he said. "Alright the deed is done. Where are you planning to go?" she asked signing him a permission. "Shopian."

Out of all the countless business trips that Asif had made to Kempegowda International Airport, it was never for home. His memory of home was in crumbles having left the place a decade ago. Circumstances were not in his favour when he left Shopian. His mother has passed away and his family was mourning.

"Father, I got into NLU, Banglore, " he said to his father timidly. "Your rank is out?" asked his father indifferently. "Yes, two days back. I heard it's a good place," Asif replied.

"Isn't it too far away from Shopian? How about Delhi or Jammu, we have our house there...."

"I want to go there. It's far from Kashmir."

"If you insist, then it must Almighty's desire as well."

The flight landed after three hours on Sheikh Ul Alam International Airport. He then rented a car from the airport to his hometown. It was twenty-one kilometres drive and he stopped in between at a dhaba.

"Salaam Alaikum, can I have a plate of Rogan Josh and Naan, " he said to the waiter. While he was waiting for his food, he overheard a group of people chatting. "The incident happened with you was sheer injustice. Had I been in your place, I would have gathered my community and beat up that son of Gujjar. How dare he do that! First they are exempted from paying the taxes now they do this?" said a man smoking hookah. "What could I have done son! These unsettled present situations and then these trivial misunderstanding, what to deal with? It would be kinder on my end to leave these scumbags as they are," said the older man.

Asif tried to ignore the group and concentrated on his food. Another man continued, "People say we shouldn't sterotype this community and should keep our mind open but brother isn't stereotypes based on some truth?" The person next to him smoked the hookah and said, "Stereotypes my foot, these are facts. The coloniser also labelled them as criminals. These gypsies have no fraternity, no sense of responsibility, all they do is steal from government and tax payers.

Asif's blood was boiling with each passing comments. He had self-controlled himself to not fight with them. Gobbling up, he paid the money and left. The hands of clock have moved progressing years but society hasn't changed the stands.

Back when Asif was in school, things were the same. Classmates having pocket groups of pahadi and non-pahadi. Teachers' biasness and the school authorities promoting discrimination. It was these circumstances that made him determined to move from Kashmir to a more secular place.

He hardly remembered the route to his home. Maps didn't help much and he had to ask passerbys for directions. Every metre he came closer to his destination, people gazed at him as if he asked the route to a forbidden place.

After quarter of an hour asking around, he was finally able to trace a path he took to school. He speeded towards this path and reached home.

The rusty gate creaked as he opened it to enter, the leaves crunched as entered the porch and the door was open. Expecting someone to be inside, he barged in only to find it empty. "Our compound was always bustling with people and cattle. What on earth has happened here?" he thought to himself.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar noise. The cattles were being brought by a cowherd. Upon seeing the man he immediately recognised him. "Hamid, is that you?" he asked. "A...a...s...if?" he recalled. "Who else do you think?" Asif replied tearing up. He and Hamid were classmates till the latter left studies. His grazed cattle for land-owners at a monthly fees or food supplies.

"Look at you, in the garb of a tourist. Uncle prediction were accurate, only he thought you wouldn't return," he revealed and hugged him. The hug was warm and nostalgic unlike the formal handshakes of the city. "Where is Abba? And Daddu? They left the door open as it is," he inquired. "Either they would be in the mosque or in the yard supervising the harvesters. As for the house, it empty after your sisters left for abroad, " replied Hamid.

"And what about you?"

"Married with third child on the way. My oldest is 1st standard and my second will start school from next year."

Meanwhile Asif's father Mr. Zubeen Noon, returned from his rounds in the apple yard. The father and son saw each other and smiled. The relationship dynamics they shared between each other didn't not permit them to share affection openly. Still they missed each other.

"Why did you leave the entrance open like that, what if someone would have gotten inside?" he cautioned his father. "Hah! Stealing from a criminal tribe member, is this what the world has reduced to be," he joked. "Where is Daddu?" Asif asked trying to start a conversation. "Abbu? He is in mosque praying for all of your well-being. While you abandon him during his old age," commented his father. Asif felt embarrassed. His was the closest to his Daddu and often thought about him.

"I met Inaya baji in Ontario. Sudhir also visited me when he came on the business trip to Bangalore," he tried to divert the conversation. "Sudhir is nice man and so is Anmol. We are lucky that both of your sisters got good husbands that too within the community, " his father beamed.

It wasn't till later in the evening after the sun went down, his grandfather returned. He ran down his fingers through the long mehndi coloured beard while chanting the name of Allah along the way. Asif waited for him in the living room. Recognising him immediately, he hugged his grandson and wept. "What took you so long, my dear child? This old eyes almost went blind yearning for you. Now that you have come stay here for at least a month," he insisted.

"Abbu, people precise plans as to how many days they will give their family . Isn't it Asif?" taunted his father.

"I will be here for a week, Daddu."

"Of course, sahabzade is extremely busy. Otherwise ten years to visit his hometown? How did you remember us son? Why this gracious to us?"

"Zubeen, shut your mouth, ten years or ten lifetime, him returning to the place is what matters the most. Aren't you making his favourite dishes? My daughter-in-law would have whipped up something for her beloved son," scolded his grandfather.

After an satisfying dinner, Asif lied on his bed thinking about the times he had here. Banglore has a lot of offer no doubt but his hometown wasn't bad either. Maybe he could have visited it earlier. All these throughs drifted him to sleep.

The next morning, Asif wake up to a booming voice. The house which was empty and daunting yesterday now had elders and young men sitting across the hall discussing seriously over cups of Sheer Chai.

"Meet my grandson Asif, he returned from the South yesterday. Asif these are the men from our community. Don't worry they just came here to discuss about the migration," said his grandfather introducing each other. "You know one of my grandson works as an electrician there. Where is the place, something with letter T," remarked one of the elder. "It must be Tamil Nadu, I work in Karnataka as a corporate lawyer, altogether a different state and job," Asif explained. The elder became mum.

"So it is decided, wheather the season changes or not, we are doing our annual migration to Rajauri the next month. Is there anything else to say?" his father asked. "But Abba, Daddu and rest of the elders, will they be able to take the journey? How does it matter as to where we stay for the winter?" questioned Asif.

"Migrating from Kashmir to Jammu and back has been a tradition. We have permanent homes at either places but many don't. Some either have built houses in Jammu for their winter retreat or here for summer cool off. As for elders like us, we have underwent larger difficulties than you youngsters might ever face, " replied his grandfather.

"Well said Wahid sahab. Not to mention our fathers and forefathers faced retaliation to not have a permanent home yet they persevered. We did our own contribution to the freedom struggle whether overlooked by people or not," added another elder.

Asif wasn't fully convinced of the argument but didn't want to agitate the elders. He nodded and left the room to prepare breakfast. The discussion went on for a while. Then people started to excuse themselves for daily chores and at last his family was left. Asif re-entered the room.

"Keep your individuality to yourself. Over here we work as a community. Migration is fruitless to you it seems, " scoffed his father. "I was just point out the pointlessness of this journey. If I hurted anyone's sentiments, I apologise," Asif said in retaliation. "Calm down both of you! Asif, come sit here beside me," called his grandfather.

"You know, I named you after my grandfather, once the leader of Gujjars in our region. Our generation and my father's revered him. He too was concerned about the well-being of the community. We were treated the worst in his era forcing him to take drastic measures for the betterment of our people. It didn't end well, " he recounted.

Asif's grandfather then told him the story of Asif Noon, his grandfather. After hearing the tale, he beamed with pride about his ancestors and ran his fingers through his beard. He then got up and removed a tin trunk from his selves and handed it to him. It contained a burnt salwar-kameez, talisman and various other equipments used during that time. Enlightened Asif now saw his identity in a new light. All this while he had been running away from his surname but today, he accepted it with glory.

After a week long stay in Shopian, a changed Asif boarded his plane to Bangalore. The first thing he did after resuming his work was to re-write his name tag as Asif Noon. He called up the researchers and invited them for a lunch promising to narrate his experiences. He understood that he cannot become a changed man overnight but he is ready to accommodate the newfound respect for his tribe and share this with the world.