One of the most innocuous questions frequently asked is one which I find most difficult to answer. The very benign question in question "Where do you come from?" sets me in a thinking mode to find an answer, which until now I haven't found. Having ever lived with this disability has desensitized me to the extent that I don't even feel slight awkwardness in not answering a seemingly straight forward question and don't even ever bother to reflect on misgivings in minds of people not getting answer to such a simple question. The question is whether this disability (the word is deliberately used) has affected me; that would be being downright dishonest if I answer no. In a strange way, nevertheless, at the same time I feel exalted because this state of non-belonging provided me a unique opportunity to dissect and discern any situation, any happening and more importantly to understand perpetrators of those situations and happenings and follow any event with complete detachment that precludes any prejudice. In this post I will try to deal with parallel happenings in my personal world and in the world in my immediate surroundings. I left Kashmir under circumstances that one does not necessarily merit cherishing or are better left to be forgotten. But it would be prudent to understand the chain of events that created an almost unthinkable upheaval in a place that until then had hardly known any violence. The time in question is the year 1990, when on a cold early morning in December I huddled in a taxi to leave Kashmir for the very last time.