When Mothers Leave

A mother’s love in Kashmir stays with you, in winters, courtyards, kitchens, and prayers.

- Mohammad Ilyas Bhat

With sorrow in my heart and memories in my mind, I came to offer funeral prayers for my best friend's mother.

On that cold day, the air felt heavy with loss. It was the departure of yet another selfless caretaker, a woman who lived through her children’s hopes and happiness, always putting them first.

People shared stories of her generosity, her care for family and neighbours, and the small gestures that made her home feel like a soulful refuge.

She was a mother to anyone who stepped through her door.

During long stretches of uncertainty, when the streets were silent and the world felt unsettled, we would spend hours there, finding comfort in her presence.

Her words, her silent care, and the simple ways she nurtured those around her created a sense of comfort that is hard to put into words.

I remembered the winters, when Srinagar’s cold cut through the city, and she would make sure our kangri pots glowed, filling them without being asked, so we could sit together without shivering.