That Brick-Red Passport Photo

A family farewell in Bombay, a near miss in Mecca and the memories that travelled back to Srinagar with him.

- Syed Nissar H. Gilani

I still keep this photograph tucked away, its edges softened by time. It was taken in August 1979, and it was never meant for a family album.

The picture was for a passport, a very particular one. The Haj passport issued then by the Indian foreign ministry came as a single-entry document, valid only for the duration of the pilgrimage. Its cover was brick red, the paper coarse and hard to the touch, a booklet that looked and felt provisional, as if it already knew it would soon be surrendered and disappear from use.

My father held that passport in his hands at the end of a long working life. He was a medical officer, known among colleagues for “putting a long innings” into public service, and retirement was due in December that year.

At 55, he decided this would be the moment to go to Mecca. The choice settled easily within the family. There was happiness, pride and a sense that the timing carried its own logic. His request for pre-retirement leave went through without delay.

The journey began in Bombay, as Mumbai was then called. From there, special Air India charter flights carried pilgrims to Jeddah. Many Kashmiri men travelled with sacks of rice, spices and utensils, preparing for weeks away from home. My father packed light, trusting the arrangements that came with the pilgrimage.

The aircraft were often wide-bodied Air Jumbos, staffed by crew members from Kashmir. Among them was Akbar Jan, the son of the well-known Dr Ali Jan, serving as chief air host.