The Village That Waits For You

A Kashmiri village speaks to its children who have gone far, asking only to be remembered.

- Palveen Kour

The world feels fast these days. Everything keeps growing taller and louder. Trains rush forward, cities climb higher, and screens keep glowing even in the morning light.

From my corner of Kashmir, I see it all. The air here moves slow, like a soft prayer. I stay steady while life races ahead, and that steady pace keeps me alive.

I am your village. I helped you become who you are.

Each day begins the same way. Birds sing from the walnut trees and roosters wake the morning light. The smell of fresh chapattis travels across the courtyards before the grass even dries. The stove warms up, tea starts to boil, and clay cups heat the hands that hold them.

These hands may look rough now, though they once held you with all the softness in the world. They carry soil and fire each day. They put food in front of you without asking for thanks. They shaped your life in ways you only start to understand when you move farther away.

My children wake early because the sun rises on time here. Some take their tools and head to the fields where the cows wait for them. Others sweep the verandas before walking to school along narrow paths lined with bright mustard flowers.