The Enduring Story of a Kashmiri Marriage

A daughter reflects on her parents’ 27-year journey, a love built on endurance, respect, and the strength that sustains families and societies in Kashmir.

- Muskan Shafi Malik

As I hold the wedding card of my parents, dated October 26, 1998, I feel a strange stillness. It is hard to believe that twenty-seven years have passed between that autumn and this one.

Time has slipped by like the leaves that fall on Srinagar’s chinars: steady, inevitable, and deeply beautiful.

To many, it might be just another anniversary, but for me, it means everything: patience, love, respect, endurance, and a partnership that stood against the noise of the world.

My parents’ marriage was never about pomp or performance. It was built on simplicity, understanding, and silent support.

My mother, the cornerstone of our home, or as we call her in Kashmiri, braand kean, turned our house into a living soul. She gave it warmth, aroma, and meaning. My father, the backbone of our family, worked as a medical representative, a man in formal dress who laboured like a craftsman, turning sweat into comfort.

Together, they built not just a home, but a world.

Every civilization rests on families. A family begins with two people and grows into a garden when children are born.

In their story, I see a reflection of how societies thrive, through companionship, sacrifice, and faith.

My mother often tells me how her life changed in her early twenties, a sudden shift from books to responsibilities.

In the 1990s, a young woman in Kashmir faced the constant pressure of social judgment. The whispers of “lukh garich koor”, a stranger's daughter, carried both curiosity and prejudice.

But she handled it all with grace, becoming a mother of three and a symbol of strength.