The Heart of a Kashmiri Home

Her laughter and care were the pulse of the house. Now, the courtyard and orchard remember her, and so do we.

- Peer Mohammad Amir Qureshi

It is strange to measure absence. My grandmother, Moajie, left us in the early hours of August 15, at 4:19 am, a Friday, as if the valley itself held its breath. Outside, life carried on with its usual cadence, but inside, our nanihaal, the maternal home of Ganderbal, paused. How do you bid farewell to someone whose existence was your first language of love?

A maternal home in Kashmir is incomplete without grandparents. Their presence fills walls with warmth, courtyards with laughter, and even ordinary afternoons with the pulse of belonging.

Moajie was the heartbeat of our home. Her love was ordinary and extraordinary at once. Ordinary in the way a grandmother cares: with food, protection, and endless worry. Extraordinary in how it endured through sickness, and time's unrelenting erosion.