Aaqib Naseem

BY AAQIB NASEEM Life is unpredictable. Death is inevitable. Life dances on the tunes of death. Death dreads. It caps all uncertainties of life. On May 09, 2021, my sister rushed to my room, huffing. “Baya, grandma is bleeding.” I froze as the words escaped her lips. It felt like a dagger to the chest. A gush of emotions flowed as I saw my Mouj motionless. Her cold body and closed eyes suggested that her soul flew to heavens to meet the creator. It was time for pre-dawn (Tahajjud) prayers.

Every summer thirteen-year-old Zareena and nine-year-old Iqra walk with their families all the way from Rajouri to the upper reaches in the Aru Valley of south Kashmir’s Pahalgam, a famous tourist destination with vast meadows and alpine forests. While adults of the family carry their homes on their shoulders, Zareena and Iqra carry their school bags with the hope that this year they will attend school, close to the high altitude meadow where the family will camp all summer.

Every summer thirteen-year-old Zareena and nine-year-old Iqra walk with their families all the way from Rajouri to the upper reaches in the Aru Valley of south Kashmir’s Pahalgam, a famous tourist destination with vast meadows and alpine forests. While adults of the family carry their homes on their shoulders, Zareena and Iqra carry their school bags with the hope that this year they will attend school, close to the high altitude meadow where the family will camp all summer.