From The Latest Issue: The Ties That Bind—A Journey Of Faith, Friendship And Hope In Kashmir

I was home in Jammu for Diwali when I decided to take my parents on a holiday. I first considered Bhaderwah, also known as “Mini Kashmir.” However, after realising that it would entail a 14-hour round-trip by car, I decided to take my parents to the real Kashmir instead. Another reason was that it would be their first time travelling by air.

When I shared my plan, my mother seemed excited and agreeable, while my father pretended to resist, but I could see how badly he wanted to visit Kashmir. Without delay, I booked our tickets.

At the airport, my mother was wide-eyed and overwhelmed, as if she were seeing another world. At the hotel, a four-star property, they were awestruck by the luxurious lobby, courteous staff, and our spacious room. Watching them was pure joy.

That evening, we enjoyed a shikara ride on the Dal Lake and visited a few beautiful gardens. Then, out of nowhere, my father mentioned that he wanted to visit his old friend’s home in Natipora. When my father was stationed in Srinagar with the CRPF in the late 80s, Mohammed Lateef was his dearest friend. They were almost like brothers. When my father was compelled to return to Jammu abruptly during the riots in 1990, they lost touch. But he still remembered Lateef uncle fondly, often narrating stories from their days together.

His sudden request left us surprised. I asked if he had any contact numbers. He didn’t. “Then how will we find him?” I asked. “I still remember his house,” he replied confidently. “They were two brothers. We can still find them.” I protested. “Dad, it has been over 35 years! Things have changed. It’s risky to visit, especially after the recent Pahalgam incident.” Unshaken, he replied, “If you don’t wish to come, it’s okay. I’ll take a local bus, but I’ll go.”

The road ahead stretched endlessly, and silence suffused the air. My father looked out the window, lost somewhere in the past, and I stared straight ahead, caught between concern and resignation. Later that evening, over a call, my friend gently reminded me, “This trip is for your parents, right? Then let them decide. Even if you don’t find his friend, you’ll explore a new side of Kashmir.”

She was right. Maybe our worlds had quietly drifted apart. His was built on faith and belonging, mine was guarded by fear and doubt. The next morning, I gave in and agreed to follow my father’s wish.

After visiting the Shankaracharya Temple, we drove towards Natipora, a neighbourhood known for instances of militancy-related activity and security operations. I’ll admit, we felt uneasy. When we reached the Natipora Chowk, my father asked me to stop. He was certain that this was the place. I walked up to the oldest meat shop in the area and asked for Mohammed Lateef. The shopkeeper gave me a cautious look, then directed me to another old shop nearby.

Fear tightened its grip over me until the men at the next shop welcomed my inquiry with warmth. “Ah, Mohammed Lateef! The family of four brothers?” one asked, pointing us to a hundred metres ahead. I teased my father about how well he knew his friend, and continued the search. At the next stop, we asked again, and soon a small group gathered, keen, speaking rapidly in Kashmiri. Finally, someone confirmed, “Are you talking about Mohammed Lateef with four brothers?” Dad, without hesitation, said, “Yes,” as if he’d already solved the case. They gave us the contact number of his younger brother, Gulzar. My father called immediately. Gulzar recognised his voice at once and asked us to come to his garage nearby, where he would call Lateef uncle.

As we drove towards the garage, Dad’s face glowed with nostalgia, his eyes fixed on the streets that seemed to whisper memories only he could hear. But I remained alert.

Ten minutes later, Lateef uncle finally arrived. For a moment, both just stood silently, looking at each other. Two men separated by decades and destiny. Then, without a word, they stepped forward and embraced. Both of them broke down, crying uncontrollably. It was one of those rare, sacred reunions that dissolved all barriers of religion and time.

As I stood there, watching them, something inside me quietly shifted. The fear that had followed me since we entered this place began to dissolve and was replaced by a strange calmness. Around us, people smiled, offered tea, and asked about our families. At that moment, there were no labels—no Hindu, no Muslim—just two old friends, two families, one bond that even decades of silence couldn’t break.

The Information

Natipora, Kashmir: A residential township in South Srinagar, originally settled during the Mughal era. It lies close to the Jhelum River and sits at an altitude of approximately 1,592 m (5,200 ft) above sea level.

Getting there: Located only 8 km away from Dal lake, Srinagar, travellers can reach there by local bus.

Stay: It's preferable to stay in Srinagar, as you’ll find plenty of homestays, guesthouses, and hotels there.

Tips: Prepaid connections don’t work there, so carry a postpaid SIM for reliable connectivity. The area is residential and culturally traditional, so please be respectful of local customs.

Best time to visit: March to October. And for snow lovers, December to February is ideal.

Author Bio

Naren Verma, a chartered accountant from Jammu, is an avid traveller, and is currently living in Bir Billing.

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