I returned to Kashmir four years later and everything was different. The people, their warmth and their curious eyes were not. The floods that had come less than a year ago had altered the landscape dramatically. Everyone had a story to tell- of how they barely survived, have had to reconstruct their homes and shops, and are still in the process of rebuilding their lives.
A photograph (amongst many things) is also a moment in time which will never occur again. This house is now a skeleton of itself, with peeling walls, rolled up carpets, piles of furniture and a strong smell of dampness.
I kept thinking of this day when the sunlight was streaming in and the delicious smell of wazwaan floated up from the kitchen.
This is the memory I am choosing to keep.
It's strange the things we find solace in. What's heartbreaking to some, is just as satisfying to another. We are all on a different path, to the same destination.