I decided to take her to the hospital. “I was searching for some shop to be open so I could buy some food for my children,” she told me. It was the eve of Eid, a major Muslim holiday.
“I am a widow. My children had told me not to go, but I promised to be back in an hour. Now there is no way to tell them that it will take more time,” she said.
Read more: Families fear for their relatives in India-administered Kashmir
Eid during a siege
On August 12, I visited the airport in Srinagar. It was the day of Eid and there were more roadblocks than usual on the way to airport, with more barbed wire set up everywhere.
After I returned home, a neighbor stopped and greeted me with the customary Eid greeting. I was taken aback, as for a moment, I had forgotten it was Eid.
Read more: Indian government to ease Kashmir restrictions
My 9-year-old niece and my two nephews, who are 3 and 5 years old, had no new clothes to wear. We prepared no delicacies or cuisines at home. The children wanted to visit a garden and play with other kids, but there were not allowed as a lockdown was in place.
Many days have passed since August 5, when the siege began in Kashmir. The people have lost count of the days. Indeed, many people no longer recall which day it is. It makes no difference now.
Every day now looks the same in Kashmir; the same siege, the same roadblocks. We have no internet, no phones and no way to call friends and relatives. No way to know of deaths and mourn. No way to know of the moments of joy and happiness.