I recognised the unknown number flashing on my phone from the prefix area code. I knew that it was my mother. She had gone to market (which of course, was closed) as my little cousin wanted a chocolate. But I wish, I could tell her that the situation is as such that Kashmiri kids are more susceptible to pellets than chocolates.
The first sentence that was uttered by my mother on the phone after 14 days was, “Seab jaan o, tche chukka theek, zuv haa wandai, tchatea tchatea haa aeses karaan kath karhaa bae tche seet.” Translating this would be tough, because these are not merely just words but emotions. But I’ll still try my best: “Oh, my beloved son. Are you good? May I take upon myself all disasters coming into your life. I was getting frustrated as I didn’t know when would I get to listen to your voice.”