In pictures: From Kashmir's military lockdown to Turkey's Covid-19 one
An intimate photo series showing elderly Kashmiri parents navigating the coronavirus lockdown in Turkey after experiencing several military lockdowns in disputed Kashmir.
My parents moved to Istanbul to join one of my siblings in October last year. They wanted to get away from the suffocating environment of their hometown of Srinagar, the capital of India-administered Kashmir. They had survived one of the longest military and communication lockdowns, which began on August 5, when New Delhi abrogated the nominal autonomy of Kashmir so that the disputed territory became federally administered.
A trip to Istanbul was an escape from a life full of uncertainties in Kashmir, where gunfights, police cordons, curfews, mournings and protests have become the norm. Another daunting challenge was posed by the incoming winter. Winters in Kashmir are harsh and they get worse with long power outages, along with the shortage of essential supplies they can bring.
My brother and I were therefore excited that our parents were going to spend a few months in Istanbul, and hence away from the miseries of Kashmir. I flew from Qatar to join them. But then the pandemic hit the world and our return to our respective places got delayed. A lockdown of a different kind became part of our lives.
In this photo series shot with an iPhone, my parents are chronicled during the pandemic, and it captures the range of emotions that characterised this time — from yearning to nostalgia, to a simple prayer that asked for a return to their home in Kashmir.
Father praying for the safety and prosperity of Turkey during his first Ramadan away from Kashmir. "Even though I miss Kashmir, I love the people and the administration of this country. They are passionate people and full of heart like us," he says.
Mother relaxes on the balcony away from the daily death and destruction that occurs in Kashmir. Like my father, she did not leave the apartment for three months, abiding by Turkey's coronavirus measures for the elderly.
Mother saying a prayer just before Iftar. She has been continuing this family tradition in Istanbul. Kashmir and Turkey figure in her prayers throughout the blessed month.
Father makes a joke about us "looking like gypsies," in the lockdown. It is normal for Kashmiris to laugh in difficult times.
Both love watching Urdu news channels to catch up with the latest from Kashmir, Pakistan, and India. They have also finished watching three seasons of the Turkish series, Ertugrul.
Parents speaking to my other siblings in Kashmir. In the months after the abrogation of the semi-autonomy, they were unable to hear from any relatives in Kashmir.
Father analysing his new haircut in a hand-held mirror after the author trimmed his own hair in the apartment. The in-house joke is, "You [the author] can also do better by opening a saloon here [in Turkey]."
"It is painful to see closed doors of mosques, home of Almighty," says father, while getting ready for prayers. He was a regular worshipper at a mosque in Istanbul's Ortakoy neighbourhood before the pandemic froze all activities.
Parents along with my niece watching Istanbul's Ramazan Davulcusu (Ramadan Drummers) from the only window in the apartment offering a street view. The drummers are out collecting charity in the last days of Ramadan. The one thing my parents have not missed is Ramadan drummers. They wake people up at Suhoor, part of an ancient tradition in both Kashmir and Turkey.
Parents are getting old and age is not on their side. Sometimes threading a needle can become difficult for my father on a sewing machine. Once called "Master Ji" by those who admired his making of menswear jackets and wedding suits, he is now too weak to use a sewing machine without my mother's help. My father is a hardworking man who has always taken initiatives, lived a simple life, always supported children in their career goals - the pandemic has not stopped him from being active.
Kashmiri tradition is being followed in spirit. My parents having a mandatory Dodè Kahve (sweet milk coffee), on the first day of Eid-ul-Fitr. Most Kashmiris begin their Eid with it.
Mother taking pictures of her favourite dessert, 'firini', as father sits in his favourite spot by the window, looking out onto the street. No matter how old she gets, my mother never stops making delicacies for the family.
Parents are out together for the first time, standing by the banks of the Bosporus after two and a half months. Father is excited to have stepped out of the apartment and looking at Bosporus after a long time is proving a thrill. Senior citizens were officially allowed to go out for a walk in partial lockdowns.
Parents' only interaction with the world outside during the entire coronavirus curfew has been through this window with a street view. They have purchased ekmek (Turkish bread), groceries and watched patients being ferried in ambulances.
As restrictions are eased further, parents often go out to take a stroll in the streets. But the news from Kashmir is not great. There is a surge in coronavirus cases and deaths in the region, and this makes my parents worried about the rest of the siblings and relatives.
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