Srinagar, July 21 -- I was raised in a different Kashmir where every house on the street felt like a part of mine. A child's first step was everyone's celebration. And a neighbour's grief brought the whole lane to a hush.

In my hometown in South Kashmir, you didn't need to own a radio to hear the news. Your neighbour's expression would tell you everything you needed to know.

We shared more than walls. We shared life.

If someone's cow gave birth, the fresh colostrum cheese would be passed around in small plates before the sun even set. And when someone cleared an exam, it felt like the entire street had passed.

If a tragedy struck, weddings were postponed, songs stopped mid-air, and even televisions fell silent.

These were the small, ...