“It was the morning of June 1999. I was sipping nun chai when a loud knock on the main door interrupted the peaceful silence of our house. Taeth, my mother, abandoned spinning the charkha and rushed to the door. As I watched from the corner of my eye, a postman appeared at the threshold, holding a letter in his hand. Taeth exchanged some words with him and while he responded, she screamed at the top of her voice. Upon hearing her, every member of our joint family gathered. All of them were anxiously waiting to know what had happened. Despite our pleas, Taeth refused to hand over the letter to anyone except Abba, my father. What was in that letter? I couldn't wait to find out,” recalls Zahoor (50) [name changed] from Srinagar’s downtown area.