When Friendship Becomes Family: My Friend’s Wedding in Kashmir

Life in my village in the Kashmir Valley has always revolved around togetherness. People here don’t just live side by side — they share their joys, sorrows, and daily struggles as one big family. From my earliest memories, I have been surrounded by friends who grew up with me, studied with me, and stood by me through every stage of life. Over time, these friendships have become something deeper — a sense of brotherhood that time and distance cannot shake.

Among those friends, one has always been closest to my heart. We have shared countless memories — moments of laughter, hard work, and even silence. A few months ago, that very friend got married, and it turned out to be one of the most emotional and meaningful events I’ve witnessed.

He had endured some very difficult years. Losing his mother had left a void no one could fill. His father had grown weak with age, and with his sisters married and living away, only the two of them remained at home. His father managed the house as best as he could, while my friend ran a small grocery shop to make ends meet. For them, life had been more about responsibility than comfort. So when the time for his marriage came, it felt less like a celebration planned for luxury and more like a long-awaited blessing — something necessary to bring warmth and companionship back into their home.

When he finally decided to marry, the entire village came alive. Weddings here are never just about the families involved; everyone joins in to help, to share the joy, and to strengthen the bonds that hold us together. I had my own part to play — from running errands to offering my car for use during the ceremony. It was hectic but fulfilling, and I felt proud to stand by him in such an important chapter of his life.

The celebrations began in mid-August, spread over two days of excitement and emotion. The first night was “Mehndi Raat,” a traditional evening when songs fill the air and henna is applied to the groom’s hands. Relatives and friends gathered around him, singing and laughing. But amid all the festivity, there was also a quiet sadness. My friend missed his mother deeply that night — her absence was felt by everyone who knew their story. For a few moments, the songs softened, and we all stood beside him, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

By dawn, our laughter returned, and the night gave way to a busy morning. The wedding day had finally arrived. From the kitchen came the aroma of Wazwan — the grand Kashmiri feast — and everyone rushed about, setting things in order. We friends took charge of several small tasks, ensuring that guests were looked after and everything ran smoothly.

By afternoon, I went home briefly, washed up, and prepared for the Nikah ceremony — the religious part of the marriage. My car was cleaned and decorated for the groom’s ride, and by evening, we set off towards the bride’s home. The journey took an hour through the cool summer air, and soon we reached a house glowing with lights and laughter. The Nikah took place with prayers and blessings, followed by a hearty meal shared among friends and families.

When it was time for the bride to leave her home, emotions overflowed. Tears and smiles mingled as her family bid farewell. In keeping with our village’s long-standing custom, women walked alongside the car for a few hundred meters, singing traditional songs — blessings wrapped in melody. Their voices echoed in the still night, a sound both beautiful and bittersweet.

It was past midnight when we returned home. Exhausted yet content, we sat together quietly, realizing that what we had witnessed was not just the beginning of a married life — it was a celebration of endurance, community, and the invisible threads that bind us all.