Maamkakh: A Life That Shaped Three Generations In Kashmir

By Syed Majid Gilani

I remember Maamkakh as the center of our family.

Ghulam Mohammad Tantray came from Manigam, Ganderbal, a village of green fields, flowing streams, and simple lives shaped by rhythm and seasons. He joined our household in Khanqah Moulla, Srinagar, long before my father was born, and he stayed, in one way or another, for decades.

Maamkakh's life unfolded alongside ours: he saw my father grow, then me, and eventually my own children.

Over time, he became part of the fabric of our story, a presence so steady that it felt like a natural part of home itself.

Faith defined him. Rain, snow, or biting cold never kept him from his prayers. Each day, he would walk to the mosque or shrine with unwavering devotion. During Ramzan, he observed every fast, and he often spent hours at Sufi shrines, reflecting and praying. His faith never demanded recognition. It was a silent compass guiding every action.

Maamkakh's understanding of the world balanced this inner life. Without formal schooling, he stayed aware of events beyond our doorstep.

He had a nose for news, national developments, and even international affairs. For our family, he became a reliable reporter, sharing stories in a calm, deliberate voice that drew laughter, awe, and sometimes disbelief.

Social media today carries endless streams of information. Maamkakh held the same breadth of knowledge without screens, without alerts, yet always with precision and clarity.

He carried dignity in every gesture. He spoke softly, never raised his voice, and treated everyone with respect. His presence alone made people feel comfortable. Children ran to greet him, elders smiled at his steady demeanor, and neighbours treated him with warmth because he lived with honesty and humility.

Simple pleasures brought him joy. Sugary treats, bakery pastries, neatly pressed clothes, and a short walk to visit relatives in Manigam shaped his days.

He earned his living through years of domestic service, yet he was never treated as a servant. Our family always regarded him as one of us, and he embraced that place with loyalty, careful spending, and dedication.

Neatness mattered to Maamkakh. His clothes were always tidy, his personal grooming meticulous, and he carried himself with a grace that reflected his inner discipline.

His ties to his birthplace never faded. Every few months, he returned to visit relatives, and each trip refreshed him. He returned with stories, laughter, and news from the village, moving among neighbours with the same calm presence he carried for decades. Though he sometimes stayed with extended relatives, Khanqah Moulla remained home, the place where he was inseparable from family life.

Even as age and illness began to take hold, his essence remained. By the last year of his life, health challenges slowed him, but he never lost the composure, faith, and dignity that had defined him.

On the night of February 8, 2017, he passed away. True to his wishes, his body was taken to Manigam for burial near Jamia Masjid, and countless people attended his namaz-e-janaza, honouring a man whose life had touched generations.

I see him still, in memory and moments. I picture him walking through snow to prayers, sitting with children sharing stories, enjoying a sweet treat, neatly dressed, upright, calm.

His life was simple yet full, humble yet deeply dignified. He carried loyalty, devotion, and respect like second nature, leaving a mark that cannot fade.

Maamkakh bridged three generations. He linked the past to the present, and in his passing, he left a reminder of what truly matters: honesty in work, dedication to family, respect for faith, and care for others.

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