I called my grandmother this morning to ask her again the story.
I call to ask her the name of the man who died in 1931. Morning of July 13th in Kashmir.
She asks me not to waste my time.
He was a brother of her mother.
She doesn't remember the name. She doesn't remember the year. What did he do for a living? She doesn't know.
All she knows:
'It was the year of first "gadbad".'
I remember hearing bits: He had gone out to get bread from the local bakery. Someone put an axe to his head.
She doesn't remember all this.
She asks me not to waste my time with this nonsense.
She asks if I had my breakfast.