If there was a place other than my chest where I could place my heart, it would be in Wagna Salamabad.

Why would I do that? Well, sometimes you reach a place so heartbreakingly beautiful, that you want to leave your heart behind. Wagna is such a place. Located in the mountains of Baramulla district, it holds a part of my soul somewhere in a corner of the village.

I visited the place back in 2023 for the wedding of a distant relative. As I travelled towards the village, I gazed at the breathtaking scenery outside the window. I gasped when the car reached a point on the road where the fields appeared as steps, one upon another. It felt like I was climbing towards heaven.

The moment I arrived at Salamabad, a fresh breeze soothed me and offered a warm welcome. I felt as if new life had been installed into my body. To reach the house of my relatives, I had to walk through the fields, following a beautiful, crystal-clear stream flowing alongside.

After the long walk, I finally reached my destination.  As I entered the house, the scent of mud uplifted me. It was a clay house with tiny rooms, beautifully maintained. A kind, old woman kissed my hand, hugged me and guided me to the room. Settling down, I checked my phone only to realize that there was no network. I had lost connection to the internet and all social media apps- essentially, I got a break from my phone.

The next day, they sent me with a little girl to the stream to freshen up. The moment the stream water touched my face I felt all my worries washing away with each splash.

A single day there felt full of life. I wandered through the village with that little girl and came across ducks-adorable, noisy and unbelievably resilient. Theses have become extinct in urban areas. They basked in the sunlight, tending to their feathers after a long bath in the stream.

By evening, I was sitting in the field, breathing in the fresh air. I saw the mobile towers in the distance which reminded me of the city I live in-full of noise and hustle, where the time flies. But here, time wanted to slow down.

When I left Wagna, I left my soul behind, which I had been united with during the days I spent in that beautiful village.

It’s a beautiful evening- the sun casts its warm, golden glow on the lush green grass of the meadow and makes it look absolutely ethereal and magical, as if the grass itself is glowing. I therefore stop seeing the sun.

There’s nothing else to be seen, just a long vast stretch of land covered with grass. Some wildflowers here and there give it a pop of color: pink, yellow, orange. The sky is a vast sea of blue in comparison. I therefore stop seeing the sky.

There are some people far-off in the distance. They are taking pictures of themselves. But the horizon seems like a perfect confluence of two worlds where everything is in harmony. I therefore stop seeing the people.

In the meadow, there are big, ugly transmission towers that carry electricity from a distant river to a distant city. But there are bugs buzzing over the wildflowers on the meadow floor. I therefore stop seeing the steel towers.

Along the narrow road that cuts right across the meadow, there are cars chugging along- white, grey, black- all drab and hideous. But I see a hoopoe looking for worms right in front of me. I therefore stop seeing the cars.

At the end of the meadows is a mountain range, and their snowcapped peaks look beautiful. I can feel the gentle breeze on my skin, and warmth of the sunlight making me realize that this is peace. Peace is in little moments of life, the ones that we have stopped seeing. I always come to this place whenever I want to take a step back from life and just exist. I then stop worrying about my problems.

by Sana Showkat

At just six, with tiny hands,

I stood where no child understands.

She smiled like skies that softly shine

That gentle, ageless soul was mine.

Selfless heart and veiny hands,

Who held the world in quiet strands.

Love and strength in every prayer,

She was my calm, my warmth, my air.

Seventeen years have passed, but still I cry,

It feels like yesterday, The goodbye.

I saw her lips, so purple, cold,

But all her love I still behold.

She prayed for us with every breath,

And watched us grow from life to death.

Now I describe her to my kin,

But feel the ache deep down within.

We are not like her no, not at all,

She stood like mountains, we just fall.

I’m proud of her, ashamed of me,

She was the light I long to be.

I’ll never hear her voice again,

But echoes of her still remain.

They dance like wind inside my soul,

Still making broken pieces whole.

O Allah, grant her peace so wide,

Place her in Jannah, by Your side.

Make us the kind she’d smile upon,

So all her pain was not for none.

A part of me went with her soul,

That day she left she made me whole.

And though I’ve grown, I still feel small…

Because she was my first to fall.

P.S. I’m sorry we failed you.

But I carry you, in all I do.

I am the pine, rooted deep; a cone-bearing soul, braving every storm.

He is the brook; flowing free, untouched, always moving on.

I stood still; holding, hoping, weathering winds in silence.

He shimmered; gentle, distant, never stopping to stay.

I was made to stay, to grow where I was planted.

He was born to leave, to belong to no one, not even the earth.

The pine waits beneath the heavens; longing for a sky it cannot touch

The brook slips through the world; never looking back, never enough.

Isn’t it strange?

Even our names knew; We were the nature’s paradox

The meaning of my name? A cone-bearing tree

And the Brook?                 

The papier-mâché craft in Kashmir has a rich and colorful legacy. For centuries, skilled artisans have been transforming simple paper pulp into intricate designs, creating everything from masks and toys to the famous Christmas decorations that have earned the region global recognition.

These creations, painstakingly made by hand, have become symbolic of the artistry and craftsmanship that Kashmir is known for. As the demand for these exquisite decorations grew in international markets, artisans were able to sustain their craft, ensuring its preservation for future generations.

Papier-mâché is a crafting technique where paper is combined with glue or paste to create a strong, molded material. This technique has been used for centuries to make various items, from sculptures to decorative objects. The process involves layering pieces of paper with glue and then shaping it into the desired form. Once dried, the object becomes sturdy and can be painted and decorated.

 The Process

1. Preparing the Pulp

Old newspapers or wastepaper are soaked in water for several days until they become soft. This mixture is then mashed and mixed with natural glue (like rice starch) and sometimes chalk powder to form a smooth pulp.

2. Shaping the Base

The pulp is applied over wooden or clay molds to form the desired shape—like balls, bells, Santas, or animal figures. Artisans smooth the surface by hand and let it dry completely. This is the first and most time-consuming step.

3. Drying the Moulds

Once shaped, the papier-mâché figures are kept aside to dry naturally. This may take a day or more depending on the weather.

When it comes to coloring papier-mâché objects, especially in intricate designs, the artwork often requires delicate attention. The minimal and precise application of colors, with detailed patterns, highlights the craftsmanship and patience needed for such pieces. The colors used in these designs are often vibrant, and the prints or patterns can range from traditional to modern, depending on the creator’s vision. The delicate nature of the designs, particularly in minimalistic work, adds an artistic and thoughtful touch to each piece, showing the skill and care involved in crafting the object.

4. Painting and Designing

 Skilled artisans use fine brushes to paint the figures with bright colors and detailed patterns—like flowers, dots, or traditional Kashmiri designs. This step shows the creativity and artistic skill involved.

“Papier mâché is a traditional art of Kashmir, but only about 1-2% of the youth are involved in this work. The younger generation often prefers outdoor jobs, which makes it challenging to sustain the craft,” Syed Amjad Ali, the owner of Shah Handicrafts said.

A local worker at Shah Handicrafts explains that once the painting is complete, a layer of varnish is applied to give them a smooth, glossy look, almost like a protective shield that enhances their charm and durability. However, he pointed out the challenges they face while painting. “The smell of paint often leaves us feeling unwell, causing colds and flu,” he said.

5. Finishing Touches

Once painted, the items are varnished to give them a shiny look and protect the colors. After this, they are ready to be packed or displayed.

Despite their hard work and the delicate craftsmanship that goes into creating these items, the artisan expressed disappointment over the declining demand. He said that exports have dropped significantly, making their efforts unrecognized.

Every year, as Christmas approaches, Kashmiri artisans in Srinagar craft papier-mâché Santa Claus figures, reindeer, angels, Christmas tree toys, crosses, and other festive ornaments. These handmade creations are exported to countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and France, where they are cherished for their uniqueness. This thriving export business has brought global recognition to Kashmiri craftsmanship. However, with the ongoing wars in the middle East- particularly the conflict between Israel and Iran-alongside the earlier impact of the Russia-Ukraine war, the once-thriving export business has experienced a dramatic decline in orders, leaving many artisans grappling with the consequences.

“Our papier mâché products are made based on demand, especially during Christmas, we receive orders for various items from foreign countries, starting in March, and are dispatched by September. We produce a variety of articles, ranging from 100 to 200 pieces, including Christmas balls, stars, moons, bells, and other decorations used to design Christmas trees.

These products are not usually sold in Kashmir; we export them internationally. But due to the ongoing Russia-Ukraine war, we’ve seen a 30-35% decline in orders, which has significantly impacted our export business,” said Syed Amjad Ali, owner of the industry, Shah Handicrafts, in Zadibal, Srinagar, Kashmir.

As the situation continues to evolve, the future of Kashmiri papier-mâché hangs in the balance. The fear of losing this unique cultural heritage is growing. However, despite the challenges, artisans remain committed to preserving their craft, working hard to adapt and sustain this cherished tradition.

For many artisans, what was once a reliable source of income is now facing challenges due to economic uncertainty and logistical disruptions. Orders, which once came steadily, now arrive less frequently. The owners, who have seen their families carry on the same craft for years, are working hard to ensure that their legacy continues. Despite the uncertainty, they remain committed to preserving this time-honored tradition and adapting to new opportunities for growth.

With the arrival of paddy sowing season, routine work has changed- women, men and children are excited to set foot in the water-logged paddy fields. The arrival of the paddy sowing season has brought joy on the faces of young children who skip school and get a few days off to help their families.

In the rural villages of Kashmir like Abadpura, grandparents push the younger generation in the family to participate and learn paddy sowing. Abadpura, a 10-kilometre drive from Budgam, is a remote village with a population of 800 people living in 150 houses. Most work as farmers and manage ancestral land that has been passed through and sustained the livelihood of generations.

The potholed roads that lead to the village cross dust-ridden apple orchards and paddy fields. On the entrance of the village lies a green signboard that reads “Welcome to Abadpura”.

As our group entered Mukdam Mohalla, we were led towards the main paddy fields. Walking through thin allies and crossing little wooden bridges, these pathways help the smooth transportation of paddy saplings to the fields. Alongside the paddy fields, the village has apple orchards and brick kilns.

“I feel suffocated in my village,” says 41-year-old farmer Mushtaq Ahmad Bhat. As the village has nearly 100 brick kilns; the major agricultural land is under its use. The rising smoke from brick kilns has polluted the air extremely and harmed all agricultural practices.

“It feels like we live in hell,” says Mushtaq. Apart from the effect on farming, the smoke rising from brick kilns has affected the daily life. Local villagers say there are sick people in every household with breathing problems.

Mushtaq, 41 works as a government employee with the Jammu and Kashmir Police. Sunday for him means a full day for work in the fields. He wakes up early in the morning to make proper use of his holidays. He arrives before his family to prepare the water-logged fields for smooth plantation, removing muck and slit from the field.

The paddy seeds are sown in a little patch of land called “Thaej Waan” in Kashmiri language. These little nurseries demand extra care and constant watering for 40 days. After the period of 40 days the nurseries turn lush green, with the saplings ready for plantation in the field. The saplings are taken out manually and transported to the paddy fields.

In Mushtaq’s family, his father, Gulam Rasool Bhat, 87, extracts the paddy saplings alone. He makes sure the family members do not face any shortage of paddy saplings, and the work is not halted.

Mushtaq’s father narrates his story- when he was 12 years old, he started working alongside his father, who was also a farmer. “I often used to sleep in the fields at night to fetch the water to our fields,” says Gulam Rasool.

As Mushtaq’s family arrives to begin sowing paddy saplings, his younger daughter Mehroob joined the team for the first time. “I was waiting to become 10 years old so that I could help my father,” says 10-year-old Mehroob as she practiced sowing paddy saplings for the first time.

While her school friends are on a picnic, she skipped the event to help her family. “This workday is no less a picnic for me.” Mehroob added in excitement.

As the family gears up to finish before dusk, Mehroob’s grandfather calls his son Mushtaq to take the saplings to maintain the flow of work. As the stock of saplings ended, the team got a chance to take a brief break and rest.

The younger son of Mushtaq lit a cigarette, after just taking a few drags Mushtaq arrived with a sack of paddy saplings over his shoulder. As the young boy’s cigarette plops into water, the team resumes the work.

Meanwhile, Mushtaq makes sure that Mehroob learns paddy sowing properly. Discussions over politics and society starts with the younger son Yawer, who believes the newly elected Lok Sabha candidate in their constituency will speak for the people and their demands in the Lok Sabha. His uncle Qasim disagrees and adds that political leaders have always exploited Kashmiris.

As the political debate heats up, Mehroob has a different question which she wants to ask her father: Why are people making new houses in the agricultural land and why are authorities permitting it? As her father opines that the new constructions in the agricultural land are because of the rising population, Mehroob’s question remains unanswered.

The lush green paddy fields are rapidly disappearing in Kashmir. The unchecked urbanisation and conversion of land are the two main factors that have affected the agricultural land use adversely. In the last decade, Kashmir has lost nearly 3,3309 hectares of paddy land, and is left with 1,29,000 hectares now, according to online data.

Interest in agriculture has also decreased among the natives. More non-local labour is being hired for paddy seed sowing these days. However, in the Abadpura village, the women work alongside men. As men and children work tirelessly in the fields, women also make sure to cook special meals and bring the lunch to the fields. “Lunch at the side of the fields saves time and gives me a good vibe,” says Yawer.

As the family eats lunch collectively on a yellow-printed tablecloth, Zubaida makes sure to examine her daughter’s work. While the positive feedback from family members satisfies her, she smiles and says that her daughter is a quick learner.

As the family finished lunch, the young lad went a few steps away to light the cigarette. Zubaida wraps up and collects all the utensils to head back home. “Now I will go home. Wash all the utensils and start preparing the Nun Chai (salted tea),” says Zubaida, to make sure to return on time. As she leaves towards the home, she balances a wicker basket over her head and walks along the thin patches of land between the fields.

After lunch, Mehroob left for home, and her young cousins joined her. As the gossip started again, Yawer’s cousin Ruwaid wanted to finish within the hour to enjoy the rest of the time watching a movie together at Yawer’s place. While the other cousin believes it will take them nearly three hours to finish the full work, they ended up finishing the full work within one and a half hours and left happily for home.

By: Sana Showkat and Snober Mehraj

November 28, 2024 – The journey of making a Samàwar starts with selecting premium copper or brass, known for their durability and shine. Skilled artisans then shape and engrave each piece, transforming it into a functional yet beautifully detailed vessel, ready to serve its purpose in homes and gatherings.

For generations, Ashiq Husain Khan and his family have been crafting Samàwars, blending artistry with tradition in each piece. However, as Ashiq points out, “Nowadays, everyone is drawn to government jobs, and no one wants to continue this craft. Even my younger ones aren’t interested in learning it. What was once an important part of our culture is now just a decorative item.” Another artisan, Mohammad Shafi, contrasts this by saying, “Despite the decline in making Samàwars, it can never completely vanish from our history, as it is a true symbol of Kashmiri identity.”

The first step in the process is preparing the raw material, which consists of flat copper sheets. These sheets are then shaped to form the various parts of the Samàwar.

A Samàwar takes four days to make and requires crafting 26 individual parts, such as the póng, heè, pèti, and thàp, each meticulously shaped and assembled to perfection.

Once the parts of the Samàwar are shaped, they are sent for engraving, where skilled artisans carve intricate designs onto the copper with great precision. Each section, including the head, body, and tail, is engraved separately, ensuring every detail is meticulously crafted. After the engraving is complete, the master artisan inspects the Samàwar, carefully removing any dents or imperfections to achieve a flawless finish. The parts are then dipped into acid (tezaab), a refining process that cleans and prepares them for the next stage of assembly, bringing the Samàwar one step closer to completion.

After the parts are refined, they are meticulously washed to ensure every detail shines with perfection. The washing process removes any remaining impurities and enhances the natural luster of the copper. Afterward, the cleaned components are carefully laid out and left to dry, allowing all moisture to evaporate completely. This step is crucial as it ensures the parts are fully set and ready for the next stage of assembly.

The parts of the Samàwar are polished to enhance their appearance and give them a refined finish. Then, all the prepared parts are carefully joined together and shaped into the body of the Samàwar, bringing the components together to create a nearly finished masterpiece.

Once finished, these Samàwars are delivered to shopkeepers, who carefully store them in transparent PVC covers to safeguard them from any potential damage.

The Samàwar, whether simple copper or intricately designed (Qandkaer), small or large, modern or traditional, holds a special place not only in Kashmiri households but also in the hearts of its people. Despite the rise of electric kettles and other modern appliances, the Samàwar remains deeply rooted in Kashmiri culture. As Tahira Begum, a resident of Hawal, Srinagar, shares, “On the second day of the daughter’s wedding, a Samàwar filled with almonds, cardamom, and saffron is sent to her in-laws as kàhwa khabar.” Recalling her own experience, she adds, “When my daughter got married, I made sure the Samàwar I sent was polished and filled with the finest ingredients because it’s not just a gift but a reflection of our love and traditions.” This enduring custom symbolizes warmth and hospitality, making the Samàwar a cherished emblem of Kashmiri heritage passed down through generations.

Historical Legacy of Gun-Making

The craft of gun-making in Kashmir traces its origins to the Dogra rule during the mid-19th century. In 1848, Maharaja Gulab Singh recognized the mechanical skills of the residents of Bandook Khar Mohalla, describing them as “engineers by profession.” British gunsmiths trained the locals under the Maharaja’s guidance. By 1944, Maharaja Hari Singh introduced a formal system for gun ownership and documentation.

In 1962, the Government of India mandated that all guns manufactured in Jammu and Kashmir be tested at Ishapore, West Bengal, to meet official parameters. This regulation forced many local factories to close. Of the 15 gun factories in the area, only two survived: the Subhana Gun Factory (established in 1925) and the Zaroo Gun Factory (established in 1940).

Nasir Ahmad, one of the owners of Subhana Gun Factory, recounts:
”In 1962, we had to send six guns for testing but initially forgot to include the documents. The guns didn’t meet the government’s parameters, but the factory stood strong despite the setback.”

Decline of a Craft

The Wildlife Protection Act of 1978 dealt the first major blow to the industry, banning hunting and significantly reducing the demand for guns. The situation worsened during the political unrest in 1989, when gun factories were temporarily shut down, leaving owners and workers in dire straits.
In 2016, the Arms Act imposed stricter guidelines, making it nearly impossible to acquire individual gun licenses. Although gun manufacturing remains legally permitted, the ban on purchasing firearms has rendered the trade unsustainable.

“The current policies allow manufacturing but ban purchases. This leaves us helpless,” laments Ahmad.

Skill and Legacy

Despite its challenges, the artistry of Kashmiri gunsmiths has been widely acknowledged. Walter Lawrence, the author of The Valley of Kashmir, praised their craftsmanship, noting:
”The well-known gunsmiths can turn out good guns and rifles, replacing parts so skillfully that it is difficult to distinguish between Kashmiri and English workmanship.”

The craft’s survival owes much to artisans who repair and enhance guns with intricate hand-carved walnut gun butts, a signature feature of Kashmiri gun-making.

Government Initiatives

In 2023, the PM Vishwakarma Yojana was launched to support traditional craftsmen, including gunsmiths. The scheme provides:

• Armourer certifications.
• Toolkits worth ₹15,000.
• Loans of up to ₹3,00,000 with a 5% interest rate.
• Training programs, including a six-day drill and an advanced 15-day course, during which artisans receive ₹500 daily.

However, local gunsmiths argue that these measures are insufficient without the issuance of individual gun licenses. “In the entire Kashmir Valley, only nine gunsmiths remain. Youngsters avoid this profession as it doesn’t offer financial stability. Without serious administrative steps, this industry will vanish,” warns Ahmad.

A Fading Tradition

The once-thriving factories, bustling with activity, now lie silent and outdated. Despite holding industrial registrations, these facilities were never converted into industrial estates. Artisans like Javid Ahmad Ahangar continue working on single-barrel guns, but with minimal hope for revival.
Showkat Ahmad, who left the trade to repair electrical equipment, expresses his grief:
”For generations, my family made guns. Out of 15 factories, only two remain. I had to leave the trade to support my family, but gun-making runs in my blood.”

Zareef Ahmad Zareef, a Kashmiri poet and historian, echoes these sentiments:
”The uncertain situation in Kashmir has led to scrutiny and harassment of gunsmiths. The violence has caused the decline of many traditional vocations, including this one.”

Lasjan, a developing area in Srinagar (south) tehsil, located 7.23 kilometres from the city centre, is home to various rock-making, sand, and other construction mills. Beneath the bypass flyover lies a mix of residential areas, including multiple slum communities.

According to the Detailed Project Report (DPR) under Rajiv Awaz Yojna (RAY), Srinagar has around 18,000 households across 77 slum pockets, with over 52 percent of the state’s slum population residing in the district. These informal housing clusters, often along highways, are predominantly inhabited by the service population.

The slum communities in Lasjan are part of this broader demographic, with most residents engaged in garbage picking, especially plastic waste. These communities have endured decades of living in extreme unhygienic conditions due to a lack of basic facilities. This photo essay captures the daily lives of these resilient individuals, from children playing in contaminated environments to families cooking meals amidst squalor.

Shabir Ahmed Khan, a local slum resident originally from West Bengal, has been living in Lasjan for the past 25 years. For survival, he and his community rely on garbage picking. “We are forced to live in these conditions for survival,” Shabir explains.

“We don’t even have proper water facilities like taps, and the hygiene conditions are especially dire during rainfall,” he further added. This stark reality underscores the daily struggles faced by these residents.

Due to financial constraints, the children in this particular slum don’t go to school. Instead, they stay at home and help their parents earn a living.

Others living in the slum say that although there is a lack of other amenities and hygiene, they have adapted to living like this now.

The head of a family residing in this particular slum, Manan Ahmed, shared that they don’t have many complaints about the living conditions. ‘We have been living here for years, through changes in administration and facilities, but we are content.”

Residents of the well-off houses in Lasjan help those in the slums by providing clean water from their taps. “We tell them to take water from taps around and also provide them with other essentials like food, etc.,” said Waqas Ahmed, a local resident.

Despite living in extremely unhygienic conditions, which would be intolerable for many city dwellers, the slum residents are grateful for the basic facilities they have. Now, there is an urgent need for their proper rehabilitation, providing them with essential facilities, and integrating them with respect into society.