‘Khatam’: The Slow Strangulation of Kashmir’s Identity and Economy
By: Javid Amin | 16 September 2025
The Anatomy of a Chokehold
Kashmir has long been called Paradise on Earth. Its snow-capped peaks, saffron fields, and walnut groves are etched into poetry, politics, and the collective imagination of South Asia. Yet, for the millions who live here, paradise today feels like a prison under slow suffocation.
Political power—gone.
Handicrafts—fading.
Tourism—crippled.
Fruit industry—rotting.
Language—erased.
Dignity—diminished.
These are not isolated tragedies. They form a pattern: the systematic weakening of every pillar that once gave Kashmir its identity, economy, and pride.
What we are witnessing is not an accident of weather, markets, or history. It is a carefully unfolding chokehold. A region once self-assured, rich in culture and economy, is being reduced to dependence, despair, and silence.
This is the story of how Kashmir’s lifelines are being cut, one after another. But it is also the story of resilience, and the possibility of moving from Khatam (the end) to Qayam (resurgence, standing tall).
Political Power: From Voice to Void
For decades, Kashmir was promised autonomy—its own constitution, flag, and assembly. Article 370 was not merely a legal clause; it was a symbolic assurance of dignity and distinct identity. With its abrogation in 2019, that promise evaporated.
Today, the Valley’s politics has been reduced to a ceremonial exercise. Assembly elections are delayed indefinitely. Representation in Parliament is numerical, not meaningful. Panchayat members complain they lack funds, authority, or protection. Decisions are drafted in Delhi and dispatched to Srinagar, leaving local leaders with little more than photo opportunities.
A former legislator in Anantnag summed up the frustration:
“We used to at least raise our people’s concerns in the Assembly. Now, we are only spectators. Governance has become an announcement, not a dialogue.”
The absence of political voice has deepened alienation. For ordinary Kashmiris, there is no longer even the illusion of agency. What remains is a void—a silence where debate, dissent, and dialogue once lived.
Handicrafts: From Heritage to Neglect
Step into the narrow alleys of downtown Srinagar, and you will hear the faint sound of the loom. Once, the rhythmic thak-thak of weaving filled entire neighborhoods. Pashmina shawls, silk carpets, and papier-mâché artifacts from Kashmir graced homes in Paris, London, and Delhi. They were not just commodities; they were cultural ambassadors.
But today, artisans are closing their workshops. Export markets have shrunk, fakes from machine mills in Amritsar and China flood the market, and raw materials like wool and dyes have become unaffordable. A carpet weaver in Hawal confessed:
“I worked on this craft for 40 years. My son is now driving a cab. He says weaving is a curse, not a livelihood.”
According to official data, handicraft exports from Kashmir have fallen by over 50% in the last decade. The decline is not just economic—it is existential. Each abandoned loom is a broken link in a thousand-year-old heritage.
If this trend continues, Kashmiri handicrafts will survive only in museums and tourist brochures. The soul of the Valley’s art may be marked for extinction.
Tourism: From Paradise to Paralysis
Tourism has always been Kashmir’s lifeline, a bridge between its beauty and the outside world. In its best years, over two million tourists visited, filling hotels, houseboats, and shikaras. But in recent years, tourism has become a gamble with fate.
Floods in 2014 submerged Srinagar’s hotels. The communication blackout after August 2019 scared away foreign travelers. The COVID-19 pandemic locked down the Valley again. Sporadic attacks and unrest keep international tourists away, leaving domestic visitors to bear the load.
A houseboat owner on Dal Lake lamented:
“My grandfather built this boat in 1948. Foreigners stayed here for months. Now, I wait weeks for even a two-night booking.”
Empty hotels, silent gondoliers, jobless tour guides—these are the new realities. Kashmir, once dubbed the “Switzerland of the East,” is now paralyzed by a fragile industry that collapses at the first sign of uncertainty.
Fruit Industry: From Bloom to Bust
If handicrafts are heritage, apples are survival. Horticulture employs 3.5 million Kashmiris and contributes nearly 8% to J&K’s GDP. The Valley’s apples—crisp, juicy, world-renowned—are its red gold.
Yet this year, apple growers are staring at devastating losses. With NH-44 blocked by landslides and Mughal Road underdeveloped, thousands of trucks carrying fruit were stranded for weeks. Apples rotted inside crates. Sopore and Shopian mandis shut down in protest.
Losses have already crossed ₹700 crore, according to industry bodies. For farmers, this is not just economic—it is existential. A grower from Kulgam said:
“We prayed, worked, and waited all year. Now, our apples are rotting in front of us. Tell me, what sin did we commit?”
Air cargo solutions remain unaffordable, and government interventions are too little, too late. For the Valley’s orchardists, the fruit industry is collapsing into crisis.
Kashur Khatam: Language Silenced
Languages are more than communication; they are vessels of memory, culture, and belonging. Kashmiri—Kashur—is spoken by nearly seven million people, but its presence is shrinking.
In schools, students learn in Urdu or English. Official signage rarely carries Kashmiri. Parents, eager for their children’s “success,” often avoid teaching it at home. As a result, younger generations in cities like Srinagar are more fluent in Hindi, Urdu, or English than in their mother tongue.
A Kashmiri poet explained the pain:
“When you erase a language, you erase imagination. Our idioms, our humor, our grief—they don’t translate. They die in silence.”
The decline of Kashur is not merely a linguistic shift. It is cultural violence. A people stripped of their language are stripped of their identity.
Izzat Te Khatam: Dignity in Decline
Beyond politics and economics lies something even more fragile: dignity. For decades, Kashmiris have lived with checkpoints, frisking, and surveillance. Many have grown numb to it. But the slow erosion of dignity is perhaps the deepest wound.
To be stopped daily on the highway, to have one’s home searched without cause, to be ignored in decision-making forums—this normalizes indignity. Over time, it chips away at self-respect.
An elderly teacher in Pulwama put it bluntly:
“We used to argue politics. Now, we only argue survival. Even our izzat (honor) feels rationed.”
The loss of dignity is harder to measure than GDP or exports, but it is the silent shadow haunting every Kashmiri household.
Pattern or Coincidence?
Step back, and the dots connect themselves:
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Economic lifelines blocked.
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Cultural symbols erased.
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Political voices muted.
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Youth disillusioned.
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Artisans abandoned.
This is not random mismanagement. It is a design of disengagement, a deliberate shrinking of space for Kashmiri agency, economy, and identity.
The chokehold is slow but suffocating. By targeting multiple pillars simultaneously, it leaves little room for recovery. Kashmir is not just experiencing setbacks—it is being strangled.
From Khatam to Qayam: Seeds of Revival
But history teaches us something vital: Kashmir has always endured. Floods, wars, lockdowns—yet each time, the Valley has found ways to rebuild.
The path to Qayam begins with acknowledging the crisis, not denying it. Revival requires:
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Economic innovation: Cold storage, better transport corridors, and digital marketing for handicrafts.
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Cultural revival: Teaching Kashmiri in schools, funding artisan clusters, reviving folk arts.
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Tourism diversification: Promoting eco-tourism, winter sports, and heritage trails beyond Dal Lake.
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Political inclusion: Restoring statehood, holding elections, giving locals real decision-making power.
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Dignity restoration: Building trust, reducing militarization in civilian spaces, ensuring policy empathy.
The people of Kashmir deserve not just survival but dignity, not just existence but revival.
Bottom-Line
Today, many Kashmiris whisper a single word: Khatam. It captures the fatigue of a people who feel their lifelines slipping away.
But history is not linear. What feels like an ending can also be a reckoning. From Khatam can come Qayam—a revival rooted in resilience, innovation, and cultural pride.
Kashmir is not just a geography. It is a civilization. And civilizations do not die easily.
