Let Kashmir's Story Be Told Again

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
KO File Photo By Abid Bhat

By Dr. Rizwan Rumi

When you arrive in Kashmir, the first thing that strikes you isn't the snow-capped mountains or the scent of pine in the air. It's the silence.

Not the kind that unsettles, but the kind that calms, that holds a thousand stories within it.

But lately, that silence has changed. It's grown heavier, more uncertain.

The recent attack in Pahalgam shook the valley. Lives were lost, fear returned, and as a result, the government closed down some of the most loved tourist spots across the region.

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The decision was meant to protect people. But it also froze something vital.

Because Kashmir isn't just a place people visit. For thousands, it's where they find meaning, work, memory, peace.

And when its gardens go quiet, its lakes go still, and its trails close down, it doesn't just hurt business. It wounds the soul of the valley.

Over the years, Kashmir has lived through unrest, floods, curfews and long winters. And yet, somehow, it always comes back.

The people find a way. The mountains remain. The chinar leaves still fall in autumn. There's a kind of quiet endurance here that doesn't make the news but deserves to.

Now, as the dust begins to settle and security is being rethought and reinforced, we must ask: what next?

The answer, many believe, lies in reopening. Not in a rush, but with care. Not just for tourists from outside, but for Kashmiris themselves.

Because these places-Sonamarg, Gulmarg, Pahalgam, Yusmarg-aren't just stops on an itinerary. They are part of who Kashmir is.

Tourism here isn't a side story. It's the story. It's the houseboat owner on Dal Lake who hasn't had guests in weeks.

It's the pony-wallah in Sonamarg whose earnings stopped overnight.

It's the papier-mâché artisan in Srinagar whose delicate designs wait for buyers who may never come.

Data from the Jammu and Kashmir Tourism Department tells us about a record number. Hotels were booked out. Shikaras were busy again. That wave brought hope. And then, in one moment, it paused.

Every week of closure now means real losses. Not just financially, but emotionally.

For the family-run guesthouses, the small tea stalls near trekking routes, the guides, the cab drivers, the weavers-all of whom depend on the movement of people to survive.

When tourists stop coming, it's not just a drop in bookings. It's school fees unpaid, winter supplies on hold, dreams deferred.

Reopening the valley's destinations needs more than just an official order. It needs trust. It needs coordination between government bodies, local stakeholders and the tourism industry. It needs reassurance, visibility, and perhaps most of all, empathy.

Because locals, too, deserve to feel like they belong to the beauty around them.

Security, of course, matters. No one is calling for reckless abandon. But balance matters too.

The valley cannot afford to become a museum of memories. It must live, breathe, change and welcome again.

The promise of responsible tourism-where visitors respect the culture, treat the environment gently, and contribute to local lives-is one that Kashmir can lead in. It has the landscape. It has the hospitality. It has the history. All it needs is space to grow again.

• The author is a Srinagar-based academic and commentator on culture, tourism and public policy.

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