Kashmir's Most Unlikely Mentor Is An 85-Year-Old Vendor With No Degrees

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational Image by Taha Wani/KO

By Gowher Bhat

Near a bend in the busy Pantha Chowk highway, just outside Srinagar, sits a man behind a stall patched together with plastic sheets and weathered ropes. There are sacks of red beans, pulses, and packets of vegetable seeds stacked around him. His hands, calloused and steady, sort through the day's stock with practiced care.

Rajab Dar is 85 years old. Most days, he arrives before sunrise and stays until the last bus leaves. He doesn't call it a business, never has.“Just work,” he says with a shrug, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. And for him, it is

“I never thought small work is something to be ashamed of,” he continues, lifting his head as another customer approaches.“It fed my family. That's enough for me.”

Rajab lives in Narbal, a sleepy village in south Kashmir's Pulwama district. The area is better known for apple orchards than job opportunities.

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Over the years, this man has become something of a fixture at the market, and a figure many people admire but few fully understand.

To outsiders, he's just a man selling seeds. To his neighbours, he's a mentor, a guide, and the reason dozens of jobless young men now have steady incomes.

Rajab started working when he was just a teenager. He never had much education. Instead, he learned from the land and from those who worked it. He began by helping his father sell pulses and lentils in nearby towns.

Eventually, he opened a tiny stall of his own. He married, raised a family, and kept working. He never once took a break, even as his body aged and his hands began to tremble in the cold.

“I got my daughters married from this stall,” he says.“My sons learned from me. Now they have their own fruit businesses. One grows apples. The other deals in walnuts.”

But Rajab's story isn't just about how he built a life from scratch. It's about how he quietly helped others do the same.

About a decade ago, he started noticing more and more young men sitting idle in his village. They were frustrated by the lack of jobs, tired of waiting for government posts that never came. Some had degrees. Others had dropped out. Few had direction.

“They would walk around all day, smoking, talking, wasting time,” Rajab says.“It made me sad. So I started talking to them.”

He didn't give lectures. He just shared what had worked for him. Work with your hands. Start small. Learn from the ground up.

Some listened. One of them was Shabir Khan.

Shabir is now 29. A few years ago, he was unemployed and anxious about his future. Then he met Rajab.

“I was lost,” Shabir says.“I had no job, no skills. Rajab Sahib told me to start something, even something tiny. He said: 'You can sell vegetables. At least you'll be doing something.'”

With Rajab's help, Shabir bought a second-hand load carrier. He began transporting and selling fresh produce from nearby farms. Today, he earns enough to support his parents and younger siblings.

“People used to look down on this kind of work,” he says.“Now, they ask me how I started.”

Stories like Shabir's are no longer rare in Narbal. At least two dozen young men, most in their twenties and early thirties, have followed similar paths.

Some sell apples at local mandis. Others grow vegetables in backyard plots. A few are experimenting with greenhouse farming and organic produce. All of them credit Rajab.

“He's not a rich man,” says one of the vendors who sells cucumbers near the main road.“But he gave us something bigger. He made us believe we can work for ourselves.”

On most mornings, you'll find Rajab surrounded by people, some there to buy, others just to talk. He shares tips about planting, stories from his past, and advice that sounds simple but hits home.

He doesn't romanticize hard work. He just shows up, day after day, with the same resilient discipline. His stall doesn't have a signboard. His name isn't painted anywhere. Yet everyone knows where to find him.

Narbal has changed in the past few years. The main market is livelier. Fewer young men are loitering by tea shops. Small handcarts and mobile stalls line the streets. There's no official record, but the change is visible.

Kashmir has one of the highest unemployment rates in India. In Pulwama district alone, joblessness among rural youth was recorded at over 20% in recent government data. While most development schemes focus on large infrastructure or education, the kind of grassroots shift that's happened in Narbal rarely makes headlines.

And yet, it's the kind of change that lasts.

Rajab says he's not doing anything special. He just doesn't believe in waiting.

“I never waited for someone to help me,” he says.“If I can work at this age, anyone can.”

As the light fades and traffic slows near Pantha Chowk, Rajab packs his stall. He folds the plastic sheet neatly, ties up his sacks, and places a small stone on top to keep things from blowing away overnight.

He'll be back tomorrow – same spot, same time. Still selling seeds. Still planting hope.

• Author is a Pulwama-based English language instructor.

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