'We Skipped Qurbani': Eid In Kashmir Felt Different This Year

The sun came up slowly over Srinagar on Saturday. The sky was clear, the breeze light. It should have been a loud morning. The kind where sheep bleat in every lane and smoke rises early from kitchens. But this time, the city felt still.

Azha, one of the most important days on the calendar, passed like a whisper through the Valley.

At the Hazratbal Shrine, thousands gathered for prayer. The lawns were full, the imam's voice echoed across the lake. Afterward, people packed their mats and left quietly.

“I was thinking about how different it was last year,” said Shabir Ahmad, a tailor from downtown Srinagar.“There was more laughter then. This time, everything felt low.”

The streets stayed calm. There were fewer door knocks, fewer greetings, fewer children playing in new clothes.

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“We skipped Qurbani this year,” said Mushtaq Wani, a travel agent from Srinagar.“Poor business and mounting EMIs have pushed most people in Kashmir into survival mode.”

In Sopore, Naseema Bano said her family didn't receive any meat parcels from neighbours until late afternoon.“That's never happened before,” she said.“We didn't even hear the usual Eid sounds.”

Across towns and villages, fewer animals were sacrificed. In past years, butchers rushed from house to house. This year, many had time on their hands.

“I was done by lunchtime,” said Firdous Mir, a butcher in Anantnag.“Usually, I take bookings days ahead. This year, people cancelled. Some said they didn't feel up to it. Others simply couldn't afford it.”

Prices of livestock had gone up sharply. A decent-sized sheep cost around ₹25,000. For many, that was out of reach.

In Ganderbal, three families came together to buy one goat.“It's the only way we could manage,” said Imtiyaz, a school clerk.

In Baramulla's markets, people walked around but bought very little.“Mostly window shopping,” said Manzoor, who sells dresses.“We opened the shop, but the mood wasn't there. Sales dropped by half.”

Many parents skipped new clothes for their children. In Kupwara, Roohi Jan said she had to say no to her daughter.“She wanted a dress. I told her, some other day.”

In downtown Srinagar, shops were mostly shut. The streets felt empty.“I've never seen Eid like this,” said Bashir Lone, a fruit vendor.“I barely made enough this week to buy vegetables, forget a goat.”

Eid is meant to be about sharing. But this time, few had enough to give.

Officials offered their greetings. The Lieutenant Governor asked people to show love and kindness. District offices shared similar messages. The city police chief arrived with sweets at Kashmir's grand sanctum. But inside homes, the usual bags of meat and plates of food didn't arrive.

In the background, a familiar scene repeated itself. For the seventh year in a row, Srinagar's Jamia Masjid remained shut on Eid morning. No prayers. No crowd. Both the chief cleric and the former chief minister criticized the decision.

An old man passed by and glanced at the closed gate.“It's like a new tradition now,” he said.“Locked doors on Eid.”

Still, some people found ways to mark the day. In Budgam, a few young men gave out dates and juice at the hospital. In Baramulla, children ran through narrow lanes with plastic water guns, giggling and soaked.

“It's still Eid,” said one boy, aiming at his friend.

At Hazratbal, Omar Abdullah joined the devotees. Speaking afterward, he said,“This is a peaceful Eid. We should have more trust in the people.”

Later in the day, smoke rose slowly from a few rooftops. The smell of grilled meat floated over courtyards. Not much, but enough to know what day it was.

Small family meals took place in silence. Some neighbours smiled at each other. Others stayed indoors.

By dusk, the Valley lay still. Hardly any fireworks lit the sky. Empty roads echoed with silence. It was Eid only in name, nowhere in spirit.

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