How A Kashmir Apple Farm Became A Viral Brand

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
An apple orchard in Kashmir

By Dr. Waseem Ahmad

Last harvest, in a narrow lane of Shopian's Sedow village, past rows of rusted tractors and crates piled high with fruit, 28-year-old Adil Nazir crouched beneath an apple tree with a phone in hand. He was not checking the weather. He was editing a reel.

The clip shows red Kullu apples hanging low on branches, a drone shot of a misty orchard, and Adil waving from the truck bed. His caption is simple:“Fresh from Sedow. DM to buy.”

In less than an hour, the post reached 3,000 people, most of them outside Kashmir.

This is what apple farming looks like now in the valley. A tech transformation, driven not by policy or market reform, but by social media and young growers refusing to follow the old script.

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“In my father's time, we waited for commission agents,” Adil says.“They'd come, quote a price, take half the profit. We had no say. Now I'm selling my apples directly to homes in Delhi and Mumbai.”

Adil is part of a growing network of Kashmiri orchardists using phones not just to share updates but to reshape the way they grow, sell, and survive.

The region produces nearly three-fourths of India's apples, yet its farmers have long struggled with price manipulation, unpredictable weather, and government neglect.

That struggle has moved online.

Across south and north Kashmir, WhatsApp groups buzz with early warnings about scab infections. YouTube videos in Kashmiri break down pruning techniques and pesticide tips. On Facebook and Instagram, growers post glossy images of fresh fruit, complete with variety tags, location pins, and payment options.

For many, this shift is less about modernity and more about survival.

“It's not just about being online,” says Rouf Ahmad, a horticulture graduate from Baramulla who runs a YouTube channel with 52,000 subscribers.“It's about reclaiming control.”

Rouf's channel offers tutorials in local dialects. How to graft a sapling, manage cold storage, or deal with hail damage. In the comments, growers ask questions, share crop photos, and correct each other. It's not formal education. But it works.

These platforms are also challenging Kashmir's rigid market chains. For decades, growers sold apples to middlemen who took them to mandis in Delhi or Azadpur. Prices fluctuated, payments were delayed. Farmers had no access to end buyers.

That is changing.

In the fall of 2023, a small collective in Baramulla called Kashmir Fresh Picks sold over 30,000 kilograms of apples directly to consumers through Instagram. The team, mostly in their twenties, handled logistics on WhatsApp, used QR codes for traceability, and offered doorstep delivery. They earned nearly 30 percent more than traditional routes.

“We packaged every box like a story,” says one member.“People in Chandigarh knew which orchard their apples came from. That mattered to them.”

When a November snowstorm struck south Kashmir the same year, uprooting trees and flattening late-harvest fruit, social media again proved vital.

Dozens of growers used WhatsApp to share damage reports, organize help, and pressure local officials for compensation.

“We didn't wait for government survey teams,” says Feroz, a grower from Kulgam.“By the time they came, we'd already mapped the damage and uploaded the videos.”

These digital tools are not just for outreach, they're becoming lifelines. And yet, not everyone can access them.

Older orchardists struggle with smartphones. In parts of Shopian and Anantnag, 4G service is spotty. Misinformation spreads quickly. In 2022, a video claiming a miracle pesticide cure circulated widely. Dozens followed it. Crops suffered.

“There's no way to tell what's real and what's fake,” says one agriculture officer.“We need verified channels. We need oversight.”

Another challenge is language. Most digital content is in Hindi or English. Many farmers speak only Kashmiri. Training programs remain rare, especially for women and elders.

“It's a digital revolution, but not everyone is invited,” says Shahida, a schoolteacher in Pulwama who helps her father run his orchard.“We need the internet, yes. But we also need it in our voice.”

The risk, experts say, is that this new tech-farming model, exciting as it is, could end up benefiting only a small, connected group. Without policy support, the divide between digital haves and have-nots may deepen.

Still, for younger orchardists, the change is hard to ignore.

In a corner of his orchard, Adil scrolls through his Instagram comments. A café owner in Bengaluru wants a trial order. A food blogger from Pune is asking about Kashmiri pears. There's a message from someone in Dubai.

“Fifteen years ago, we just filled crates and hoped someone would buy,” Adil says, tucking the phone into his pocket.“Now people ask for my fruit. They ask for me by name.”

There are still hailstorms to fear, loans to repay, roads that barely hold trucks. But the orchard, once cut off from the world, is no longer invisible.

Every post, every photo, every order is a kind of resistance – a way of saying, we are still here, and we're not waiting anymore.

• Dr. Waseem Ahmad is a writer based in South Kashmir. He can be reached at [email protected] .

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