How A Teacher's Transfer Moved An Entire College In Kashmir

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
GDC Frisal

By Rayees Ahmad Kumar

In the far south of Kashmir, where roads wind between poplar trees and school bells echo faintly across paddy fields, a college gathered for a farewell.

The man at the center of it, Dr. Ishtiyaq Ahmad Shah, was leaving after years of service. He wasn't retiring, just moving, as government officers often do.

But the moment didn't feel routine. It felt like the end of something fragile and meaningful.

Government Degree College Frisal isn't a place you're likely to read about. It sits silently in the Kulgam district, far from the capitals of power. Its buildings are modest, its needs many.

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But for the students who walk there every day, some from villages miles away, it is an anchor. And Dr. Shah, during his tenure, had become its most stable part.

His transfer came through official channels, a simple order directing him to take charge at another college, this one in Qazigund, a small highway town known mostly as a stopover on the way to Srinagar. It wasn't a surprise.

Transfers in the public education system are expected, sometimes even necessary. They balance staff shortages, shift leadership, and try to stir progress.

But Frisal wasn't ready.

When the farewell was announced, the faculty began planning something respectful, maybe even formal. It quickly became something else.

Students began writing notes. Former graduates called in, asking if they could attend. Teachers who'd once worked with Dr. Shah returned just to say goodbye. Despite ongoing exams, the assembly hall filled slowly, then fully.

Dr. Muzaffar Yousuf, a longtime faculty member, opened the event with a gentle speech. He didn't need notes. He talked about Dr. Shah as a principal who listened, who stayed late, who asked not just how classes were going but whether the drinking water was cold, whether the students had chairs.

Others followed. Department heads. Young lecturers. Non-teaching staff. Each one told a small story. They spoke of decisions made quietly, of problems solved without fanfare, of a man who seemed always present, even when silent.

Miss Mehnaza Jan, an assistant professor of economics, walked to the podium with a sheet of paper in her hand. She didn't read a word. She looked at the room, tried to speak, and then returned to her seat in tears.

Dr. Riyaz Ahmad, who teaches sociology and anchored the program, described Dr. Shah as“a leader who never raised his voice but always got things done.”

The words felt accurate. Dr. Shah's tenure had been marked not by declarations but by follow-through, on timetables, infrastructure, faculty appointments, and the confidence that someone was paying attention.

When Dr. Shah finally stood to respond, he kept it brief. He thanked the staff and the students. He reminded them that colleges are not buildings but people.“You have given me more than I ever expected,” he said.“If I have given anything back, I am grateful.”

It is difficult to explain the significance of a principal's transfer to someone outside Kashmir, or outside any place where institutions must double as communities.

In a region often caught between political shifts and social uncertainty, schools and colleges become places of unusual emotional investment. They offer continuity where little else does. And when a figure like Dr. Shah leaves, the loss feels personal.

At Frisal, the mood was somber. In the corridors, teachers spoke in low tones. In the staff room, someone had placed a framed photograph from the farewell on the table. The students lingered after the event, standing in clusters, sharing stories.

One student, a final-year undergraduate, summed it up quietly to no one in particular.“It's not that he solved everything,” she said.“It's that he made us feel that someone was trying.”

In a world of metrics and performance charts, this might not seem like much. But in this part of Kashmir, it means everything.

• The writer is a columnist based in Qazigund, Kashmir.

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