The Kashmiri Boy Who Chose Books Over Begging

By Subail Manzoor

On a rain-soaked evening in Srinagar, under the leaky roof of a small grocery store near Zero Bridge, a young boy stood out from the consumerist rush swirling around him. The downpour had driven everyone into a chaotic, damp huddle.

Soaked to the bone, Zubair Ahmad Khan held out a heavy, waterlogged book. Rain dripped from his hair and glistened on his cheeks as he asked in a soft, hopeful voice,“Baya, Qitaab ma hyeakh?”

Brother, would you like to buy a book?

At just 15, Zubair carries a burden heavier than his sack of books.

From Golab Bagh Dargah, he is the man of his house: responsible for three sisters and a younger brother.

His father, Shabir Ahmad Khan, passed away years ago, leaving behind silence and a responsibility that demanded filling.

“I studied till the fifth grade,” Zubair says, a faint smile brushing his lips, too mature for his young face.“But I couldn't continue after that. I don't miss it though.”

His words end in silence, but his big, watchful eyes speak volumes.

He became a man long before his fifteenth birthday, a presence marked by silent strength and hardened kindness.

But the road isn't easy. For every person who buys a book to encourage him, others mock his efforts.

“I go from person to person,” he explains, birds chirping and traffic humming in the background.“Some look me in the eye and laugh. They say, 'Who reads books now? Everyone has a mobile phone. Do you think people have time for this?'”

He doesn't sound bitter, just tired of the same story, day after day.

“Others say I'm wasting my time and energy,” Zubair continues.“That I'm a fool for trying to make a living this way.”

These harsh words become the cold wind he braces against every morning.

The breakthrough came in Batamaloo, where a kind bookseller trusted him with stock. With a bag slung over his shoulder, as full as his hope, Zubair began his journey two years ago.

Today, he is a familiar figure on Zero Bridge. He knows every alley, every shop, every chef. Locals know his spirit, calling him“tez”, quick-witted, stubborn, and hardworking.

“Yi chu ladki jaan, bas tez chu thoda,” chuckles a shopkeeper. He's a good guy, just a bit hot-headed.

Zubair's day begins at 7 a.m. and often ends around 1 a.m.“I can't find a lift, so I walk back,” he says simply.

He treks across the sleeping city, carrying a bag of politics, classics, and religious texts in three languages, lighter than the responsibility weighing on his shoulders.

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