Kashmir is more than just a beautiful place — it’s a land full of stories, songs, and soul. A place where culture speaks volumes, heritage shares sagas of their origin, and, above all, where inclusivity rules. From the warmth of a pheran to the richness of wazwan, our culture used to bring families and neighbours together. But now, in the middle of all the noise of modern life, it feels like we’re slowly losing what made us feel like ourselves.
This change doesn’t just start in schools. It’s in the air — at home, in tuitions, darsgahs, coaching centres, and even on family occasions. English has taken over everywhere. Even though it is essential for learning, the way it’s replacing Kashmiri in daily life feels like we’re erasing our voice. Students hesitate to speak their mother tongue. Some even laugh when someone talks in Kashmiri. It’s becoming rare to hear it proudly spoken, even at home.
At family functions or local gatherings, the warmth we used to feel is replaced by cold formality. For example, things have changed a lot at weddings. Earlier, they were about people — laughter in the kitchen, neighbours helping with preparations, and simple happiness. Now, it’s mostly about glamour. Banquet halls, expensive photography, LED lights, and dozens of changing outfits have all turned into a show. Songs and wanwun are often replaced with DJs or YouTube playlists. Celebrating is not wrong, but something feels off when we start doing it to impress.
Even during Eid or other festivals, the joy of simplicity is now replaced by pressure—pressure to dress perfectly, post online, and buy the best gifts. Quiet smiles are getting lost in loud, filtered photos.
Interactions between boys and girls have also changed. What used to be respectful distance is now casual comfort. While friendship is natural, how boundaries are crossed sometimes leads to a loss of modesty that once shaped our values. What’s more painful is that most of this doesn’t feel wrong anymore — it just feels “normal.”
But normal isn’t always right. Culture doesn’t disappear all at once. It slips away gradually until we barely notice it’s gone.
But not all is lost. Bringing back our culture doesn’t mean rejecting the present. It means keeping balance — wearing a pheran with pride, speaking Kashmiri without shame, keeping weddings meaningful, and letting festivals be about gratitude, not glamour. It means remembering who we are. It just means we shouldn’t forget the past. A simple hello in Kashmiri, a traditional dress on special days, or keeping weddings about love instead of luxury — these things matter. Because if we don’t hold on to our roots now, we might not find our way back later.If we forget our ways, who will remember them for us?
By: Musaib Rouf
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