The first glimpse of the Kashmir Valley from the road has always been almost overwhelming—the snow-draped mountains standing like silent sentinels, the green slopes rolling into the distance, the cool mountain air carrying the fragrance of pine, and the familiar waters of the Jhelum winding quietly through Srinagar. My recent visit to the valley showed signs of movement and change: busy roads, new buildings, hotels, tourists, taxis and the bustle of a place rediscovering its confidence. Yet, beneath this outward transformation, there was something less visible but far more striking—the unmistakable desire of its people to live in peace.I had last visited Kashmir in 2005. The Valley I remembered then was one of uncertainty and apprehension, when difficult years had left their mark on everyday life. Since then, Kashmir has passed through wars, disturbances, tensions and other serious upheavals. Twenty-one years later, my return to Srinagar, Gulmarg and Pahalgam offered me an opportunity not merely to revisit a beautiful landscape, but to observe how its people had changed. My strongest impression was that the Kashmiri people I met had evolved into a society even more conscious of the value of peace. They did not merely appear peace-loving; they seemed genuinely peace-craving.

What struck me was the contrast between the magnificence of the Valley and the everyday struggles of many of its people. The infrastructure has grown by leaps and bounds. Roads, hotels, connectivity and tourist facilities have transformed the experience of travelling through Kashmir. Srinagar appears more vibrant, while Gulmarg and Pahalgam have become increasingly accessible to visitors from across the country. But behind this visible development lies another reality: a substantial section of the population continues to struggle with poverty and unemployment.That perhaps explains why peace means so much here. Tourism is not simply an industry in Kashmir; for thousands of families, it is their livelihood. Every tourist vehicle on the road, every occupied hotel room, every pony ride, every guide and every restaurant table represents an opportunity to earn a day’s bread. For the ordinary Kashmiri, therefore, peace is not an abstract political slogan. It means work, income, dignity and hope for the future.

My driver, Arshad, brought this reality alive. A graduate, he had expected education to open better opportunities for him, but found himself dependent on driving tourists. He told me that he sometimes had to wait as long as 26 days before getting a booking that would take him through the length and breadth of the Valley. Twenty-six days is a painfully long wait when one’s earnings depend upon the arrival of the next tourist.Another driver, Musad Kumar, who took me to the breathtaking Aru Valley in Pahalgam, was sailing in much the same boat. With the Amarnath Yatra having just concluded, tourist activity had slowed, and he had remained at home without work for eight days. His story was another reminder that behind Kashmir’s spectacular scenery are thousands of ordinary people anxiously watching the tourist season.These encounters made me look at Kashmir differently. The mountains, meadows and lakes may draw visitors, but it is the people who sustain the Valley’s tourism economy. They desperately need a steady flow of tourists, and that flow depends fundamentally on peace and a sense of security.

Arshad offered me another revealing glimpse into the Kashmiri temperament. He had been allegedly cheated of Rs 500 by a traffic constable. Yet, when I suggested that he should lodge a complaint, he showed no desire for revenge or confrontation. Instead, he calmly said that his bud-dua—his curse—would be enough and that Allah would teach the man his lesson by making him pay ten times the price. His response stayed with me. There was anger, certainly, but no appetite for retaliation.At the Gulmarg Golf Course, I encountered another charming example of this cultural honesty. As we were leaving, the starter asked us to check our belongings. He reassured us that nothing would be stolen or taken away, but warned that if we left something behind, we might have to make the journey back to retrieve it. It was said almost jokingly, but it reflected a deeper sense of responsibility and honesty that I found repeatedly during my visit.

My conversation with Musad also revealed something of Kashmir’s layered social history. Curious about the Hindu-sounding surname “Kumar” attached to his Muslim name, I asked him about it. He explained that traditionally Muslims in Kashmir have also carried names and surnames associated with Hindu communities. In that simple explanation was a reminder of the shared cultural inheritance of Kashmiriyat, a tradition that has historically woven communities together despite religious differences.Then I met Abdullah, a waiter at Hotel Mount View in Pahalgam, who was nearing 75. He sang a song for me in Kashmiri and then explained its meaning. He had seen bad days and lived through difficult times, he said, but the strength of his character had helped him sail through them. He blamed the mahaul, or environment, for much of what people had endured, but there was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, there was hope that a new dawn might arrive and circumstances might improve.At the airport, I met Adil, a promising young entrepreneur engaged in supplying medical equipment in Himachal Pradesh and Kashmir. A psychologist himself, he attributed much of his success to education. His enterprise, he told me, was handling an annual turnover of four to five crores. For Adil, education was not merely a means of securing employment; it was the foundation for self-reliance, dignity, leadership and a respectable life.

By the time I left Kashmir, these conversations had formed a clear impression in my mind. I saw reason for optimism. The future of Kashmir lies largely in its youth. With education, employment opportunities, better facilities and sustained peace, they can transform the Valley and make the dream of a happy and prosperous Kashmir a reality.I was also struck by the extraordinary richness of Kashmir’s culture, traditions, folklore and folk practices. Its people continue to preserve these traditions with affection and dedication, carrying within them a deep sense of belonging to their land and to Kashmiriyat.I returned from Kashmir with much more than photographs of mountains, lakes and meadows. I carried with me the impression of a people who have seen enough turmoil and now want something beautifully simple—peaceful lives, meaningful work, dignity for their children and a future free from fear. The mountains have always stood there, patient and eternal. My return after twenty-one years left me with the conviction that the Valley beneath them, too, is slowly finding its way towards a new dawn. / DAILY WORLD /

(DAILY WORLD )