The rape and murder of a minor child in Galwanpora is not merely another crime report to be discussed for a day and forgotten with the next news cycle. 

It is a wound on the conscience of Kashmir. It is horrifying in its brutality, unbearable in its cruelty, and devastating in what it reveals about the failures of the institutions and communities meant to protect the most vulnerable among us.

When a child is violated and killed, something fundamental has broken. It is not only the failure of one criminal mind; it is a collective collapse – of awareness, of vigilance, of moral responsibility, and of public accountability.

At a moment like this, the silence of those who shape public thought becomes impossible to ignore.

Clerics in Kashmir occupy an influential place in society. Their words reach homes, neighbourhoods and hearts every Friday and often every day. Mosques are not only spaces of worship; they are spaces of instruction, moral guidance and social correction. That responsibility cannot remain limited to ritual. It must extend to confronting the realities destroying our communities.

The menace of sexual violence against children must be spoken about openly from the pulpit. Clerics must educate communities about the sanctity of children’s rights, the grave moral and legal consequences of abuse, and the punishments awaiting perpetrators both under the law and before God. Too often, crimes like these remain hidden behind shame, fear or family pressure. Religious leaders can help break that silence. They can encourage reporting. They can urge parents to be vigilant. They can teach boys respect, boundaries and accountability from a young age. They can help remove the stigma victims’ families often face when they seek justice.

But sermons alone will not stop crime.

The government carries the primary responsibility of ensuring that citizens – especially children – are safe. Public outrage after every brutal incident is not enough. Condemnation statements are not enough. Visits, compensation announcements and promises of “strict action” are not enough unless they translate into visible, measurable prevention.

Safety must be built into governance.

That means stronger policing on the ground, especially in vulnerable localities. It means visible patrols around schools, residential lanes and isolated areas. It means functioning streetlights, active surveillance where appropriate, quicker emergency response, and a policing model rooted in prevention rather than reaction. Communities must feel the presence of law enforcement before a crime occurs—not only after a tragedy.

Law and order agencies must also strengthen investigative efficiency. Swift identification of offenders, professional forensic work, timely arrests and prosecution are essential not just for justice, but for deterrence. Criminals must know that the state is watching, capable and relentless. Impunity feeds crime. Certainty of detection reduces it.

There are examples across the country where increased beat policing, women’s help desks, community liaison officers, child protection monitoring, and rapid complaint mechanisms have made vulnerable populations safer. Kashmir does not lack police infrastructure or personnel; what is needed is consistent prioritisation of child safety as a law-and-order priority, not merely a social issue.

And yet, even the state cannot do this alone.

Civil society must confront its own responsibility with honesty.

Every neighbourhood knows more than it admits. Suspicious behaviour is noticed. Troubling patterns are seen. Children’s distress is often visible. But too often, people choose silence—because “it is not our matter,” because they fear confrontation, because reputation is valued above truth.

That silence becomes complicity.

Parents, teachers, neighbours, traders, religious institutions, youth groups, local committees and social organisations all form the first protective circle around a child. If that circle fails, the consequences can be irreversible. Child safety cannot be outsourced entirely to police stations or courts. It begins at home, in schools, in mohallas, in conversations adults have with children about safety, trust and speaking up.

Children must be taught that they can say no, that they can report inappropriate behaviour, and that they will be believed. Families must learn to listen without judgment. Communities must learn to intervene before warning signs become headlines.

The child of Galwanpora should have been protected. That she was not is a painful indictment of all of us.

Justice for her demands more than arresting the perpetrator. It demands introspection from the pulpit, action from the government, vigilance from law enforcement, and courage from society.

If Kashmir wishes to call itself a compassionate society, then compassion must be visible not only in grief after tragedy – but in the systems we build to prevent it.

A society is ultimately judged by how it protects its children.

And on that measure, after Galwanpora, we must ask ourselves the hardest question of all: did we do enough?

The answer today is heartbreaking.

Tomorrow must be different.

The launch of the self-enumeration drive for Census 2027 in Jammu and Kashmir and Ladakh may appear administrative at first glance – a new portal, a digital form, another government exercise. But for Kashmir, the census is never just about numbers.

It is about visibility.

For the first time, residents of Jammu and Kashmir and Ladakh are being invited to digitally enumerate themselves as part of India’s census process. On paper, it is a technological shift. In practice, it is something larger: a moment that asks citizens to record who they are, where they live and how they live – within a region where questions of land, population, mobility and identity have long carried political meaning beyond statistics.

A census is often described as a count of people. But it is also a count of realities.

How many people live in a village that has expanded beyond its roads? How many homes now stand where orchards once did? How many families have migrated from rural districts into Srinagar’s growing outskirts? How many households still lack sanitation, internet access or reliable drinking water? How many young people are leaving? How many are staying?

Without those answers, governance relies on approximation. Development becomes uneven. Welfare risks missing those who need it most.

This is why Census 2027 matters deeply for Jammu and Kashmir.

Much has changed since the last full census. The region has seen political reorganisation, urban expansion, demographic movement, shifting municipal boundaries and changing economic aspirations. Entire neighbourhoods have transformed. New roads have altered settlement patterns. Tourism has redrawn local economies. Climate pressures have changed how communities relate to land, agriculture and water. Yet much of the official statistical picture remains outdated.

Policy cannot move faster than data.

If the numbers are old, decisions become old with them.

Schools are planned using yesterday’s populations. Hospitals are measured against outdated demand. Roads are designed for traffic patterns that may no longer exist. Welfare schemes risk overlooking settlements that have expanded or communities that remain underserved.

For Kashmir especially, accurate enumeration is not a bureaucratic exercise—it is the foundation of representation.

Numbers shape how resources are allocated, where infrastructure is prioritised, how local bodies are planned and how the state understands its own population. They influence everything from housing and healthcare to education, transport, electricity and employment planning.

That makes participation essential.

The introduction of self-enumeration is a welcome innovation. It offers households greater convenience and agency, particularly in urban areas where digital access is widespread. It modernises the process and aligns India’s census with global digital practices. But digital access alone will not guarantee inclusion.

Kashmir’s geography remains unequal. Connectivity varies sharply between cities and remote villages. Snow-bound regions, mountainous terrain, border belts and areas with weak internet infrastructure continue to face practical barriers. Many elderly residents may find digital forms unfamiliar. Others may hesitate to share information online without clarity or trust.

Which means the success of the census will depend not just on technology, but on public confidence.

People must understand why they are being counted, how their information will be used, and how privacy will be protected. Officials have spoken of encryption and digital safeguards. That assurance must continue clearly and consistently.

Equally important is accuracy on the ground. Enumerators entering homes across Jammu and Kashmir will carry more than tablets. They will carry responsibility.

Every entry matters.

A missed household is not simply a clerical omission. It becomes a gap in the public record. A family uncounted can become a family unseen in planning.

Census 2027 offers Jammu and Kashmir an opportunity not merely to count its people, but to better understand itself after years of rapid transition.

If done well, it will produce more than data tables.

It will create a clearer picture of how Kashmir lives now—its cities expanding outward, its villages adapting, its households changing, its aspirations evolving.

And in a place where identity is often debated in political language, there is value in something quieter but equally powerful: being counted accurately, fully and fairly.

Because before any region can be planned for, it must first be seen.

In Kashmir, food has always meant more than survival. Noon chai warming winter mornings. Fresh milk arriving before dawn. Kalari crackling on iron pans. Wazwan prepared with ritual precision. Bread carried home in warm cloth from neighbourhood bakeries. Food here is tied to memory, trust, hospitality, and identity itself.

Which is why the recent revelations about adulterated food products in Jammu and Kashmir feel so deeply disturbing.

Over the past year, authorities have repeatedly uncovered rotten meat, fake cheese, expired oils, adulterated ghee, counterfeit honey, and unsafe dairy products entering Kashmir’s markets and kitchens. The Jammu and Kashmir government recently informed the Legislative Assembly that more than 12,000 kilograms of rotten and unsafe meat had been seized and destroyed during the current financial year. Hundreds of inspections were conducted, with multiple samples found unsafe or substandard.

Elsewhere, food safety teams seized adulterated cheese and expired mustard oil from illegal storage units. In Srinagar, officials busted operators allegedly selling fake honey and synthetic ghee falsely marketed as “pure Kashmiri” products.

This is no longer about isolated violations.

It reflects the growth of a dangerous shadow economy willing to compromise public health for profit.

The danger of food adulteration is not merely economic fraud. It is the silent harm inflicted on public health. Adulterated dairy products, decomposed meat, reused oils, and counterfeit food items can cause food poisoning, gastrointestinal disease, liver complications, hormonal disorders, and long-term organ damage. Children and the elderly remain especially vulnerable.

Yet despite repeated raids and seizures, unsafe food continues entering the market. The problem lies partly in the nature of enforcement itself. Authorities often intensify inspections only after scandals emerge, after videos circulate online, or after unsafe products have already entered homes and restaurants.

Food safety cannot function like emergency firefighting.

It requires continuous surveillance, modern testing systems, strict licensing, traceable supply chains, and visible punishment strong enough to deter offenders. Right now, deterrence appears weak.

Kashmir’s food economy is especially vulnerable because the Valley depends heavily on supplies transported through long and fragile routes. Weak monitoring during transportation, storage, wholesale distribution, or retail sale allows unsafe products to spread quickly across markets.

The danger increases during festive and wedding seasons when demand rises sharply. Paneer, ghee, milk, sweets, and meat products become especially vulnerable to contamination and counterfeit production.

What makes the situation even more damaging is the erosion of trust. Increasingly, consumers no longer know what they are eating. Is the paneer genuine? Is the honey pure? Is the ghee authentic? Is the meat safe? Ordinary shopping itself has become shadowed by suspicion.

That uncertainty harms both society and the economy.

Kashmir’s food identity depends heavily on authenticity. If adulteration becomes normalised, genuine local producers suffer alongside consumers. Honest traders cannot compete with counterfeiters flooding markets with cheaper synthetic alternatives.

The government therefore faces a challenge larger than conducting occasional raids. It must rebuild public confidence in Kashmir’s food system.

That requires continuous inspections, faster food-testing laboratories, stricter licensing, and stronger legal action against repeat offenders. Authorities must ensure that food safety enforcement remains permanent rather than seasonal or reactionary.

Public awareness matters equally. Consumers need better understanding of food labels, expiry dates, and common adulteration methods so they can protect themselves more effectively.

But ultimately, this is not merely a regulatory issue. It is a moral one.

Anyone knowingly selling rotten meat, counterfeit cheese, synthetic ghee, or adulterated food is not committing ordinary business fraud. They are endangering public health for private profit. They are violating trust at the most intimate level possible — the dinner table.

In Kashmir, where food remains central to culture and community, that betrayal feels especially corrosive.

Because no society can call itself healthy while allowing poison to circulate quietly through its kitchens.

Counting Kashmir

As Census 2027 begins in Kashmir, the Valley’s future may depend as much on accurate data as on politics itself. Bilquees Punjabi writes.

As Census 2027 begins in Kashmir, the Valley’s future may depend as much on accurate data as on politics itself. Bilquees Punjabi writes.

On a quiet Sunday morning in Srinagar, government officials, schoolteachers assigned enumeration duties, and ordinary residents opened laptops and phones to participate in something deceptively simple: counting themselves. Across Jammu and Kashmir, the first phase of Census 2027 quietly began through digital self-enumeration portals, marking India’s first largely paperless census exercise.

For most people, census operations rarely inspire excitement. Yet in Kashmir, where politics, migration, economics, and identity intersect intensely, counting people is never merely administrative. Census data determines how resources are distributed, where roads are built, how hospitals are planned, and how welfare schemes are targeted.

This time, the exercise carries unusual significance.

The last full census was conducted in 2011, while the 2021 exercise was delayed because of the Covid-19 pandemic. In the intervening years, Kashmir has changed dramatically. Urban neighbourhoods expanded across Srinagar’s outskirts, migration altered villages, tourism surged, fertility rates fell sharply, and youth unemployment deepened. Entire demographics shifted without updated official numbers fully capturing them.

Now, after years of delay, House Listing Operations and digital self-enumeration have begun across Jammu and Kashmir. Officials have urged residents to participate actively to ensure accurate data collection.

In Kashmir, outdated or inaccurate data can shape everyday life in profound ways. Residents in many areas complain that healthcare infrastructure has failed to keep pace with population growth. Srinagar’s rapid urban expansion has strained drainage systems, roads, transport, and electricity supply. Some schools remain overcrowded while others face declining enrolment because of migration and falling birth rates.

A census attempts to correct that distortion.

At its core, a census is not only a population count but a detailed social map documenting housing conditions, education levels, migration trends, employment patterns, sanitation access, internet connectivity, literacy, and family structures. Governments rely on such information to design policy and allocate resources.

For Kashmir, this becomes particularly important because the region has undergone prolonged political and economic turbulence over the past decade.

Migration has significantly altered the Valley’s social geography. Thousands of young Kashmiris now leave every year for education and employment in cities such as Delhi, Bengaluru, Chandigarh, and Pune. Simultaneously, urbanisation within Kashmir has accelerated rapidly, with agricultural land around Srinagar steadily transforming into residential colonies and commercial hubs.

Without reliable data, planning becomes guesswork.

Updated census figures could help authorities expand transport networks, healthcare infrastructure, and welfare programmes in areas where population pressures have increased. Fertility trends showing ageing populations may require greater investment in geriatric healthcare, while granular unemployment data could guide skill-development initiatives and industrial planning.

The census also carries political implications. Population figures influence electoral delimitation, constituency boundaries, and resource allocation. In Jammu and Kashmir, where representation has historically remained sensitive, demographic data inevitably acquires broader political meaning.

But beyond politics lies another quieter importance: visibility.

Informal workers, migrants, widows, disabled citizens, rented households, and economically vulnerable families often remain statistically invisible when records are outdated. A census, ideally, forces the state to acknowledge their existence.

The shift to digital enumeration itself marks a major transformation. Officials say online self-enumeration could improve efficiency and reduce delays, though concerns remain over internet access and digital literacy in remote and rural areas.

Because beneath every statistic lies a human story: a family migrating for work, a shrinking household in an ageing village, a growing suburb without adequate drainage, or a child living farther from healthcare than official maps suggest.

Numbers alone cannot explain Kashmir.

But without accurate numbers, governing Kashmir becomes even harder.

 

About the Author

With a Masters in Computer Applications, Bilquees Punjabi approaches journalism not just as storytelling, but as a system – one shaped by algorithms, audiences, and the quiet mechanics of the web. Her interests lie in the evolving world of online journalism, where headlines compete for attention, metrics shape narratives, and clicks, traction, and ads become part of the story itself.

The growing confrontation between the government and Kashmir’s transporters over the expansion of Smart City bus services reflects a deeper policy concern that the administration can no longer afford to ignore: the gradual erosion of small, locally sustained livelihoods in the name of modernisation.

The threat by transport unions to launch an indefinite strike from May 12 should not be dismissed merely as resistance to reform or administrative inconvenience. It represents a genuine anxiety among thousands of families whose economic survival depends directly or indirectly on the private transport sector.

The government must recognise that public transport in Kashmir is not simply a commercial service. It is one of the Valley’s largest informal employment ecosystems, sustaining drivers, conductors, mechanics, cleaners, spare-parts dealers, workshop owners, roadside vendors, and countless families dependent on daily transport activity. For decades, this sector has functioned as a critical source of self-employment in a region where opportunities in industry and the private sector remain severely limited.

Against this backdrop, the rapid expansion of government-backed Smart City bus operations into routes traditionally operated by local transporters has created understandable concern. The issue is not opposition to modernisation. Few would dispute the need for cleaner, safer, and more organised public transport systems in Srinagar and other urban centres. Traffic congestion, environmental degradation, and outdated transport infrastructure require urgent attention.

However, modernisation cannot become a justification for economically marginalising existing stakeholders.

The core concern raised by transporters is that the state is increasingly functioning both as regulator and competitor. Private operators, many already burdened by loans, rising fuel costs, inflation, maintenance expenses, and shrinking profit margins, cannot reasonably compete with government-supported transport systems operating with institutional backing and policy advantages.

This creates an uneven framework in which small operators are gradually pushed toward economic irrelevance.

The administration must understand the broader implications of such a transition. Kashmir is already facing serious unemployment challenges, particularly among youth and lower-middle-income households. In such circumstances, policies that weaken existing livelihood structures without offering rehabilitation or integration mechanisms risk deepening economic insecurity.

The concerns expressed by transport bodies therefore deserve engagement, not dismissal.

Equally concerning is the apparent failure of meaningful dialogue between the government and transport unions. According to transport representatives, repeated attempts at communication following the April 20 shutdown did not result in substantive discussions. Whether or not one agrees with the methods adopted by the unions, the absence of sustained consultation reflects poorly on a government that repeatedly emphasises participatory governance and inclusive development.

Major policy shifts affecting thousands of livelihoods cannot be implemented through unilateral administrative processes alone.

If the government is genuinely committed to balancing development with social stability, it must explore models that integrate existing transporters into the evolving system rather than displacing them. Route rationalisation, cooperative participation, phased transitions, financial assistance for vehicle modernisation, and inclusion of private operators within Smart City frameworks are all viable alternatives that deserve consideration.

The objective should be reform, not replacement.

It is also important to acknowledge the contribution made by Kashmir’s private transport sector over decades of political instability, shutdowns, difficult weather conditions, and economic disruption. Long before Smart City initiatives emerged, it was local transporters who sustained public mobility across the Valley under extremely difficult circumstances. Their role in maintaining essential connectivity during some of Kashmir’s most challenging years should not be forgotten in the current drive toward urban restructuring.

Development, if it is to be meaningful, must remain socially balanced. Infrastructure projects and modern transport systems cannot be evaluated solely through visual transformation or administrative efficiency. They must also be judged by whether they protect livelihoods, preserve economic participation, and strengthen rather than weaken local communities.

Kashmir requires modern public transport. But Kashmir also requires policies that protect the ordinary people whose labour built and sustained the Valley’s transport economy for generations.

The government must therefore move quickly to initiate serious dialogue with transport unions before the situation escalates further. A prolonged strike will hurt commuters, students, patients, workers, and businesses across the Valley. Such disruption serves nobody’s interests.

But avoiding disruption requires more than appeals for calm. It requires a governance approach that treats local stakeholders as partners in development rather than obstacles to it.

Modernisation imposed without economic sensitivity ultimately produces resentment, not progress.