As Gulmarg’s Gondola scare left hundreds suspended between sky and snow, Bisma Rafiq argues that Kashmir’s next emergency demands preparedness – not prayers after the fact.

The malfunction of the Gulmarg Gondola that reportedly left more than 300 tourists stranded mid-air should serve as more than a temporary news alert. It must become a wake-up call.

For several anxious hours, visitors hung suspended above steep Himalayan slopes, hundreds of feet above the ground, uncertain when – or how – they would be brought down. Families waited helplessly. Children panicked. Operators scrambled. Rescue teams mobilised. And Kashmir held its breath.

That everyone was eventually brought to safety is deeply reassuring. But relief should not become an excuse for complacency. The fact that a disaster was averted does not mean the system worked flawlessly. It means tragedy was narrowly avoided.

And near misses in a place like Kashmir cannot be ignored.

Kashmir’s geography is breathtaking. It is also unforgiving. Towering mountains, deep valleys, snowbound roads, landslide-prone terrain, avalanche zones, swollen rivers and fragile connectivity make the region uniquely vulnerable to emergencies. What begins as a technical fault, a sudden weather shift or an infrastructure breakdown can rapidly escalate into a life-threatening crisis.

This is why disaster response in Kashmir cannot remain reactive. It must become deeply institutional, modern and immediate.

The Gulmarg Gondola is one of Kashmir’s biggest tourist attractions and among the highest cable car systems in the world. It draws thousands of visitors every season. Its importance is economic, symbolic and international. But with popularity comes responsibility. High-altitude infrastructure cannot rely only on maintenance schedules and operational hope. It requires emergency planning at the same scale as public usage.

If hundreds of people can be suspended mid-air in a malfunction, then rescue systems should already be designed around that possibility.

That means specialised rope-rescue teams stationed nearby. It means rapid aerial evacuation preparedness where terrain permits. It means trained emergency crews equipped specifically for cable evacuation, not assembled after a breakdown. It means clear communication systems that can immediately reassure stranded passengers and coordinate with ground responders. It means backup power redundancies, weather-triggered shutdown protocols, real-time technical monitoring and regular emergency simulation drills.

Preparedness is not panic. Preparedness is policy.

And Gulmarg is only one example.

Kashmir has repeatedly witnessed emergencies that expose weaknesses in response systems – snowstorms that cut off roads, avalanches that trap workers and travellers, flash floods that inundate neighbourhoods, fires in dense urban areas, highway accidents in mountain passes, boat capsizes, medical emergencies in remote belts, and weather events that isolate entire communities. Each incident is followed by rescue efforts, official reviews and public discussion. Yet the larger structural question remains unresolved: are we building systems fast enough to match the risks?

The answer, too often, is no.

Disaster response in Kashmir still depends heavily on human improvisation and the courage of responders on the ground. Police personnel, SDRF teams, firefighters, local volunteers, ski patrols, army units, medical workers and residents frequently step in heroically. Their bravery deserves recognition.

But bravery cannot substitute infrastructure.

A modern disaster management system should not rely on extraordinary heroism to compensate for ordinary institutional gaps. Rescue workers should not be forced to “manage somehow” because equipment arrived late, access routes were unclear, communication networks failed, or specialised units were unavailable.

They need tools equal to the terrain.

This includes more mountain rescue stations in tourist zones, stronger coordination between tourism authorities and emergency agencies, faster deployment vehicles for snow and rugged terrain, helicopter-linked evacuation planning, better public warning systems, advanced surveillance for weather hazards, and wider training in technical rescue operations.

Technology can also transform emergency response. Sensors, drone surveillance, GIS mapping, avalanche detection systems, emergency broadcast alerts, digital tourist tracking in vulnerable zones, and live command-and-control networks can dramatically reduce response time. Around the world, mountainous tourist regions have integrated such systems into everyday safety planning. Kashmir should aim for no less.

There is also a larger economic argument.

Tourism is one of Kashmir’s lifelines. Gulmarg, Pahalgam, Sonamarg and other destinations draw lakhs of visitors each year and support thousands of livelihoods – from hoteliers and pony owners to guides, drivers and shopkeepers. But tourism depends on trust.

Visitors come not only for scenery, but for safety.

When tourists board a gondola, drive mountain roads or check into remote destinations, they assume emergency systems exist if something goes wrong. If that confidence weakens, the consequences reach far beyond one incident. Reputation suffers. Tourism suffers. Local livelihoods suffer.

Safety, therefore, is not separate from development. It is development.

Government agencies must now treat the Gulmarg incident as a policy warning—not merely a technical episode. A full review of emergency readiness at major tourist and high-risk sites is necessary. Response time audits, evacuation capability assessments, equipment reviews, training evaluations and independent safety inspections should follow. Lessons learned should not remain buried in internal reports. They should translate into visible reform.

But disaster readiness is not the government’s responsibility alone.

Hotels must strengthen evacuation planning. Gondola operators must maintain transparent safety protocols. Tourism businesses must train staff in emergency response. Local communities must be integrated into rescue networks. Visitors should receive basic safety information before entering vulnerable zones. Public awareness matters because informed people respond faster and panic less.

Disaster management begins long before disaster strikes.

The Gulmarg Gondola malfunction ended without loss of life. That is fortunate. But fortunate outcomes should not become a substitute for preparedness. Kashmir cannot wait for catastrophe to teach what warning already has.

The Himalayas are magnificent – but they demand respect. Infrastructure in the mountains carries risk by default. And where risk exists, readiness must be non-negotiable.

Because in emergencies above snow-covered valleys, on mountain roads, along riverbanks or beneath unstable slopes, rescue cannot wait.

And neither can reform.

About the Author

Bisma Rafiq is interested in human resources and wants to improve journalism from the human resources point of view. She is also a passionate story teller.

As Eid-ul-Adha approaches, Bilquees Punjabi reflects on the deeper meaning of sacrifice, urging people across Kashmir to extend the joy of the festival to the poor, the forgotten and those living on the margins.

Every year, Eid-ul-Adha arrives in Kashmir with familiar sights and sounds. Markets grow busier. Children wait eagerly for new clothes. Homes are cleaned. Wazwan is planned. The smell of noon chai mingles with the scent of fresh bread from neighbourhood bakeries. In villages and cities alike, families prepare to mark one of the most sacred days in the Islamic calendar.

But beyond the celebration, Eid-ul-Adha carries a message deeper than festivity.

It is the festival of sacrifice—not merely of ritual sacrifice, but of surrender, compassion, humility and giving.

The story of Prophet Ibrahim (AS), willing to sacrifice what was dearest to him in obedience to Allah’s command, is not only about devotion. It is about detachment from selfishness. It teaches believers to loosen their grip on pride, wealth and worldly comfort and to turn instead toward faith, generosity and concern for others.

And perhaps nowhere is that reminder more necessary than today.

In Kashmir, Eid comes at a time when many families continue to struggle quietly. There are widows counting every rupee before stepping into the market. Daily wage workers uncertain whether work will come tomorrow. Elderly people living alone. Families displaced by hardship. Children who watch festive preparations around them knowing little will arrive in their own homes.

Not every house will smell of meat this Eid.

Not every child will wear new shoes.

Not every family will gather around a full dining spread.

While many of us plan celebrations, there are many among us planning how to get through the week.

That is why the essence of Eid-ul-Adha cannot end with the sacrifice of an animal. Its spirit is fulfilled only when sacrifice reaches the human heart—when it turns into sharing.

Islam has made this clear. The meat of Qurbani is meant not only for the household offering it but also for relatives, neighbours and especially those in need. The act itself becomes incomplete if the vulnerable remain forgotten.

The Quran reminds us that neither the flesh nor the blood reaches Allah, but our piety does.

And piety, in its truest form, is compassion in action.

In Kashmir, we have a long tradition of this generosity. It has always been part of our social fabric. Food carried quietly to a neighbour’s home before Eid prayers. Portions set aside for families who cannot afford Qurbani. Community collections for orphans. Women preparing extra bread to send across the lane. People visiting the elderly with gifts or sharing meals with those living alone.

This is Kashmir at its best. Not extravagance but inclusion. Not display but dignity.

Yet in recent years, like elsewhere, festivals too have increasingly become visible through consumption. Bigger shopping, grander feasts, social media images of abundance. Celebration itself is not wrong – joy is part of Eid. But when celebration becomes performance while poverty sits next door unseen, the meaning begins to fade.

Eid should never become a festival that some watch from the margins.

No child should feel excluded from its happiness. No widow should spend Eid wondering whether someone will knock on her door.

No elderly neighbour should eat alone while kitchens around them overflow.

No labourer who helped build our homes should return to a room with nothing festive to share.

Charity on Eid does not need to be grand. It need only be sincere.

A share of Qurbani meat delivered respectfully to a struggling family.

Groceries left at someone’s doorstep. A new set of clothes for a child. Helping clear someone’s debt at a local shop. Paying school fees. Sending food to hospital attendants. Inviting someone who would otherwise spend Eid alone. Even a visit, a conversation, remembrance – these too are forms of charity. 

The greatest giving is often quiet. And the greatest dignity lies in giving without making poverty visible.

There is special beauty in helping someone celebrate without making them feel helped.

This Eid-ul-Adha, perhaps the question before each of us is simple: who around us is being left out of the celebration?

A neighbour. A relative. A worker. A widow. An orphan. An elderly man at the Masjid. A family in our mohalla too ashamed to ask.

If each household in Kashmir looked beyond its own gate and remembered even one such family, the festival would feel different across the Valley.

More complete. More meaningful. More faithful to what Eid asks of us.

Sacrifice is not only in what we offer at the altar. It is in what we give up of ourselves—our excess, our indifference, our habit of looking away. To sacrifice is to make room for another person in our joy.

As Eid-ul-Adha approaches, may we celebrate with gratitude. May our homes be filled with prayer and warmth. May our tables be generous. But above all, may our celebrations extend beyond our walls.

Let this Eid be measured not by how much we prepare for ourselves, but by how many others feel included because of us.

When the Azan echoes across Kashmir’s Masjids on Eid morning, may it also echo in our conduct – in kindness, in charity, in remembrance of those whose burdens remain heavy.

For the truest joy of Eid is not in what we keep. 

It is in what we share.

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.

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.