KASHMIR – KASHMIRIYAT

Reflections After Pahalgam

By Upendra Kachru

“Gar firdaus bar-rū-e zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast.”
“If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.”

These immortal words, attributed to Emperor Jahangir, capture the timeless beauty of Kashmir. But beauty alone cannot sustain a soul. Today, after the tragic Pahalgam killings, Kashmir’s soul—its centuries-old cultural identity known as Kashmiriyat—stands wounded again.

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The Beauty and the Ethos

From Kalhana’s Rajatarangini to the poetry of Lal Ded, Kashmir has been eulogized for more than just its mountains and rivers. Nestled between the Pir Panjal, Zanskar, and Karakoram ranges, Kashmir has dazzled travelers, poets, and emperors alike. Yet, what truly set Kashmir apart was its unique cultural fabric, woven from threads of Hindu Shaivism, Buddhism, Islamic Sufism, and a shared sense of community and compassion.

This harmony, which transcended religious lines, became the essence of Kashmiriyat—a pluralist identity shaped by shared geography, hardship, and an interdependent way of life.

🔶 Lal Ded – The Mystic Voice of Syncretism

“Shiv chhui thali thali rozan;
Mo zaan hyond ta musalman.”
Shiva abides in all that is; don’t say Hindus are different from Muslims.

🌿 This couplet cuts across centuries, reminding Kashmiris that the sacred resides in all. There is no room for religious division in a heart touched by Kashmiriyat.

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A Tradition Under Threat

The Pahalgam killings are not isolated acts of terror. They represent a direct attack on the spirit of Kashmiriyat, just as the 1990s militancy did, forcing the exodus of over 200,000 Kashmiri Pandits. My family’s story mirrors that of many. Our ancestral home in Habakadal, Srinagar, was abandoned overnight, and later burnt down. From that suitcase we carried into exile, we also carried the memory of a Kashmir where neighbors looked out for each other—Hindu or Muslim didn’t matter.

The social changes since then have been profound. The erosion of civil society, the rise of madrasa-driven narratives that emphasize exclusivist identities, and the politicization of religion have reshaped the landscape. After Pahalgam, the cracks in the valley's moral foundation seem even deeper.

🟢 Noor-ud-Din Wali – The Rishi of the People

“Ann poshi teli yeli wan poshi.”
Food will last only as long as forests do.

🌲 Nund Rishi, Kashmir’s Sufi saint, bound faith with ecological wisdom and social harmony. His teachings gave moral legitimacy to Kashmiriyat—rooted in balance and reverence for all life.

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Has Kashmiriyat Gone Underground?

In 2003, Dr. Mir Zafar Iqbal conducted a sociological study that suggested that Muslims, Hindus, and even militants still resonated with the idea of a distinct Kashmiri identity. He found no strong inter-religious prejudice—a remarkable insight. Kashmir, he argued, was not an ethnic battleground but a nation in search of itself.

In the decades since, plebiscite politics and external influences—especially from Pakistan—have kept the valley on edge. The fear that demography and identity are being manipulated lingers in every corner.

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After Pahalgam: Where Do We Go From Here?

And yet, hope remains.

A new generation of Kashmiris—Hindus, Muslims, and others—are rising above past binaries. They are turning to art, poetry, and storytelling. Some are rediscovering the verses of Lal Ded and Habba Khatoon. Others are creating spaces—both online and offline—for shared heritage, shared grief, and shared aspirations.

“Zuv chum bramanas, musalmanas;
Zuv chum saanas sund gashtar.”
I belong to neither Hindu nor Muslim; I follow the path of humanity.
— Noor-ud-Din (Nund Rishi)

🕊️ This verse lights the way forward—a Kashmir where humanity, not religious identity, is the guiding force.

To bring back Kashmiriyat, we must:

• Restore civil governance rooted in justice, not fear
• Minimize external interference using diplomacy and technology
• Strengthen internal healing through education, culture, and moral leadership
• Rebuild cultural trust across communities through dialogue and shared remembrance

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The Soul of India

The tragedy is not just Kashmir’s—it is India’s. Our secularism, our pluralism, were inspired in no small part by Kashmir. Nehru’s faith in a diverse India was shaped by what he saw in the valley: a place where identity was layered and peaceful coexistence seemed possible.

Today, India must give back what it once received. Kashmiriyat needs not only to be remembered—it needs to be revived.

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Final Word: A Personal Remembrance

My grandfather and father held their Kashmiri identity with quiet pride. It was not a pride of power, but of philosophy. That memory lives on. But it must now move from memory to movement.

In the silence that follows gunfire, in the lull after every curfew, lies an opportunity—a space to rebuild. Let that silence be filled not with fear, but with voices calling for the return of Kashmir’s soul.

Author Bio

Upendra Kachru
Author of History of a Tomorrow
Website: www.upendrakachru.com

 

WHAT THESE STORIES TELL US ABOUT HAPPINESS

Each of the stories we’ve explored reveals a unique path to happiness—and they carry important lessons about how happiness is created, lived, and sustained.

1. Happiness Comes from Meaning, Not Just Comfort

Rajesh, the banker-turned-teacher, left a well-paid job to teach village children. Saif, the volunteer in Kashmir, chose hardship over comfort to help others. Their stories show that a sense of purpose can outweigh physical ease. Happiness isn't always in ease; it's often in engagement with something larger than yourself.

2. Perspective Shapes Our Joy

The rickshaw driver in Delhi reminded us that the way we see life affects how we feel. He wasn’t rich or resting—but he found magic in the everyday chaos. This highlights that happiness is not just about what happens to us—but how we interpret it.

3. Enough is a Powerful Word

The paanwalla in Banaras and the organic farmer in Madurai teach us that happiness is not in more, but in enough. These are lives built on simplicity, balance, and self-awareness. Contentment isn’t lack of ambition—it’s wisdom in recognizing what truly matters.

4. Authenticity Feeds the Soul

Anjali, the student poet, found happiness not in a perfect plan, but in being true to herself. Her courage to speak her truth, even once, opened the door to a richer life. Her story reminds us: living a life that feels right matters more than one that only looks right.

5. Happiness Multiplies When Shared

Most of the people in these stories—whether teaching, farming, rescuing, or writing—found joy not by keeping happiness, but by giving it away. Acts of service, connection, and generosity consistently created deep, lasting fulfillment.

6. Systems Matter, But Heart Leads

While top-down systems (like in Google or Microsoft) can enable happiness through structure and resources, the individual stories show that human spirit and emotional intelligence are the true drivers. Good policies help—but it’s passion, kindness, and courage that create lasting happiness.

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Key Takeaway: These stories teach us that happiness is not a destination—it’s a direction. It’s found in small acts of authenticity, in giving more than we take, in choosing meaning over metrics. Whether through organizations or everyday people, happiness thrives where purpose, perspective, and compassion meet.

In the end, happiness doesn’t always follow rules—it follows the heart.

Author Bio

Upendra Kachru
Author of History of a Tomorrow
Website: www.upendrakachru.com

 

 

SHORT STORIES ON HAPPINESS

How do different people experience happiness?

For fifteen years, Rajesh worked in a private bank in Mumbai. His salary was generous, his apartment comfortable, and his weekends were filled with brunches and travel plans. But something gnawed at him quietly: a sense that his work, though profitable, lacked purpose.

Each day, he handled lakhs of rupees. But one evening, during a visit to his village in Jharkhand, he sat in on a local school’s community session. The children were bright-eyed, full of questions, but had no full-time teachers. On a whim, he volunteered to teach for a week—and everything changed.

He told me later, “In the bank, I counted money. But here, in the school, I count lives changed. And those numbers stay with you.”

Today, Rajesh runs a grassroots learning initiative in rural Jharkhand, teaching math and science in local dialects and mentoring young teachers. His life may not be luxurious—but it is full. His story reminds us that success doesn’t have to climb a ladder. Sometimes it steps sideways—into meaning.

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🧭 Relief Volunteer in Kashmir

During a devastating flood in Kashmir, I met a 19-year-old boy named Saif. He wasn’t from any NGO. He had no formal training. But he had strapped together a raft made of plastic drums and was rowing across submerged streets, delivering packets of dal, rice, and medicine.

He had been doing this for days, sleeping on the floor of a damaged mosque, wet and exhausted. I asked him, “Why don’t you go back home to your family in Delhi?”

He smiled gently and said, “This is home. As long as someone needs help, I’m exactly where I belong.”

That sentence struck deep. Saif didn’t find happiness in comfort—he found it in belonging through purpose. He didn’t wait for peace to be restored before acting with love. He created it, one act at a time.

His story reminds us that true happiness often lives where we give ourselves fully, not where we feel safe.

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🚖 Rickshaw Driver in Delhi

One evening in Delhi, caught in traffic near Connaught Place, I sat in the back of a rickshaw with my eyes glued to my phone, frustrated and exhausted. The driver, an older man in his 50s, glanced at me through the mirror and said, “Aap thak gaye lagte hain, sahib.”

I nodded. “Long day,” I muttered.

He laughed and replied, “Dilli ki sadkein aur zindagi dono ek jaise hain—bheed hai, dhakka hai, lekin har roz kuch naya milta hai.”

(“Delhi’s roads and life are the same—crowded, chaotic, but full of new surprises each day.”)

In that moment, my entire mood shifted. This man, navigating potholes and honking cars every day, didn’t complain. He found poetry in the mess, and patience in the traffic.

His wisdom was simple but profound: your mindset makes the journey bearable—or beautiful. Perspective, not perfection, is what makes happiness possible, even in the chaos.

New Reflections

MY EXPERIMENTS WITH HAPPINESS

One of the first serious questions I remember asking myself—when I was about eleven—was surprisingly not about school, friends, or even the usual childhood dreams. It was this:
“What makes people truly happy?”

Now, I know it’s not the kind of question you expect from a child. But in my case, it wasn’t random. It was something I had seen—felt, really—in a way that left a lasting impression.

You see, my father was an IAS officer. His days were filled with government files, district plans, and policy meetings. But when it came to raising me, he had a slightly different approach. He believed that real education didn’t only come from textbooks or classrooms—it came from observing life.

So, during my school holidays, instead of sending me off to tuition or hobby classes, he took me with him on his official visits across the district. We travelled in his government jeep—no frills, no air conditioning, and certainly no screens. But those rides offered me a view of the world that no school ever could.

We would leave the noise of the city behind—its traffic, its urgency—and enter a world that felt slower, wider, and quieter. The villages were modest, the homes simpler, and people had far fewer possessions than anyone I knew. And yet, what I encountered there surprised me.

Every morning, as we drove along those rural roads, we’d see groups of Adivasi men and women walking to work. But unlike what I was used to in the city—where people seemed weighed down by their day before it had even begun—these villagers walked with music in their steps. They danced. They sang. Their clothes—bright saris, scarves, and headbands—seemed to catch the wind like sails. And their laughter—it wasn’t polite or forced. It was full and generous, rising into the air without hesitation.

And what struck me even more—they were still singing when we saw them again in the evening. After a full day of hard labour in the fields, their bodies must have been tired. But their spirits? Still lifted.

It confused me. These weren’t people with big bank balances, college degrees, or modern conveniences. By every conventional measure, they had very little. And yet, they seemed to carry with them something most of us spend our lives chasing: happiness.

At that age, I couldn’t put it into fancy words. But I could feel it. And even now, decades later, that memory stays with me—clearer than most things I studied at that time. What those villagers had wasn’t just cheerfulness—it was a kind of deep, unselfconscious joy. The kind that bubbles up not from having everything, but from needing very little to feel whole.

Later, I would come to think of that joy as something in rhythm—something musical. Not the kind of music you play with instruments, but the kind you create with how you live your day. Your pace, your presence, your perspective.

That early experience taught me something simple but powerful:
Happiness doesn’t always come from what we add to our lives. Sometimes, it’s about what we already have—and how we choose to see it.

In the years since, I’ve seen happiness packaged in many ways—achievement, comfort, recognition, luxury. But rarely has it looked as real and effortless as it did in those early morning walks through the forests and fields.

And there’s something else: happiness spreads. You don’t need to be the one singing to feel the music. Just watching someone else radiate joy can lighten your own mood. Just like laughter—it travels.

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A Quiet Takeaway

So what does this mean for the rest of us—living in a world that is fast, demanding, and often overwhelming?

Maybe it’s not about escaping our lives or becoming someone else. Maybe it’s just about pausing long enough to notice the little things:

• A shared meal
• A walk at dusk
• A song you haven’t heard in years
• A quiet moment with someone who sees you

The people I saw back then didn’t have easy lives. Their work was physical. Their resources were limited. But they found happiness in connection—with nature, with each other, with the simple rhythm of life. They didn’t wait for everything to be perfect to enjoy what they had.

That’s the part that stayed with me the most.

And perhaps, if we all remembered to notice those quiet moments—if we allowed ourselves a little music in our step, a little lightness in our hearts—we’d discover that happiness is not as distant as we think.

Sometimes, it’s just a jeep ride away.