by Dr Ratan Bhattacharjee
In the valley of Kashmir, where the snow-capped mountains echo centuries of poetry, mysticism, and resistance, the mother tongue, Kashmiri or Koshur, is quietly fading from the lips of its own people. Once the language of hearth and heart, of lullabies and love songs, of philosophical debates and village gossip, Kashmiri now finds itself relegated to nostalgic memory and ceremonial use. The tragedy is not merely linguistic; it is cultural, emotional, and existential. Language is not just a tool for communication, it is the soul of a people, the vessel of their collective memory, and the rhythm of their identity. In Kashmir, the erosion of the mother tongue is a silent crisis that demands urgent attention, not just from policymakers but from families, educators, artists, and the youth themselves. The decline of Kashmiri is not accidental. It is the result of decades of neglect, social stigma, and systemic marginalization. English and Urdu dominate formal education and administration, while Hindi floods entertainment and digital media. Parents, hoping to secure better futures for their children, often discourage the use of Kashmiri at home, believing it to be a barrier to success. Schools rarely teach it, and when they do, it is often optional or poorly resourced. The result is a generation of young Kashmiris who can barely speak, let alone read or write, in their ancestral tongue.
The symbolic image of a Kashmiri child reading a traditional story with elders, surrounded by kangri, pheran, and chinar leaves, captures what is at stake. It evokes warmth, heritage, and intergenerational bonding. It reminds us that language is not just about words—it is about relationships, rituals, and rhythms. The elders in the image are not just narrators—they are custodians of memory. The child is not just a listener—he is the future of Kashmiri identity. The kangri warms the body, the pheran wraps the soul, and the chinar leaves rustle with history. Together, they form a tableau of cultural continuity. This linguistic alienation is compounded by the political complexities of the region. In a place where identity is contested and expression is often suppressed, language becomes both a casualty and a symbol. To speak Kashmiri is to assert a cultural rootedness that some fear may be politicized. Yet the loss of language is not a neutral act, it is a form of erasure. When a language dies, so do the idioms of love, the metaphors of pain, the proverbs of wisdom, and the songs of celebration. Reviving Kashmiri requires more than sentiment, it demands structural change and imaginative engagement. Education must be the cornerstone of this revival.
Kashmiri should be taught as a compulsory subject in primary schools, not as a token elective. Teachers must be trained, textbooks must be developed, and curricula must reflect the richness of Kashmiri literature, folklore, and oral history. Language learning should not be confined to grammar and vocabulary; it must include storytelling, poetry recitation, and cultural immersion. Children should learn not just how to speak Kashmiri, but how to feel it, how to express joy, anger, longing, and pride through its words. Families play a crucial role in this revival.
Parents must be encouraged to speak Kashmiri at home, to tell bedtime stories in their mother tongue, to sing traditional songs, and to celebrate festivals with linguistic pride. Grandparents, often the last fluent speakers in many households, should be seen as cultural custodians. Intergenerational dialogue in Kashmiri can bridge emotional gaps and restore linguistic continuity. Media and technology must also be harnessed to make Kashmiri relevant to the digital generation. Podcasts, YouTube channels, Instagram reels, and mobile apps in Kashmiri can make the language cool again. Young influencers and content creators should be supported to produce Kashmiri-language content that is humorous, informative, and engaging. Music videos, short films, and animations in Kashmiri can revive interest and normalize its use in everyday life.
Literature and the arts offer another powerful avenue. Kashmiri poetry, from the mystic verses of Lal Ded to the modern laments of contemporary poets, must be celebrated and translated. Theatre groups should perform plays in Kashmiri, and film festivals should include Kashmiri-language cinema. Writers should be encouraged to publish in Kashmiri, and publishers must invest in printing and distributing such works. Libraries and cultural centers should host Kashmiri literary events, readings, and workshops. Government policy must support these efforts with funding, infrastructure, and recognition. Language preservation should be part of cultural policy, not just educational reform. Scholarships for students studying Kashmiri, grants for artists working in the language, and awards for excellence in Kashmiri literature can incentivize engagement. Official documents, signage, and public communication should include Kashmiri alongside other languages. The state must affirm that Kashmiri is not a relic but a living language worthy of respect and investment. Community initiatives are equally vital. Local organizations, NGOs, and youth groups can organize Kashmiri language camps, storytelling circles, and cultural festivals. Religious institutions can incorporate Kashmiri into sermons and rituals, reinforcing its spiritual significance.
Markets, cafes, and public spaces can encourage Kashmiri greetings and conversations. The revival must be grassroots, participatory, and joyful. The emotional dimension of language cannot be ignored. Kashmiri is a language of intimacy, of phrases like “Zuv Wandaey” (I give you my life) and “Balai Lagai” (I will take your misfortune upon me). These expressions carry cultural depth that cannot be translated. Losing them means losing a way of feeling, a way of relating to others. Encouraging the use of Kashmiri is not just about preserving vocabulary, it is about preserving emotional intelligence, relational nuance, and cultural empathy. The revival of Kashmiri must also include its dialects and sister languages, Kishtwari, Bhaderwahi, Sirazi, spoken in different parts of Jammu and Kashmir. These languages face even greater risk of extinction and deserve equal attention. Linguistic diversity within the region is a strength, not a fragmentation. Each dialect carries unique stories, songs, and idioms that enrich the cultural mosaic.
The challenge is immense, but the stakes are higher. If Kashmiri fades, it will not be because it lacked beauty or depth, it will be because it lacked champions. The youth of Kashmir must become those champions. They must reclaim their linguistic heritage not as a burden but as a badge of honor. Speaking Kashmiri should be seen as an act of pride, of resistance, of love. It should be fashionable, poetic, and powerful. The journey will require patience, creativity, and courage. But it is a journey worth taking. For in the revival of Kashmiri lies the revival of Kashmir’s soul.The language situation in Kashmir today is emblematic of a broader cultural and emotional crisis, a slow erosion of identity, memory, and belonging. Kashmiri, the mother tongue of millions in the valley, is increasingly marginalized in education, media, and daily life. Once the language of mystics, poets, and village elders, it now struggles to survive in homes where children speak Urdu, Hindi, or English, and where parents, fearing social stigma or economic disadvantage, discourage its use. The decline is not just linguistic, it is symbolic of a rupture between generations, a loss of intimacy, and a fading of the region’s rich oral traditions.
This situation is rooted in decades of neglect. Kashmiri has not been given the institutional support it deserves. Schools rarely teach it as a compulsory subject, and when they do, resources are scarce and pedagogical approaches uninspired. The language is often treated as a relic, not a living medium of expression. In urban centers, Kashmiri is viewed as rustic or backward, while in rural areas, it is increasingly replaced by dominant languages due to migration, media influence, and changing aspirations. The result is a generation of young Kashmiris who cannot read or write in their mother tongue and often feel disconnected from its emotional and cultural depth.Yet Kashmiri is not just a language, it is a repository of centuries of wisdom, folklore, and spiritual insight. The verses of Lal Ded, the riddles of village elders, the proverbs whispered in kitchens, and the songs sung during weddings all carry a rhythm and resonance that cannot be replicated in other tongues. Losing Kashmiri means losing a way of seeing the world, a way of relating to others, and a way of expressing the most intimate emotions. It means severing the thread that binds the past to the present.
Reviving Kashmiri requires a multi-pronged approach. Education must be reformed to include Kashmiri as a core subject, taught with creativity and cultural immersion. Teachers must be trained not just in grammar but in storytelling, poetry, and oral history. Families must be encouraged to speak Kashmiri at home, to pass down stories and songs, and to treat the language as a source of pride rather than embarrassment. Media must be mobilized to make Kashmiri relevant to the digital generation—through podcasts, reels, music videos, and apps that celebrate its richness. To encourage the mother language in Kashmir is to affirm the dignity of its people, the depth of its traditions, and the resilience of its spirit. It is to say that Kashmiri is not a dialect to be discarded but a language to be celebrated. It is to recognize that true development must include cultural preservation, and that no society can thrive if it forgets the songs of its mothers and the stories of its grandfathers. The revival of Kashmiri is not just a linguistic project—it is a moral imperative.
Across the world, nearly 43% of the 7,168 living languages are classified as endangered, with over 3,000 at risk of extinction within a few decades. This crisis is not confined to isolated communities—it spans continents, cultures, and political systems. The loss of a language is not merely a linguistic event; it is a cultural, emotional, and epistemological rupture. Each endangered language carries unique worldviews, ecological knowledge, and artistic traditions. The situation in Kashmir, where the Kashmiri language is increasingly marginalized in favor of Urdu, Hindi, and English, mirrors similar patterns elsewhere. In Australia, for example, over 190 Aboriginal languages are endangered. These languages are deeply tied to land, kinship, and spirituality. Revival efforts include bilingual education programs, community-led storytelling projects, and digital archives. The Pitjantjatjara and Yolŋu Matha languages have seen partial revitalization through school curricula and media engagement, though challenges remain due to urban migration and generational gaps.
In the United States, over 180 indigenous languages are endangered. The Navajo language, once spoken widely, now faces decline among youth. Initiatives such as immersion schools, radio broadcasts, and language apps have helped slow the erosion. The Cherokee Nation has launched a language revitalization plan that includes teacher training, youth camps, and cultural integration. Papua New Guinea, with over 312 endangered languages, faces a different challenge: extreme linguistic diversity within small populations. Here, community-based oral transmission remains vital. NGOs and linguistic researchers work with elders to record stories, songs, and rituals, often in remote areas. The emphasis is on preserving not just vocabulary but cultural context.Indonesia, with 425 endangered languages, has seen success in reviving languages like Balinese and Javanese through local media, school programs, and cultural festivals. The use of regional languages in television and radio has helped normalize their presence in public life.
These global examples offer lessons for Kashmir. First, revival must be community-driven. Top-down policies help, but grassroots engagement ensures sustainability. Second, education is key—not just formal schooling but informal transmission through family, festivals, and storytelling. Third, media and technology must be harnessed to make the language relevant to younger generations. Fourth, emotional connection matters. Languages survive when they are seen as sources of pride, not burdens of the past. In India, the situation is equally complex. According to government data, 117 endangered languages spoken by fewer than 10,000 people are being documented under the Bharatavani initiative. These include tribal languages like Toto, Birhor, and Great Andamanese. While documentation is a start, active usage and transmission are critical. The revival of Sanskrit through central universities shows how institutional support can elevate a language, though Sanskrit’s case is unique due to its liturgical status. Kashmiri, like Navajo or Pitjantjatjara, is more than a means of communication—it is a vessel of memory, emotion, and identity. Its revival must be holistic, integrating education, media, family, and policy.
Author is International Tagore Awardee Multilingual writer Dr.Ratan Bhattacharjee is a former Affiliate Faculty of Virginia Commonwealth University and Retd. He can be mailed at profratanbhattacharjee@gmail.com
