In India, it is natural to associate people with the regions they come from. A person from Punjab is known as a Punjabi, one from Gujarat is a Gujarati, and similarly, someone from Kashmir is a Kashmiri. These identities are not just geographic; they encompass a rich heritage of language, customs, traditions, and shared cultural memory. But the tragedy for the Kashmiri community, particularly the displaced Kashmiri Pandits, lies in a cruel irony — they are called ‘Kashmiri’ without possessing the homeland that gives this identity its meaning.
For decades now, thousands of Kashmiri families have been living in exile, scattered across different states and even countries. The reasons for this displacement are rooted in political unrest, targeted violence, and a mass exodus that began in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Their ancestral land — Kashmir — which should have been a source of cultural rootedness, now exists as a painful memory, a distant dream. Without access to their homeland, the cultural continuity of the Kashmiri people stands fractured.
In exile, the Kashmiri has been forced to adapt to the norms of the land he has settled in. Slowly but surely, Kashmiri traditions — the unique cuisine, rituals, language, festivals, and social customs — are either diluted or entirely replaced by the dominant culture of the new surroundings. Kashmiri weddings now resemble those of the regions they live in. Traditional dishes like Rogan Josh, Dum Aloo, or Sochal and Hakh have either been forgotten or simplified. Even the Kashmiri language, once spoken at home with pride, is fading, with younger generations often unable to understand or speak it fluently.
This gradual erosion of “Kashmiriyat” — a term that symbolizes the unique cultural ethos of Kashmiris — is perhaps the most heart-wrenching cost of exile. Cultural preservation becomes an uphill task when there is no homeland to return to, no collective space to celebrate shared traditions, and no institutional support to promote linguistic or cultural revival.
The ultimate fear is that a time will come when the identity of a Kashmiri will not be recognized through his language, dress, or traditions, but only through his surname — a mere linguistic or genealogical trace of a once-vibrant heritage. Surnames like Kaul, Raina, Bhat, Tikoo, or Zutshi might remain, but they will no longer carry the lived experience of being Kashmiri.
This reduction of identity to just a name is not just symbolic; it is a warning. If the cultural essence is not revived and protected, the community may soon become a memory — remembered through records and archives, not through lived traditions.
It is essential for displaced communities to reclaim and revive their heritage, even in exile. Cultural organizations, language preservation efforts, intergenerational dialogue, and documentation of oral histories are all vital to preserving what remains. More importantly, there must be a collective will to ensure that the Kashmiri identity does not become a relic of the past.The world must recognize that the pain of losing a homeland is not just territorial — it is emotional, linguistic, cultural, and deeply personal.
Yes, a Punjabi has Punjab, a Gujarati has Gujarat — and their identities remain deeply embedded in their living culture. But a Kashmiri, uprooted from his land, runs the risk of losing that very essence. In exile, assimilation is inevitable, but forgetting is not. The tragedy is not just in exile, but in cultural extinction.Let us hope, work, and strive for a day when being “Kashmiri” means more than just carrying a surname — a day when the essence of Kashmiriyat lives on, wherever a Kashmiri resides.
Author is Former Fellow, IIAS, Rashtrapati Nivas, Shimla, Ex-Member, Hindi Salahkar Samiti, Ministry of Law & Justice (Govt. of India). He can be mailed at skraina123@gmail.com
