Recent raids reveal years of neglect and rotten food, exposing the urgent need for stricter inspections and accountability to restore public trust and protect health
In recent weeks, Kashmir has been rattled by a series of distressing revelations — raids across the Valley have uncovered tonnes of rotten food stored in cold rooms, unfit for human consumption, yet intended for unsuspecting customers. Each new report emerges with the same sickening familiarity: rotten meat in one district, adulterated dishes in another, and expired goods in yet another. Only headlines differ, but the story is the same: a system crumbling like a house of cards.
The scale and frequency of these discoveries point to something far deeper than isolated wrongdoing. This reveals a systemic rot, one that stretches beyond unscrupulous vendors to the very institutions meant to keep our food safe. The fact that such conditions could persist for years, perhaps decades, without sustained oversight raises the uncomfortable truth. This is not a sudden crisis, but the inevitable result of prolonged neglect.
For too long, food safety checks have been sporadic, almost ceremonial. Authorities descend on markets perhaps once in ten or fifteen years with the air of surprise inspectors, but surprise is not regulation. These occasional bursts of enforcement do little to deter malpractices; instead, this only fosters an environment where vendors know the odds of being caught are slim. In that space of complacency, negligence festers and greed thrives.
The recent raids have shaken public confidence to the core. Customers are not merely angry; they are left wondering what they have been eating all these years. Trust, once broken in matters as intimate as food, is not easily rebuilt. For restaurants and vendors implicated, even those operating ethically, the challenge now is monumental. The stench of rotten meat lingers far longer than the evidence itself; it clings to reputations, to the mental image customers carry every time they step into a shop or sit down for a meal. This will haunt people for years.
And yet, this is not simply about commerce. Food is not a luxury — it is a basic human need, a daily act of trust between producer and consumer, mediated by the promise of regulation. And that promise has been betrayed.
If there has to be any redemption, the path forward must be relentless and uncompromising. Inspections cannot be rare events; they must be a regular thing, transparent, and backed by real consequences. Cold storage facilities must be monitored continuously, supply chains audited, and offenders held to account swiftly and publicly. The aim is not only to punish wrongdoing but to create a climate in which such wrongdoing becomes unthinkable.
Until then, the people of Kashmir will continue to look at their plates with suspicion — and at the system with justified outrage. The collapse of this house of cards was predictable; rebuilding it will require more than words. It will require will, vigilance, and the understanding that in matters of public health, negligence is not just failure — it is betrayal.
Shazia Mir