From traditional sustainability to dependency and contamination, how mindset and policy changes can restore Kashmir’s connection with nature, health, and dignity
The growing debate in Kashmir over the quality of meat and mutton is just the tip of the iceberg. The problem runs far deeper, stretching far beyond the butcher factories. It is about our food system, our lifestyle, and most importantly, our mindset. We have moved from self-reliance to dangerous dependency, from purity to processed convenience.
There was a time when Kashmiri households stood as symbols of self-reliance, sustainability, and harmony with nature. We used to keep our own cattle and poultry, tend our kitchen gardens, and cultivate our fields with love and care. Farming was not just an occupation—it was a way of life, woven deeply into our identity and traditions. We believed in organic farming long before it became a fashionable term, using traditional manures like cow dung and green compost to maintain soil fertility. Every family took pride in producing its own milk, vegetables, and grains, ensuring that the food on our table was fresh, pure, and nourishing.
But now, the picture is starkly different. Today, Kashmiris have become heavily dependent on the market for almost everything we consume—be it milk, vegetables, fruits, poultry, or even basic grains. This shift has not only eroded our self-sufficiency but has also brought grave health risks. The market, instead of being a place of trust, has become a hub for contaminated foods, chemically treated produce, and substandard items. Milk and dairy products are often sourced from unknown origins, and it is not uncommon to find expired or rotten goods being repackaged and sold. Even so-called “fresh” milk in the market is often excessively pasteurised or diluted, stripping it of its nutritional value and sometimes introducing harmful residues. These products, consumed daily, have long-term impacts on our health, especially for children and the elderly.
Our revered saint, Sheikh Noor-ud-Din Noorani (Nund Rishi), who was himself a symbol of simplicity and a preacher of sustainable living, has said: “Yes Ne Gaav Su Kath Kyuth Duniyahas Aav”—“A person who doesn’t own a cow, then why did he come into this world?” This statement is not merely about cattle; it is a broader call to self-reliance and the importance of producing what we consume. In his time, owning a cow meant having control over one’s food source, health, and livelihood. Today, that wisdom resonates more than ever, as we have surrendered these controls to the uncertainties of the market. It is not just dairy; the fruits and vegetables in our markets often carry dangerous levels of pesticides.
In our orchards, particularly in apple cultivation, the use of high doses of chemical pesticides is alarmingly common. And the reason is telling—many orchard owners admit that this overuse is simply “to stand in the market of competition”. In other words, aesthetics and shelf life have taken priority over public health. Numerous studies and reports have shown that excessive pesticide residue in food can cause severe health issues, ranging from hormonal imbalances to cancers.
Equally concerning is a deeper cultural shift that has occurred over the past few decades. In Kashmiri society, physical labour—whether in farming, construction, or any other form of manual work—has increasingly become seen as a kind of social taboo. Many consider every job other than a government post as unemployment, regardless of its income potential or dignity. This mentality has created a dangerous overdependence on a single employment sector, leaving our youth reluctant to engage in agriculture, entrepreneurship, or skilled trades. The result is that we import more and produce less, and the little we do produce is often abandoned in favour of “readymade” market options.
The irony is painful. We are blessed with some of the most fertile lands, fresh water sources, and a climate suitable for a variety of crops, yet we have turned away from them. Villages that once thrived with the sounds of ploughing, poultry clucking, and cattle bells are now silent, their fields converted into commercial plots or high-density apple orchards. Where we once grew our own beans, turnips, and leafy greens, we now queue in front of shops selling vegetables that have travelled hundreds of miles, losing freshness and nutritional quality along the way.
Moreover, the unchecked sale of expired and adulterated goods in our markets is a serious concern. While the responsibility certainly lies with the concerned authorities to enforce strict quality checks, the truth is that the problem also persists because we, as a society, have allowed it. We rarely question what we buy, where it comes from, or how it is produced. We demand convenience and low prices, even if it comes at the cost of our health. In this sense, we cannot put the blame entirely on the authorities; the collective negligence of both sellers and consumers sustains the problem.
If Nund Rishi would have been among us today, he would likely remind us that sustenance is not just about filling the stomach—it is about purity, balance, and responsibility towards the land and our own bodies. He would perhaps lament that we have replaced the milk from our own cows with factory-sealed cartons, our homegrown vegetables with chemically treated imports, and our work ethic with dependency.
Reversing this decline requires both mindset and policy changes. On an individual level, we must revive the culture of kitchen gardens, home poultry, and small-scale livestock rearing. On a community level, local cooperatives could be formed to market and distribute organic produce directly from farmers to consumers, cutting out the middlemen who often compromise quality. On the policy front, authorities must crack down on expired goods, excessive pasteurisation, and pesticide misuse, while providing incentives for organic farming and sustainable practices.
We also need a cultural reawakening to restore dignity to physical labour. Farming, carpentry, handicrafts, and small-scale manufacturing should be celebrated as much as—if not more than—white-collar jobs. The narrative that only government employment equals success is not only outdated but is actively harming our economy and health security. In truth, a society that produces its own food, supports its own artisans, and values hard work at every level is far stronger and more resilient than one that relies solely on government salaries and imported goods.
Ultimately, our food is not just a matter of taste or tradition—it is the foundation of our health, culture, and independence. Every time we buy something without questioning its origin, every time we choose convenience over effort, we are taking one step further away from the values that once made us strong. It is time to remember Nund Rishi’s wisdom, to value the cow not just as an animal but as a symbol of self-reliance, and to reclaim our lost balance with nature.
If we fail to act now, we may soon find that the market, with all its glittering shelves, has nothing truly nourishing to offer us—and by then, it may be too late to turn back.
The writer is a lecturer on “academic arrangement” at the PG Department of History, GDC Bemina
Dr Masrat Ahmad Mir
ma*********@***il.com