"Kashmiri Nahi Darega” — A Journey Through the Heart of Resilience

“Yeh Sab Kashmiri Ko Darane Ke Liye Hai, Lekin Woh Nahi Darega.” -All this is to intimidate the Kashmiri, but he will not be afraid. These words still echo in my mind — spoken with quiet defiance by Adil Mir, a typical Kashmiri Man in his late seventies, as we drove past fully armed military personnel lining the streets of Srinagar. I was sitting next to him in the front seat of his Bajaj autorickshaw, watching the city unfold before us — a city trying hard to be peaceful, while still visibly tense.

We were riding through Lal Chowk, once the epicentre of militancy in Kashmir, a place that had witnessed the harshest chapters of conflict. But this visit was different. It came in the aftermath of the abrogation of Article 370 — a turning point in the political narrative of Jammu & Kashmir. After spending ten days exploring the majestic, silent heights of Ladakh, we descended into the valley for a few winding-down days in Srinagar. We came seeking beauty, history, and peace — and perhaps, to understand the soul of this land, even if just a little.

Adil Mir, like many Kashmiris we met, was warm, hospitable, and rooted in a deep desire for peace. Yet, like many others here, he harboured a dream — that Kashmir would one day stand as an independent nation, separate from both India and Pakistan. There was no hostility in his voice — only a wishful longing, the kind that resides in the hearts of those who have seen too much conflict and yearn for dignity above all.

During our stay, Adil accompanied us across Srinagar — from the manicured gardens of Nishat and Shalimar to the timeless houseboats on Dal Lake, from the bustling curio shops on Residency Road to the serene lanes of Rajbagh. We sampled the rich, aromatic dishes of Kashmiri cuisine — Rogan Josh, Gustaba, Harissa, and the sweet delight of Phirni. At the floating markets on Dal Lake, while bargaining for hand-carved artefacts and saffron pouches, we were taken aback to hear Malayalam — the language of Kerala — being spoken fluently by several shopkeepers.

During the times of war, unrest and turmoil at their homeland, many Kashmiris ran thriving small-scale businesses across Kerala — in Varkala, Kochi, Kovalam, and elsewhere — selling dry fruits, woollens, and handicrafts. But after the abrogation of Article 370, many returned home en-masse, driven by a mix of fear, identity crisis, and hope for a new beginning. Ironically, the peace they returned to was one being restored forcefully — a peace ensured by uniformed men with guns, visible at every traffic junction and market street, especially around Lal Chowk, Hazratbal, and Boulevard Road.

Adil Mir looked at the convoys with familiarity, not fear. He knew their presence was not just about dominance — but about protecting tourists, about keeping Kashmir’s economy breathing. Yet, the underlying feeling remained — that peace in Kashmir is not always organic; it is, at times, engineered. But the people — the real Kashmiris — carry on. They welcome, they smile, they feed you with love, they guide you with sincerity. Whether it’s a child giggling on the shikara, a young vendor quoting prices in Malayalam, or an elderly baker wrapping Lavasa in newspaper — Kashmir continues to exist, to live, to survive.

And now, as we find ourselves on the verge of yet another potential conflict with Pakistan — a rogue neighbour determined to sow unrest and derail the fragile calm that Kashmiris are slowly returning to — it is imperative that we stand together as a nation. For the first time in decades, we witnessed a visible shift — the people of Kashmir standing strong against militancy, a force that had long gripped the Valley in fear and stolen the rhythm of normal life. What once thrived in silence and shadows was now being openly questioned, even rejected, by the very people it claimed to represent. This newfound courage was not born overnight; it was the result of years of suffering, disillusionment, and the yearning for a life beyond curfews, gunfire, and ideological chains. It was a powerful gesture, not just of defiance, but of a frustrated generation’s longing to reclaim — to build a Kashmir rooted in peace, dignity, and opportunity. In their eyes, you could see it — not fear, not anger, but resolve. And perhaps, for the first time, a glimpse of healing

Let us rally behind the Tricolour — not just as a symbol of authority, but as a beacon of hope. Let us give the people of Kashmir the courage to embrace the times ahead, knowing that the rest of India stands by them — not in suspicion, but in solidarity.

I am sure that “Kashmiri Nahi Darega.” Adil Mir words were more than a statement. They were a quiet anthem of resilience. - "Woh Nahi Darega".

Bijoy Pulipra