When I moved to Delhi from Kashmir for undergraduate studies in 2018, one of the many things that struck me in the metropolitan hubbub was how recreation was centred around markets and obsessive consumption.
For the people around me, weekends meant incurring expenses to buy and consume – food, malls, cafes, clothes and movies. I was not accustomed to this when I was growing up. But I soon fell into step. After I’d run through the exhaustive list of ancient tombs and monuments to explore, I also found myself going to ticketed places, and spending weekends making purchases.
The Delhi ways of spending my Sundays contradicted my Kashmiri sensibilities. In Kashmiri culture, recreation meant picnics, or as my Dadi says, “piknik”. Unlike Delhi, Kashmir has an abundance of streams, lakes and mountains. In my childhood, recreation meant planning trips to Mughal gardens like Chasma Shahi and Nehru Park around the Dal Lake in Srinagar.
Occasionally, we’d set off early Saturday mornings for Pahalgam, Gulmarg, or Sonmarg, further away from Srinagar. The extended family would book a Matador or Tempo Traveller, and we’d play music all the way to our destination.
If we were lucky, there would be an overnight stay in the serene valleys and lunch by the riverside before returning. These picnics were a fundamental part of my upbringing and helped me to develop an appreciation of the wonders of nature.
At Kashmiri picnics, families often carry hot bowls of steamed white rice and mutton curry. A portable gas cylinder is taken along to brew evening tea. As the women and men occupy themselves with warming the food, the children play games such as aab jung – splashing water at each other.
Some claim that the culture of picnicking in Kashmir traces its roots to its Mughal or colonial times. Stories of family picnics being a long tradition abound in Kashmir. My mother and grandmother often recounted tales of walking miles to see cherry blossoms in Badam Vaer, carrying a samovar of nun-chai, Kashmiri pink tea.
Despite years of unrest, turmoil, and instability, picnicking has endured. Perhaps, there’s a clue to be found in Imtiaz Ali's recent film Amar Singh Chamkila, about a musician performing during Punjab’s troubled times in the 1980s. He realises that his records are selling extensively not despite the turmoil but rather because of it. Maybe people in troubled times require different kinds of diversions to alleviate their pain for a short while. For Kashmiris, picnics might be the element that adds strength to their resilient spirits.
One might assume that the culture of picnicking, or “excursions” as they are commonly referred to, would be common among people who live in picturesque surroundings. Yet, during my weekend getaways to Himachal or Uttarakhand, I rarely encountered locals exploring these places like tourists.
During a conversation with a cab driver in Himachal, he mentioned that locals seldom went on picnics or planned family gatherings in such ways. Summers were dominated by farming or catering to guests and tourists, running homestays and ferrying people around, but rarely participating as a fellow traveller.
Recently, discussions about development in Kashmir have increasingly emphasised a move towards building malls, cinemas, and upscale stores so that residents have more entertainment options. Though markets may be central to a growing economy and sustaining livelihoods, consumption and joy are different. Consumption is important for survival but joy is the reason for living. I hope that young Kashmiris will remember the difference between weekends in the city and Kashmiri Athwars (Sundays), never forgetting the wonders of eating by the riverside and the art of piknik.
Sehar Abdullah is an independent writer from Kashmir. She has worked in research roles in policy think tanks and is currently working on projects focusing on Kashmir's cultural heritage.
