Peerzada Nazima Shah:
Let’s admit it — most vegetables live a tragic life. They sit in kitchen baskets until they shrivel into compost material, their culinary potential lost to neglect. But not haakh. Oh no. This Kashmiri diva of the vegetable kingdom commands the sort of devotion usually reserved for royalty. And today, the markets welcomed a whopping 100 kilograms of it, each crinkled blue-green leaf flaunting itself like it just stepped off the ramp at a leafy fashion week.
For the uninitiated, haakh is collard greens — a proud member of the brassica family, that elite circle which also includes cabbage, kale, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and mustard greens. In the rest of India, collard greens are as rare as snowfall in Goa. But in Kashmir, haakh isn’t just food — it’s a lifestyle.
And oddly enough, Kashmir isn’t alone in its leafy obsession. Thousands of kilometres away in Portugal, there’s an almost spiritual twin to the dish — caldo verde, a collard green stew that holds the same cultural weight there as haakh does here. The recipes mirror each other in their minimalism: simmered greens, a dash of seasoning, and no unnecessary frills. In both places, the vegetable is the unquestioned star.
Haakh in the Kashmiri Psyche
In Kashmir, haakh has grown into something more than a mere dish — it’s part of the language itself. Ask a Kashmiri to define contentment, and you might hear: “Give me haakh-batha (haakh with rice) for life, and I’ll be happy.” The statement isn’t poetic exaggeration. It’s the genuine confession of a people who find comfort in the simplest, most honest of meals.
The Sacred Growing Grounds
While haakh can be spotted in vegetable stalls across the Valley, the most coveted leaves come from one place: Kawdara, in the heart of Srinagar’s Old City. Kawdara’s fields, kissed generously by sunlight and guarded by poplar trees, produce haakh with unmatched tenderness and taste. Old market wisdom is clear:
If it’s grown without sunlight, it will remain stubbornly tough, no matter how long you cook it.
If it’s grown near tobacco plants, brace yourself for a bitterness that will make you regret every life choice leading up to that bite.
Dal Lake’s floating gardens also play their part, where the sight of haakh’s signature crinkled leaves bobbing above the water has become as iconic as the lake’s shikaras.
Why Haakh Refuses to Be Spinach
Renowned food historian Dr. Pushpesh Pant calls haakh “an acquired taste,” thanks to its subtle pungency — a signature trait of the brassica clan. But comparing haakh to spinach? That’s vegetable blasphemy. Spinach wilts at the first sign of heat; haakh, with its waxy resilience, takes its time to cook, retaining a distinct bite even after an extended stay in the pressure cooker.
Cooking Haakh: An Exercise in Elegant Restraint
The traditional method of cooking haakh is deceptively simple:
1. Select the leaves and remove the thick central stems.
2. Heat a splash of mustard oil.
3. Add a green chilli and either asafoetida or garlic.
4. Introduce the haakh with plenty of water.
5. Cook uncovered to keep its glorious green intact.
That’s it. No complicated spice blends, no attempts to “elevate” the dish with modern gimmicks. The Kashmiri cook knows better — when you have something perfect, you don’t mess with it.
But versatility is part of haakh’s charm. It can be paired with cottage cheese, dried fish, smoked fish, or mutton, depending on mood and season. Some households break the leaves mid-cooking; others pound them after boiling, using the family’s trusted limestone mortar and pestle — a kitchen relic still found in most Kashmiri homes.
Not too long ago, haakh would also be dried and stored for winter, a survival tactic from an era when heavy snowfall made trips to the market nearly impossible.
From Srinagar to the Streets of Delhi
It turns out haakh isn’t as territorial as you’d expect. With the migration of Kashmiris to Delhi, the vegetable has found a second home in select winter markets. Remarkably, the taste remains authentic — a blindfold test could stump even the most seasoned haakh loyalist trying to guess whether their bowl came from the Dal Lake gardens or a Delhi alley stall.
Why Haakh Rules the Table
There’s a kind of culinary democracy in Kashmiri kitchens, but haakh is the perennial front-runner. A pinch of salt, a whisper of asafoetida, and the dish is ready — no other vegetable enjoys such minimal interference and maximum respect. It appears on dining tables more times in a week than any other dish, weaving itself into the rhythm of daily life.
And today, with 100 kilograms flooding the markets, the scene is almost ceremonial. Vendors arrange the leaves in proud stacks, customers examine them with the seriousness of art collectors, and conversations inevitably drift to which vendor’s haakh “cooks softer” or “has that perfect taste.”
The Unshakable Bond
This relationship between Kashmir and haakh is more than tradition — it’s almost genetic. It’s the taste of childhood, the comfort of home, the flavour of survival during harsh winters, and a dish so unpretentious it scoffs at the idea of “plating” or “garnish.”
So here’s a humble suggestion: the next time you pass a heap of those crinkled leaves in the market, don’t see just a vegetable. See centuries of habit, migration, adaptation, and pride. Buy a bundle, cook it the way it’s meant to be cooked, and you might just understand why a Kashmiri could happily live on haakh-batha forever.
And if you still think it’s “just a leaf,” remember — some royalty wears crowns, others grow in Kawdara and float in Dal Lake.
