Iqbal Nabi
Kashmir is more than a story of guns and terrorism
For decades, Kashmir has been told to the world through a narrow and painful lens.
A gun.
A militant.
A blast.
A soldier.
A funeral.
A conflict.
These images have become so familiar that, somewhere along the way, the world forgot that behind the headlines are ordinary human beings: families, children, students, farmers, shopkeepers, artists, workers and young people who dream of a peaceful and dignified future.
It is time we asked ourselves: is Kashmir really only this?
Why can’t Bollywood show the Kashmir where a mother waits for her son to return from school? Why can’t it show the young Kashmiri preparing for an examination, the shopkeeper opening his shop early in the morning, the farmer working in his apple orchard, the shikara owner taking tourists across Dal Lake, or the young entrepreneur trying to build something of his own? Why can’t cinema show the Kashmir that laughs, loves, celebrates, struggles and dreams?
Kashmir is not a character written only for a story about terrorism. Kashmir is home to millions of people.
Bollywood has enormous influence over how people perceive a place and its people. When Kashmir is repeatedly presented through the same old stereotypes, those images do not remain on cinema screens. They travel into people’s minds. And perhaps that is why some incidents on the ground become even more painful.
There have been reports and videos of yatris asking Kashmiri children to raise slogans such as “Bharat Mata Ki Jai” in exchange for ₹10.
One may ask: what exactly are we trying to prove? A child should not have to prove his patriotism for a ten-rupee note.
A Kashmiri should not have to stand before another citizen and demonstrate his loyalty to the country.
Citizenship is not a certificate handed out by a yatri on a roadside. Patriotism is not something that can be purchased for ₹10.
If a Kashmiri child is born in India, grows up in India, studies in India and dreams of building his future in India, why should anyone feel entitled to test that child’s identity?
And if we genuinely believe that “everything has changed in Kashmir,” then shouldn’t our behaviour change too? Change cannot simply mean fewer guns or more tourists.
Real change means changing the way we look at each other. It means replacing suspicion with trust. It means replacing stereotypes with understanding.
It means allowing Kashmiri children to be children, not symbols in someone else’s political narrative.
The overwhelming majority of Kashmiris want what every parent wants for their children: peace, education, dignity, opportunity and a future filled with hope.
They want their children to become doctors, engineers, entrepreneurs, teachers, artists, sportspersons and professionals. They want to travel, work and live without constantly being reminded of the conflicts of the past.
And yes, Kashmir has suffered. Kashmir has witnessed violence, terrorism and immense human pain. That history cannot and should not be erased. But acknowledging the painful past does not mean imprisoning an entire people inside that past forever.
If cinema can show the pain of Kashmir, it should also show its resilience. If it can tell stories about conflict, it should also tell stories about reconciliation. If it can show the mountains, it should also show the people living among those mountains.
If it can show Kashmir’s tragedies, it should also show Kashmir’s humanity.
Kashmiris do not need sympathy. They need to be seen as equals. They do not need certificates of patriotism.
They need trust.
They do not need stereotypes.
They need understanding.
And they certainly do not need anyone to define their identity for them.
So, to Bollywood and to all those who visit Kashmir, I have only one humble request.
Come to Kashmir not merely to see the mountains. Come to know the people.
Talk to the children.
Listen to their dreams.
Sit with the shopkeeper.
Meet the farmer.
Speak to the student.
Hear the young person’s aspirations.
You may discover a Kashmir very different from the one you have repeatedly seen on your screens.
A Kashmir that is wounded, perhaps, but also hopeful.
