In Srinagar and across the Kashmir Valley, rumour has once again proved more potent than reality. Petrol pumps that should have hummed with routine business instead became theatres of the absurd—serpentine queues stretching hundreds of metres, horns blaring in pointless rage, men and women clutching jerrycans, mineral-water bottles, and even polythene bags, all desperate to hoard fuel that authorities insist is not vanishing. Social media whispers of an “energy crisis,” a looming lockdown, and supply cuts triggered by West Asia’s tensions had done what no official circular could: emptied wallets and filled forecourts with panic.
Divisional Commissioner Kashmir Anshul Garg, Indian Oil Corporation, the Petroleum Ministry, and Chief Minister Omar Abdullah have been unequivocal: there is no shortage. Stocks of petrol and diesel in the Valley stand at comfortable levels—earlier pegged at 15 days and being replenished daily. Nationally, India holds 60 days of fuel. Outlets remain “well-stocked and fully operational.” Yet the queues grew longer, some pumps shut early after the sudden surge, and frustrated attendants limited sales to a few litres per vehicle. The very fear of scarcity manufactured the scarcity.
And what a spectacle the queuers offered. Watch the middle-aged uncle in his gleaming SUV, engine idling for forty minutes, burning more fuel than he will buy, while lecturing the crowd about “government failure.” Behold the scooterist balancing three leaky cans like a circus act, convinced that tomorrow the pumps will run dry even as the Divisional Commissioner’s statement scrolls on his phone. One fails to understand, as the panic-stricken whisper goes, how long they will run their vehicles if supply stops tomorrow—yet they seem perfectly willing to waste today’s supply on yesterday’s rumour. The irony is thicker than exhaust fumes.
This is classic Kashmir panic theatre, refined over years of rumour-mongering. Every hint of regional tension—be it Strait of Hormuz jitters or social media doomsday posts—sends the Valley into collective hoarding mode. The same citizens who pride themselves on resilience during harsher crises suddenly lose faith in verified assurances and trust WhatsApp forwards instead. Petrol pump owners in Ganderbal summed it up best: “There is no shortage of supply. However, due to the overwhelming rush, we had to close early.” The cure became the disease.
District administrations are monitoring stocks and have warned of legal action against those spreading deliberate misinformation. That is necessary. But the real remedy lies in the queue itself: a little scepticism toward viral fear, a little patience, and the realisation that collective calm is the only fuel that never runs out. Until Kashmiris learn to laugh at their own reflex to rush the pumps every time a rumour revs up, the queues will remain the Valley’s most reliable—if entirely avoidable—attraction.
The administration has done its job. The oil companies have done theirs. The question now is simple: will the people in those endless lines finally do theirs—switch off the rumour mill, trust the facts, and drive away without turning a non-crisis into tomorrow’s headline? The pumps are open. The tanks are full. The only thing running on empty is common sense.
