Mohammad Arfat Wani
In the valleys of Kashmir—where rivers sing and mountains stand as silent witnesses to time—there flows another river, less visible but far older. It is the river of memory, culture, and identity. The heartbeat of this river is Koshur, the Kashmiri language—one of the oldest living languages of the world, rooted in the Dardic branch of the Indo-European family.
For centuries, Kashmiri flourished as a language of mysticism, philosophy, and poetic rebellion. Saints and poets such as Lal Ded and Sheikh Noor-ud-Din transformed everyday speech into spiritual inquiry, blending logic with love, and metaphysics with lived reality. Kashmiri was not merely spoken—it was experienced.
Today, however, the language stands at an uneasy crossroads. Pushed aside by Urdu and English—languages marketed as passports to mobility and modernity—Kashmiri risks being reduced to a relic, spoken hesitantly at home and avoided in public. UNESCO’s classification of Kashmiri as an endangered language is not symbolic; it is a warning bell. When a language weakens, so does the worldview it carries.
Yet, decline is not the full story.
Digital Resistance, Kashmiri Style
Amid this uncertainty, Touqeer Ashraf, a young poet and language enthusiast from Pulwama, has emerged as a quiet disruptor. Refusing to treat Kashmiri as a museum artifact, he turned to the digital world—not for clout or cash, but for continuity.
His initiative, Kaeshur Praw (founded in 2021), functions as a living classroom and cultural archive. Through short, engaging videos across Instagram, YouTube, and Facebook, Touqeer shares Kashmiri vocabulary, pronunciation lessons, poetry, cultural anecdotes, and linguistic history. The format is modern; the soul is ancient.
What makes Kaeshur Praw effective is not just content, but intent. It speaks directly to a generation that is linguistically hybrid—thinking in English, studying in Urdu, but feeling in Kashmiri. Touqeer doesn’t shame this generation; he invites it back.
His poetic inspirations—Rasul Mir and Wahab Khaar among others—are not invoked as history lessons, but as living voices. Language, here, is not theory. It is breath.
A Youth-Led Reclamation
Touqeer’s work reflects a broader shift. Across Kashmir, young people are reclaiming their linguistic inheritance on their own terms. Seerat Hafiz’s Yikvot, a virtual reading group, brings together weekly readings of Kashmiri literature—originals and translations—making the language accessible and relevant for Gen Z learners.
These digital communities succeed where classrooms often fail: they make Kashmiri cool without making it shallow.
The Structural Hurdles
The challenges, however, remain formidable. Kashmiri has minimal presence in mainstream publishing and media. School curricula largely abandon it after early classes. Economic realities push families toward “useful” languages. Digital platforms struggle to recognize Kashmiri content, while script issues—Perso-Arabic limitations and the absence of standardized Romanization—further complicate matters.
But languages do not survive by policy alone. They survive when people choose to speak them—unapologetically.
More Than Words
A language is not a dictionary. It is memory, humor, grief, proverb, prayer. Every lost word is a lost way of seeing the world. Kashmiri has survived invasions, empires, and upheavals by living in homes, fields, and marketplaces. Today, it is finding refuge—and renewal—in cyberspace.
Conclusion
Efforts like Touqeer Ashraf’s Kaeshur Praw are not side projects; they are acts of cultural preservation. They signal a renaissance powered not by institutions, but by intention. Kashmiri is not a language of the past. It is a living pulse—and its future depends on collective will.
The resurrection of Kashmiri will not arrive through nostalgia alone. It will come through use, pride, creativity, and courage. The tools are already in our hands. The question is simple: will we speak up, or scroll past?
