Mother Tongue Day rolls around every year like a half-hearted festival, a global nod to languages that bind us to our roots. But for us Kashmiris, it’s a bitter reminder of what we’ve lost—or rather, what we’ve been robbed of. We’re perhaps the only people on this planet who can chatter away in our mother tongue with the ease of breathing, spinning tales, cracking jokes, whispering prayers in Kashmiri that flows like the Jhelum’s waters. Yet, when it comes to putting pen to paper, it’s a nightmare. The script twists like mountain paths, unfamiliar and unforgiving, leaving most of us illiterate in our own voice. And still, we cling to it fiercely, this language that’s woven into our shawls, our songs, our very souls.
Why this paradox? Blame history’s cruel hand and a government that’s turned a blind eye. Kashmiri isn’t just words; it’s the echo of our ancestors, the rhythm of our resistance. We speak it in homes, markets, mosques—pure, unadulterated. But writing? That’s a privilege for the few who navigate the Perso-Arabic script, muddled further by Urdu’s dominance and English’s intrusion. Schools barely scratch the surface. The government’s so-called introduction of Kashmiri in primary classes? Pure tokenism, a checkbox exercise that evaporates by middle school. Textbooks are outdated, teachers untrained, and the curriculum so detached from everyday life that kids treat it like a foreign invader. Far from nurturing readers, it alienates them, turning our tongue into a relic rather than a living force.
And the media? Don’t get me started. We have one solitary Kashmiri newspaper, a lone warrior in a sea of Urdu and English dailies. It prints faithfully, but who reads it? Circulation is a joke—barely reaching villages, let alone city folks. Even government departments, those bloated bureaucracies, ignore it. Official notices, policies, everything’s in alien scripts. How can a language thrive when its own guardians shun it? This isn’t neglect; it’s sabotage. Successive regimes have prioritized everything else—roads, tourism, security—while our linguistic heritage withers. Where are the libraries stocked with Kashmiri books? The digital apps to teach the script? The radio stations blasting our poetry without apology?
It’s time to stir the pot, Kashmiris. Mother Tongue Day shouldn’t be a passive lament; it demands rage, action. We love our language enough to fight for it. Demand real reforms: mandatory Kashmiri education up to high school, with modern tools and passionate educators. Push for more newspapers, online portals, even social media campaigns in our script. Boycott the indifference—write letters, hold protests, flood offices with Kashmiri demands. If we don’t, we’ll be the generation that let the melody fade. Our tongue isn’t just speech; it’s survival. Revive it, or watch it die in silence.
