Diwali In Kashmir and Joys Worth Protecting
I Ahmed
This Diwali, as lights glowed across the Valley, the sound of firecrackers brought back uneasy memories for many. For those who lived through the dark days of terrorism that began in 1989, each loud pop felt like a gunshot echoing from the past.
“My Hindu friends from the village invited me to their Diwali,” said Ghulam Nabi, 62, a local tea seller. “They let me light the first diya with them. We prayed for peace, and then—BOOM. I was suddenly back in 1989, hiding as young men with guns walked through our streets. Happy Diwali? It felt more like a bad dream returning.”
Nabi, now running a small shop near Anantnag, returned to his old village Vessu after decades. He joined his Pandit friends families who once fled during the early violence, for a night of shared memories. But as children lit anars and chakras, the familiar crackle of firecrackers reopened old wounds.
“Those cracker sounds are just like the guns from back then,” Nabi said. “In 1989, young men who couldn’t even read properly carried AK-47s everywhere. They had been given wrong ideas by groups like JKLF, Al-Jahad etc. They showed off their guns as if they were symbols of pride, not tools of pain.”
Doctors now call it “Cracker Fear.” Dr. Farah Mirza, a psychiatrist from Srinagar, explained, “In 1989, Pakistan-backed groups sent both guns and extremist ideas across the border. Those who joined the militancy thought power came from holding a weapon. Now, the same kind of sounds bring their memories flooding back.”
A recent local study found that 68% of people over 40 in the Valley prefer quiet zones during festivals, up from 52% last year.
Nabi still recalls the “Early Days of Guns.” After the Afghan war ended, weapons poured into Kashmir. “One boy, Bilal, walked into a market shouting, ‘Sisters, see this gift from God!’ while waving an AK-47,” Nabi remembered. “They acted like heroes, but when real bullets came, we all hid in silence.”
As Hizbul Mujahideen emerged later that year, fear turned into flight. Loudspeakers warned Pandits to leave. “We ate sweets one Diwali,” Nabi said. “The next morning came the threat. By the next year, their homes were empty.”
Even today, festive sounds make many people in Kashmir flinch. “Lighting that diya with my Hindu friends made me proud,” Nabi said. “But when the boom hit, I froze. We need quieter ways to celebrate.”
Now, some villages are introducing “Silent Diwali Sets”—decorative lights without sound. “Maybe next year,” Nabi said with a smile, “we’ll have lights that show faces of lost friends, not fireworks that bring fear.”
As the night ended, Nabi raised his tea cup toward the glowing diyas. “Muslim hands, Hindu light,” he said. “Fear may be old, but joy is new. And it’s worth protecting.”
