Sadiq Khan
An 18-year-old boy left home with his family to sell shawls, hoping to earn enough to sustain them through a difficult season. By the end of the day, he lay injured in a hospital bed, shaken and bruised, while his parents and siblings nursed wounds of their own. Their alleged crime, according to witnesses, was not theft or provocation—it was identity. They were Muslim. They were from Kashmir.
The assault in Vikas Nagar is not merely a criminal incident; it is a distressing reminder of how easily prejudice can erupt into violence, and how vulnerable migrant communities remain in many parts of the country. It raises uncomfortable questions about governance, law enforcement, and the promises embedded in India’s constitutional ideals.
Eyewitness accounts suggest that the confrontation began when a group of local youths questioned the family about where they came from. When they disclosed that they were Kashmiris, the exchange reportedly turned hostile. Soon, verbal abuse escalated into physical attack. The teenager was punched repeatedly. His father and mother were dragged and slapped, while other family members were allegedly struck with iron rods. In a crowded market, amid shoppers and passers-by, a family trying to earn an honest living was reduced to shielding itself from blows.
They were later shifted to a nearby hospital, where doctors said the boy’s injuries were stable. Yet the physical harm is only part of the story. The deeper damage lies in fear—the fear of returning to work, of being recognised again, of sending children out to help support the household. For migrant families who already live on the margins, such trauma lingers long after bruises fade.
Seasonal migration is a lifeline for many Kashmiri artisans. Shawl sellers, carpet weavers, and handicraft traders travel across states each year as markets fluctuate and opportunities shrink back home. These journeys are not adventures; they are economic necessities. Ideally, the marketplace should be neutral territory, governed by contracts and conversations, not communal suspicion. When that neutrality collapses, livelihoods collapse with it.
Civil-society groups and human-rights activists have condemned the Vikas Nagar attack, describing it as a violation of basic rights and human dignity. Social media platforms have filled with calls for swift arrests and firm action, alongside pointed questions about why such episodes recur with unsettling regularity. Why do Kashmiris so often find themselves at the centre of these stories? Why are migrant workers repeatedly targeted? And why do official responses so often appear to arrive only after outrage has built?
For many Kashmiris who travel outside their home state, caution has become routine. Some avoid disclosing where they are from. Others move only in groups, shorten business trips, or accept financial losses rather than risk confrontation. The economic consequences are severe: fewer sales, rising costs, and an erosion of confidence that undermines already fragile livelihoods.
The state’s responsibility in such moments is clear. Protecting citizens—regardless of religion, region, or occupation—is not optional; it is foundational. Registering cases after violence erupts is necessary, but insufficient. Prevention requires visible policing in vulnerable marketplaces, rapid-response mechanisms for migrant workers, community outreach to defuse tensions, and unequivocal political messaging that vigilantism will not be tolerated. Silence or ambiguity creates space for prejudice to flourish.
India often celebrates its pluralism, its ability to absorb difference, and its long tradition of internal migration that binds regions together economically and culturally. When families are attacked merely for who they are, that narrative fractures. The freedom to move, trade, and work without fear is not a privilege—it is a constitutional promise.
For the teenager at the heart of this incident, the debate is painfully personal. His ambition was modest: to help his family survive. Instead, he encountered hostility that turned a workday into a nightmare. His story resonates far beyond Vikas Nagar because it echoes the anxieties of countless others who step onto unfamiliar streets carrying goods—and apprehension in equal measure.
If the perpetrators are swiftly identified and punished, it will send an important signal. But justice in one case, however necessary, will not by itself restore confidence. What is required is a sustained commitment to ensuring that migrant families are safe not just after cameras arrive, but before fists are raised.
Until that happens, the haunting questions remain. Why do Kashmiris seeking honest work continue to face suspicion and violence? Why are vulnerable communities left to rely on public outrage rather than proactive protection? And why does the state so often appear to awaken only after the damage has already been done?
An 18-year-old shawl seller should be worrying about customers and prices—not about whether his identity will make him the next target. The fact that he must do so is not just his tragedy; it is a national reckoning waiting to be confronted.
