Kashmir’s potters on the brink

Srinagar, Aug 1: In the heart of Soibugh village in central Kashmir’s Budgam district, the rhythmic whirl of a potter’s wheel still hums faintly.

It is here that the legacy of pottery, once a proud and essential part of Kashmir’s cultural and economic fabric, clings on against all odds.

Amid cracked walls and soot-streaked workshops, men like Ghulam Nabi Kumar, Nazir Ahmad Kumar, and Muhammad Ramzan continue to mould clay, not for profit, but to preserve what little remains of a vanishing tradition.

Ghulam Nabi, a third-generation potter, works in near solitude, his wheel spinning memories of a time when earthenware was found in every Kashmiri kitchen, every storeroom, and every wedding trousseau.

Nazir Ahmad Kumar, in his forties, recalls the winters when his shop would be filled with warmth, not from a fire, but from customers jostling to buy clay pots for everyday use.

Now, in the same bitter chill, Nazir sits beside shelves lined with unsold items, waiting for customers who rarely come.

“I still open the shop early, arrange the items, and wait. Most days, I return home with nothing,” he says.

Their struggles echo the broader tragedy of Kashmir’s pottery sector, which has collapsed under the weight of industrialisation, shifting consumer habits, and official neglect.

A craft that once provided sustainable livelihoods to thousands of artisans, locally known as Krals, is now gasping for survival.

What’s worse is that this decline is not just economic, it is generational.

Young men from potter families are abandoning the craft in droves, choosing instead to become carpenters, drivers, masons, or labourers.

Muhammad Ramzan, another senior potter from Soibugh, speaks with a mix of sorrow and urgency. “Our craft has reached a point where it cannot recover on its own. We need government help, not just symbolic, but concrete. We need soft loans to upgrade our tools and kilns. We need proper marketing facilities to sell our products beyond our village boundaries. And we need space in cities where our work can be displayed and appreciated,” he says, gesturing to his shelf of unsold clay items.

Ramzan believes that if the government intervenes now, there is still time to save the trade.

“There are many like me who are ready to teach young people. But the youth won’t stay unless there’s money, respect, and opportunity. Right now, there is none,” he says.

Ramzan also urges officials to establish training centres in rural areas to keep the art relevant and alive. “Modern pottery is evolving elsewhere, why can’t it evolve here? All we need is a little support and a platform,” he says.

Despite the gloom, some glimmers remain.

In certain rural pockets, clay pots are still used to store water and grains, and traditional musical instruments like the ‘Tumbakneer’ continue to be crafted and played.

However, these signs of life are few and far between, and not enough to sustain a whole community of artisans.

In the old quarters of Srinagar, once the cultural hub of Kashmiri Krals, the potter’s lanes have gone eerily silent.

Workshops have become storerooms, and kilns lie idle.

Only a handful of families still try to keep the craft alive, often as a symbolic gesture, or in the hope that perhaps heritage tourism or an institutional buyer might offer them a lifeline.

Even efforts to revive pottery through urban design interventions like “studio pottery” have fallen short in rural Kashmir.

“These designer cups and mugs are good for cities,” says Ramzan. “But they don’t reflect our craft or help us sell our traditional products. We are not asking for charity. We are asking for a chance to compete.”

Kashmiri pottery is not just about clay; it is about identity, memory, and survival.

Unless urgent and meaningful support is extended to these last torchbearers, this craft, like so many others, will soon belong only to the pages of history.