Listen up, because the velvet postcard that was Kashmir’s tourism industry just caught fire—and I’m here with a jug of kerosene and a megaphone.
Welcome to Pahalgam, the picturesque pit stop where Bollywood once shot dreams and honeymooners whispered sweet nothings—but now? Now it whispers something else. Something darker. Something soaked in fear and wiped clean of the selfie-stick brigade. Why? Because bullets don’t take tourist visas.
Ah, the irony. In 2024, the Modi government was practically doing cartwheels about breaking tourist records—11.2 million visitors to Jammu and Kashmir, they said. There was more footfall than a Diwali mega-sale. Helicopter rides over Gulmarg? Check. Influencer reels in Dal Lake shikaras? Double check. They sold us “Normalcy,” that elusive unicorn trotted out to the world to say: “Look! No more conflict, just Pashmina and paradise.”
But let’s get something straight—theatrics don’t make peace. They just sell the poster.
And then came Pahalgam. Not with press releases, but with gunfire.
Two tourists were shot in cold blood at a time when Kashmir was supposed to be sipping Kehwa and hosting Tamil Nadu tourists with Instagram filters. A few days later, another attack in Anantnag—and suddenly the mountain mist turned into smog of panic. And here we are, ladies and gentlemen, with tour operators now canceling trips like it’s the early days of COVID, hotels reporting mass exodus, and families second-guessing their so-called ‘revived faith’ in the valley.
“We are condemned,” one local hotelier told a reporter. That phrase will haunt you if you’ve got ears that work and a conscience that hasn’t been outsourced to a PR firm.
Let me rewind this reel for the Delhi Durbar: For years, the government has crafted a narrative of “Naya Kashmir”—new roads, new investors, and apparently, new ways to send militants back to ‘where they came from’. Article 370? Scrapped under the guise of unity. Internet blackouts? Parked in the driveway of progress. Everything was being painted on a saffron canvas so blinding, you’d need sunglasses just to question it.
But you can’t suppress a volcano by changing your Instagram bio.
Because here’s what they won’t tell you in those tourism campaign jingles piped through Parliament: If there’s no trust, there’s no tourism. If the valley continues to live in a shadow of fear, no number of Bollywood dance sequences or Ambanis pitching golf resorts will change the narrative. You cannot bomb your way into a travel brochure.
And the locals? Ah yes, the very heartbeat of this hill station dream. Shop owners, pony-wallahs, houseboat owners—they’re the collateral damage when policy decisions are made 900 kilometers away but the consequences land on their front porch like an uninvited guest with a ticking clock.
Let this be a wake-up call wrapped in rage: You want tourism? Then own the full script—not just the song-and-dance montage. You want investment? Start by investing in actual peace, not the theatrical version rolled out for G20 delegates. The minute you sell “normalcy” but deliver lockdowns, checkpoints, and blood on cobblestone streets, you’re not running a tourism campaign. You’re writing political satire—and as you can see, I’ve already got that job.
So, here’s the real headline, folks: Kashmir isn’t just a destination. It’s a mirror. And right now, it reflects a government drunk on optics, a population gagged by fear, and an economy bleeding from both ends.
Tourism needs tourists. Tourists need safety. And safety needs more than slogans—it needs soul.
The game’s on, and I play to win. Question is: does New Delhi want to play, or just keep spinning the wheel while the valley watches its dreams drown… one tourist at a time?
See you in the smoke.
– Mr. 47
