As one of many oldest bookstores in Srinagar shuts, it’s excessive time to revive Kashmir’s literary heritage
The information hit like a quiet storm: Srinagar’s oldest bookstore has shut its doorways ceaselessly. No noise, no outrage ,simply silence. A silence that echoes the turning of the final web page in a e-book not learn.
It wasn’t only a store that closed, it was a sanctuary. A small area crammed not with items, however with desires, concepts, and voices from worlds far and close to. That retailer stood like a sentinel of information, gently guarding the phrases of Faiz, Iqbal, Rumi, Ghalib, and so many others who as soon as impressed generations. At this time, its doorways are shut. Its cabinets empty. The pages that when whispered to curious minds now relaxation in darkness.
“Individuals don’t learn anymore,” the proprietor says. And it hurts. Not as a result of he’s flawed, however as a result of he’s heartbreakingly proper.
We stay in an age of distraction. A world the place the glow of screens has changed the scent of paper. The place fast-scrolling fingers have taken the place of slow-turning pages, the place immediate likes matter greater than lasting classes, and on this digital flood, books, these sacred vessels of knowledge, are slowly drowning.
Kashmir, a land as soon as identified for its poets, philosophers, and students, now watches quietly as its literary soul fades. In a spot the place tales had been as soon as handed from lips to hearts and from hearts to books, we now see a era rising up indifferent from that legacy. It’s not that the youth lack brilliance. They do. However the bridge to their roots, the books that join them to the previous and put together them for the longer term, is collapsing.
I keep in mind the scent of outdated pages. The enjoyment of discovering a worn-out e-book tucked in a nook. The conversations that adopted studying a strong line. I keep in mind the shop proprietor’s heat smile, his eyes lighting up when somebody requested for a uncommon title. It wasn’t a transaction; it was a bond. A shared love. A quiet revolution of the thoughts.
Now that bookstore is gone. And with it, a bit of our cultural backbone has damaged.
However ought to we simply mourn? Or should we get up?
This isn’t nearly a bookstore. That is a couple of tradition beneath risk. A era is forgetting the style of deep pondering, the silence of reflection, and the magic of getting misplaced in a e-book. And when studying ends, empathy fades. Thought dies. Voices go unheard.
A couple of years in the past, Iqbal Ahmad poignantly wrote in Larger Kashmir: “There are not any takers for writers.” He highlighted the rising neglect of native authors and the fading recognition of literary voices inside Kashmir. That piece, highly effective then, is hauntingly prophetic immediately. What was as soon as a warning now appears like a eulogy.
The federal government, the schooling system, civil society, everybody should now play a job. We want not simply libraries, however residing libraries, locations that breathe with exercise, the place studying is well known, not forgotten. We have to combine literature into on a regular basis life, host e-book golf equipment in schools, sponsor native bookstores, and make books inexpensive and visual once more.
The federal government can and should assist unbiased bookstores. These aren’t simply outlets, they’re cultural establishments. They want grants, recognition, and safety. And above all, we’d like public campaigns to revive the studying behavior, from major colleges to universities. Let no baby develop up with out realizing the enjoyment of holding a e-book.
To folks, I say: before you purchase your baby a brand new gadget, purchase them a narrative. To lecturers: educate not simply textbooks, however the energy of storytelling. To youth: don’t let the knowledge of centuries slip away within the noise of the second. Learn, as a result of studying builds you quietly and deeply.
The closure of that bookstore is a wound. However maybe it is usually a name. A name to save lots of what stays. A name to rebuild what we’re shedding.
We should not let our literary legacy finish with a shuttered store and a forgotten shelf.
Allow us to write new chapters.
Allow us to flip the tide.
Allow us to learn once more.
Ishfaq Manzoor ([email protected])
Khan Irshad ([email protected])
