Syed Majid Gilani
There was a time, not too long ago, when life in Srinagar’s Shehr-e-Khaas, the historic Downtown, moved with a gentle rhythm, simple, contented, and gracefully bound by a deep sense of togetherness. The narrow lanes, old wooden houses, bustling courtyards, and centuries-old mosques weren’t merely structures of brick and stone, but living witnesses to a society where people’s hearts were connected, where neighbours were part of one’s own extended family. Though homes were modest and means limited, hearts were generous, and relationships sincere, built upon silent, unspoken understandings that only true communities possess.
In those days, society itself took responsibility for its people. Neighbours cared for one another, not to interfere, but because they genuinely felt for each other. It was natural for an elder to stop a boy or girl and ask where they were going, why they were out late, or how their parents were doing. No one took offence. These were questions asked from the heart, driven by concern and the desire to guide the younger generation along the right path.
One of the most beautiful aspects of that time was the way people shared not only their homes but their joys and sorrows. Whenever a special dish was prepared, Tehri, Halwa, Gaadi, Paachi, Houk Suen, or the winter delicacy Harisa, it was customary to share with the neighbouring homes. Not out of formality, but as a simple, affectionate gesture that said, “You are part of us.” Festivals, weddings, and even small moments of happiness were celebrated together. No one hid their happiness behind doors, and no one bore sorrow alone.
The soul of Shehr-e-Khaas, however, wasn’t confined within the four walls of homes. It lived and breathed in the community’s daily gathering spots, the Waane Pend, Kander Waan, Hamams, and Naid Waan. These were the neighbourhood’s open-air parliaments, where conversations flowed. People of every age and class, elders, youth, the poor, the rich, gathered there to exchange news, debate politics, and discuss matters of society. Family disputes, community issues, and even pressing social concerns were deliberated openly. Respected elders would offer advice, resolve conflicts, and take reformative steps where needed. These informal forums were once the nerve centres of Shehr-e-Khaas, hotbeds of wisdom and social unity. Alas, their voices have now fallen silent, and their presence faded from everyday life.
A vital strength of that era was the strong social checks and balances maintained by elders, relatives, neighbours, and respected family heads. These guardians of morality and harmony watched over society, not with harshness, but with quiet wisdom and a genuine sense of responsibility. Elders were a blessing and a boon, a moral compass that steered the young and reminded the old of their duties. Disputes and disagreements arose, as they do everywhere, but those conflicts were settled with grace and wisdom. Respected elders, relatives, and neighbours would gather, listen carefully to both sides, and deliver fair, sincere decisions aimed at restoring peace. Their words carried authority not because of any legal standing, but because they came from hearts filled with honesty and a genuine desire to maintain harmony.
Families took great care in preserving the dignity of their women. If any mistreatment happened within a household, it seldom remained unnoticed. The women of the neighbourhood, quick to sense unrest, would quietly intervene, counsel, and, if necessary, take collective steps to protect and resolve. Similarly, if a married daughter visited her parental home too frequently or stayed too long, discreet inquiries would be made, not to interfere, but to gently ensure that all was well. Such social checks kept families united, safeguarded relationships, and prevented matters from worsening in silence.
Children, too, were raised by the entire community. Respect for elders was an unspoken rule. If a child misbehaved in the street, any elder had the right to correct them, and no parent ever took offence. In fact, families appreciated this collective upbringing, knowing it shaped well-mannered, responsible individuals. Disrespecting elders wasn’t just frowned upon, it was considered a moral failing, a stain upon one’s family name, and an insult to the very values the community stood for.
Another beautiful aspect of Shehr-e-Khaas was its tender care for the poor and needy. If someone lost their job, fell ill, or faced a rough patch, the neighbourhood quietly arranged help. Meals would arrive at their doorstep, financial support discreetly extended, and every effort made to uphold the dignity of the person in distress. No one was left hungry, abandoned, or humiliated.
Back then, people valued physical visits to their relatives, friends, and neighbours. Joys and sorrows were shared in person, hands held, shoulders offered. The warmth of presence was irreplaceable. In those days, even telephones were a rarity, and today’s WhatsApp messages and hurried phone calls didn’t exist. People believed in personal visits, arriving at your doorstep to share your joy, offer condolences, or simply sit beside you in silent companionship. Presence spoke louder than words, and every emotion was felt, not forwarded. Bonds were maintained through real visits, cups of Kehwa and Noon Chai, shared bread, and hours of heart-to-heart conversation. In this well-knotted society and family system, crime and moral decay were minimal.
The constructive and positive role of elders, be they neighbours, friends, or relatives, kept temptations and wrongdoings in check. Their wisdom, their ability to foresee problems, and gently guide or decisively intervene maintained the social fabric in ways laws alone never could.
When tragedy struck, a death, an illness, or financial hardship, the entire neighbourhood would rally together without waiting for a call. Neighbours arrived with help, kind words, and whatever was needed. From cooking meals for the grieving family to simply sitting beside them in silent solidarity, people stood by each other, providing strength and comfort when it mattered most.
This was Srinagar, with Shehr-e-Khaas as its soul, a place where simple lives were rich in values, family bonding, and relationships. But sadly, those precious bonds are breaking. Today, the same streets that once echoed with friendly greetings, innocent laughter, and neighbourly concern now seem quiet and detached. People have withdrawn into their own busy lives, hesitant to engage or intervene. Joys are celebrated in isolation, tragedies go unnoticed, and families suffer in silence. Where wise elders once settled disputes with heartfelt counsel, legal complaints and cold courtrooms now take their place. The absence of social checks, the fading watchfulness of elders, and the neglect of family and neighbourhood heads have left a void that has made society colder and weaker. Respect for elders has faded, and the younger generation often grows up unaware of the warmth of a shared upbringing.
We haven’t merely lost customs, we’ve lost the very soul of our community. The traditions that once made Shehr-e-Khaas a shining example of kindness, unity, and moral strength now survive only in fading memories and the teary-eyed stories of those old enough to remember.
As material comforts have multiplied, hearts have shrunk. Big homes now shelter lonely hearts, and streets that once celebrated life together echo only with the hurried, indifferent footsteps of strangers. The warmth, closeness, and silent moral guidance of Shehr-e-Khaas are quietly disappearing.
And with every bond that breaks, we lose not just a tradition or a custom, but a piece of our identity, our history, and our collective soul.
May the memories of those golden days remind us of what we have lost, and perhaps, one day, lead us back to a life where hearts are bigger than homes, where neighbours are family, and where the streets of Shehr-e-Khaas once again ring with greetings, laughter, and the gentle wisdom of its people.
(The author writes on human emotions, family bonds, moral values, and heartfelt experiences drawn from the rich tapestry of real life. He can be reached at [email protected])
