Ashfaq Zehgeer
“Kashmir does not need less celebration; it needs less extravagance. Let our weddings be remembered for their Barakah, not their bill.”
From a blessed occasion to a social competition
Marriage is one of life’s most beautiful occasions. It brings two people together, unites families and creates new bonds of love, responsibility, companionship and hope. Naturally, such an occasion deserves to be celebrated.
But celebration and extravagance are not the same thing.
Somewhere along the way, we seem to have allowed hospitality to become competition, generosity to become display, tradition to become pressure and celebration to become an expensive performance.
The question is increasingly not: “How can we celebrate this marriage beautifully?” but “What will people say if we do less than others?”
That single question can transform a joyful occasion into a financial and social burden.
One family serves thirty dishes; another feels compelled to serve forty. One family presents elaborate gift boxes; another worries that a simpler presentation will invite criticism. One wedding has elaborate decorations; another feels compelled to match or exceed them.
Gradually, what was once optional begins to feel compulsory.
This is how social pressure works. One family’s choice becomes another family’s expectation, and eventually an entire community finds itself participating in a competition that nobody openly admits to entering.
In Kashmir, weddings have traditionally represented warmth, hospitality, Wazwaan and community. These are things worth preserving.
But perhaps it is time to ask ourselves honestly:
Have we allowed the beauty of Nikah to become overshadowed by the display of wealth and social status?
And if we have, can we change the direction without abandoning the traditions we love?
I believe we can.
What happened to the simple Kashmiri wedding?
There was a time when a Kashmiri baraat was comparatively straightforward.
The groom’s party arrived.
Tash Naar was performed.
Wazwaan was served.
People ate.
Duas were made.
Congratulations were exchanged.
And people returned home.
There was warmth without excessive choreography, hospitality without endless courses and dignity without a competition of wealth.
Today, however, a wedding may involve prolonged waiting, multiple rounds of refreshments, fruit, dry fruits, snacks, elaborate hospitality and finally Wazwaan at a very late hour.
A function that could reasonably conclude in the evening may stretch towards midnight or even Fajr.
Going with a baraat in Srinagar can sometimes feel less like attending a wedding and more like signing up for a night-long endurance test.
Yet this is not an argument against weddings, Wazwaan or Kashmiri hospitality. Quite the opposite.
These traditions are beautiful.
The question is whether we can preserve their beauty while removing the unnecessary burden that has accumulated around them.
Tradition should enrich our lives, not exhaust them.
Our culture is not the problem
We must be careful not to blame Kashmiri culture for every excess associated with modern weddings.
There is nothing inherently wrong with Wazwaan.
There is nothing wrong with welcoming guests generously.
There is nothing wrong with beautiful clothes, family gatherings, Tash Naar, Mehendi or celebrating the happiness of a newly married couple.
These are cherished parts of our social heritage.
The problem begins when hospitality becomes competition, generosity becomes display and tradition becomes a financial burden.
We do not need to abandon our culture.
We need to protect its beauty from unnecessary excess.
Our objective should therefore not be to make Kashmiri weddings joyless or minimalistic. It should be to make them meaningful, dignified, affordable, timely and responsible.
There is a difference between simplicity and deprivation.
A modest wedding can still be warm.
A reasonably sized Wazwaan can still be generous.
A simple gift can still be thoughtful.
A function that ends on time can still be memorable.
And a wedding without unnecessary display can still be full of happiness.
Islam does not ask us to stop celebrating
For Muslims, this discussion also has a religious dimension.
Islam does not prohibit happiness. It does not prohibit hospitality or a beautiful Walimah. Marriage is an occasion of joy and gratitude.
But Islam also teaches moderation and warns against Israf—extravagance and waste.
The Qur’an reminds us: “Eat and drink, but do not waste. Indeed, He does not like those who waste.” (Qur’an 7:31)
It further cautions: “Indeed, the wasteful are brothers of the devils.” (Qur’an 17:27)
And Allah describes the balanced believers as those:
“Who, when they spend, are neither extravagant nor miserly, but follow a middle course.” (Qur’an 25:67)
The principle is beautifully balanced:
Not miserliness.
Not extravagance.
But moderation.
Islam does not ask us to stop celebrating. It asks us to celebrate responsibly.
A wedding should therefore reflect happiness without becoming a display of financial superiority.
The blessing of marriage is not measured by its cost
A well-known narration attributed to Hazrat Aisha (RA) conveys the principle that a marriage associated with greater blessing is one involving less unnecessary expense.
The wisdom behind this is worth reflecting upon.
Barakah cannot simply be purchased with money.
A wedding costing lakhs or even crores cannot guarantee a successful marriage. Nor should a simple Nikah ever be considered inferior because it lacks expensive decorations, elaborate presentations or an oversized menu.
The real success of a marriage is not visible on the wedding night.
It becomes visible years later.
Will the couple live with mutual respect?
Will they support one another?
Will they manage their finances responsibly?
Will they care for their parents?
Will they raise their children with good values?
Will their home have peace?
These are the things that ultimately matter.
A wedding lasts a few hours. Marriage is supposed to last a lifetime.
Perhaps, therefore, we should spend more time preparing young people for marriage than preparing society to admire the wedding.
The real cost of extravagance
The consequences of excessive weddings do not end when the guests leave.
They can continue for months and sometimes years.
Debt can become the first guest in the new home.
Some families exhaust their savings or borrow money to conduct a wedding according to social expectations.
The young couple may then begin married life under financial pressure.
There is an unfortunate irony here: a wedding is organised to celebrate the beginning of a new life, yet debt may become one of the first things to enter that life.
One evening of social approval should never become years of financial anxiety.
If a family genuinely has the means to celebrate generously, that is its personal choice. But nobody should feel compelled to spend beyond their capacity simply because they fear social judgment.
Expensive customs can make marriage difficult
When society establishes an expensive wedding as the “normal” standard, ordinary families begin to feel inadequate.
Parents worry about what people will say.
Young people worry about whether their families can afford the expectations.
In some cases, unnecessary social demands can contribute to delaying marriage.
Marriage should not become a financial luxury.
If our customs make marriage unnecessarily difficult for middle-class and economically weaker families, then those customs deserve reconsideration.
Food is a blessing, not a display
Perhaps the most uncomfortable issue is food waste.
We take pride in abundance, but how much of that abundance is actually consumed?
How much remains untouched?
How much is partially eaten?
How much eventually goes into the garbage?
Before Wazwaan, guests may be offered juice, fruit, dry fruits, bakery items, snacks and other refreshments. By the time the main meal arrives, many people are already full.
The answer is not to stop feeding guests.
The answer is to serve thoughtfully rather than excessively.
Rizq is a blessing. It deserves respect.
We should prepare according to realistic requirements, serve generously but sensibly, and explore responsible ways of distributing safe surplus food wherever practical.
A little planning can reduce considerable waste.
The money we save can create something lasting
Every rupee spent unnecessarily has an opportunity cost.
Money used for excessive decoration could contribute towards a student’s education.
Money saved from unnecessary food could help someone facing medical expenses.
Money spent on elaborate packaging could support a struggling family.
Money saved from an unnecessarily expensive function could help the newly married couple establish their home, start a small business or build some financial security.
A portion could support an orphan, a widow, a needy relative, a poor student or a family struggling through winter.
This does not mean every wedding must become a charity event.
It simply means we should ask ourselves a more meaningful question:
“Could some of what we spend for one evening create something useful for many years?”
That question can transform our understanding of celebration.
A returning Kashmiri’s mirror
Sometimes, it takes someone who has been away from home for a while to notice changes that those of us living within a culture gradually stop seeing.
A Kashmiri woman living abroad recently returned to the Valley after a long gap and spent several days attending a close family wedding.
Her experience is revealing not because she rejected Kashmiri hospitality, Wazwaan or family celebrations, but precisely because she appreciated them.
She spoke warmly about reconnecting with family, cousins and children and about the affection and happiness surrounding the occasion.
Yet she was also struck by the scale of contemporary wedding consumption: elaborate Mehendi gatherings, repeated servings of Kehwa, Kulcha and Shirmal before Wazwaan, overflowing Tramis, multiple varieties of food, gift bags filled with edibles, rooms stacked with bakery items and dry fruits, elaborate Tchot and even garlands of currency notes.
What seemed to trouble her most was not celebration itself, but the justification behind some of it:
“People will taunt us if we don’t do it.”
That sentence perhaps captures the psychology of the entire problem.
One family does something because another family did it. Another repeats it because people may compare. Eventually, everyone participates in a competition that few actually wanted.
The familiar Kashmiri sentiment— “Yiti chhu pyawaan karun, naeteh karan lukh kathe”— keeps the cycle alive.
Her observations also raise questions about guest lists, elaborate invitations, gifts, food wastage and disregard for time.
Yet importantly, she does not reject Kashmiri culture.
She loves Wazwaan.
She values family gatherings.
She appreciates Kashmiri warmth.
Her concern is with the point where celebration crosses into over-indulgence, competition and waste.
And perhaps that is precisely the question we need to ask:
Are we preserving our traditions—or merely preserving the fear of what people will say?
Perhaps those who return after living elsewhere can sometimes see changes that we have become too accustomed to notice.
Simplicity is not poverty
Perhaps one of the most important social changes we need is to stop equating simplicity with inability.
A simple wedding does not necessarily mean that a family could not afford a grand one.
It may mean that the family chose wisdom over pressure, responsibility over display, future security over one night’s applause.
There is dignity in that choice.
A simple wedding can still have: Nikah, Dua, Hospitality, Wazwaan, Family, Happiness, Respect.
What more is truly required?
The question we must ask
Perhaps the real issue is not whether Kashmiri weddings should become smaller.
It is whether they should become wiser.
We should not be ashamed of celebration. We should be ashamed only when celebration becomes a reason for unnecessary debt, waste, humiliation or competition.
The real cultural challenge before us is therefore not to abolish our traditions but to ask whether we are still serving the traditions—or whether the traditions have begun serving our obsession with appearances.
A wedding should unite families, not rank them.
It should create memories, not financial burdens.
It should express gratitude, not superiority.
It should bring people together, not make ordinary families feel inadequate.
And perhaps most importantly, it should begin a marriage with Barakah rather than burden.
The question, therefore, is not: “How grand was the wedding?”
It is: “How meaningful was it?”
And perhaps this is where the second half of the conversation must begin: what kind of wedding culture do we want to leave behind for the next generation?
(The author is career advisor & social commentator. He can be reached at [email protected])
