Rameez Bhat
There was a time when the Baramulla bypass did not merely take you somewhere it made you feel something along the way. It was not just a road; it was a passage through shade, silence and subtle beauty. The towering trees that arched over it formed a natural tunnel, filtering sunlight into soft patterns that danced on the asphalt. One did not rush through it. One absorbed it. That road no longer exists. What stands in its place today is a stark reminder of how development, when stripped of sensitivity, can erase more than it builds. Under Project Beacon, the bypass has been redesigned into a rigid, standardized stretch of road functional, perhaps, but utterly devoid of character. The trees are gone. The shade is gone. The soul is gone. In their place, concrete dividers, harsh exposure and a drive that feels more like a task than an experience.
Let us be clear no one is arguing against development. Roads must improve. Traffic must be regulated. Safety cannot be compromised. But the question that must be asked and asked loudly, is this; Does development have to come at the cost of identity? Because in Baramulla, it clearly has. The introduction of the divider is being justified in the name of safety and discipline. Yet, for many drivers, the experience has become more stressful, not less. The rigid barriers restrict visibility, reduce maneuverability and create a sense of confinement that did not exist before. What was once a relaxed drive has turned into a more cautious, often frustrating journey. But the real loss is not functional it is emotional. The “tree tunnel” was not just a visual feature; it was a living symbol of harmony between infrastructure and nature. It offered shade in the summer, reduced dust, softened noise and created a microclimate that made travel humane. More than that, it gave the bypass an identity. It made it Baramulla. “I still remember the popular trees tunnel which gave the aesthetic look and we lost it too when the bypass road started,” a local resident says. That memory is not nostalgia it is testimony.
What has been lost here is not just greenery; it is a way of experiencing space. And this is where the failure lies. Because what has unfolded on the Baramulla bypass is not development it is thoughtless standardization. A one-size-fits-all approach that ignores local context, environmental value and cultural memory. It is the kind of planning that measures success in kilometers and concrete, while ignoring everything that cannot be quantified. This is not just an aesthetic issue it is an environmental one. Trees are not decorative elements. They are ecological assets. They absorb pollutants, regulate temperature and act as natural buffers against noise and dust. Removing them does not just change how a place looks it changes how it feels, how it breathes, how it lives.
In Kashmir, this loss is even more profound. Here, nature is not separate from identity it is central to it. The landscapes are not just scenic; they are emotional, historical and cultural anchors. To remove them without thought is not just poor planning it is a form of erasure. And yet, this erasure continues, often in the name of efficiency. Project Beacon has undoubtedly played a crucial role in improving connectivity across Jammu and Kashmir. Its contributions to infrastructure are significant and cannot be dismissed. But efficiency cannot become an excuse for insensitivity. Speed cannot justify disregard. And uniformity cannot replace identity.
Baramulla is not a blank canvas. It is a place with memory. The bypass was part of that memory. It was where students cycled under shade, where families took unhurried drives, where travelers paused not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It was a space that belonged to people, not just vehicles. What exists now feels alien to that memory. This is the deeper problem with how we define progress. We celebrate wider roads, smoother surfaces and structured layouts as signs of advancement. But in doing so, we ignore the intangible the things that make a place worth experiencing. Beauty, comfort, familiarity, emotional connection these do not appear in project reports, but they define how people live with infrastructure. And when they are lost, something fundamental is lost with them.
Driving along the Baramulla bypass today, one is struck not by what has been built, but by what has been removed. The road works, yes. It serves its purpose. But it no longer invites. It no longer comforts. It no longer reflects the place it belongs to. It feels like it could be anywhere and that is precisely the problem. Because roads should not erase identity. They should reflect it. What makes this situation more frustrating is that alternatives do exist. Around the world, infrastructure is increasingly being designed with ecological and aesthetic sensitivity. Tree lined medians, green corridors and context aware planning are not luxuries they are standards.
So why was Baramulla denied that vision? Why was the easier option cut, clear and concrete chosen over a more thoughtful approach? These are not rhetorical questions. They demand answers. Because what has been lost cannot simply be dismissed as collateral damage. And yet, all is not beyond repair. If there is the will, there are ways to restore at least part of what has been taken. Plantation drives along the bypass, the introduction of green medians, and efforts to reintroduce vegetation can help soften the damage. It will not bring back the original tree tunnel but it can prevent the road from becoming permanently lifeless. More importantly, it can signal a shift in thinking. Because the real issue here is not just one road it is a mindset. A mindset that sees nature as expendable. That views aesthetics as secondary. That prioritizes speed over sensitivity. Unless this changes, the story of the Baramulla bypass will repeat itself across other parts of the region. And each time, something irreplaceable will be lost.
The bypass today stands as a symbol of progress but also as a warning. A warning that development, when disconnected from its surroundings, becomes hollow. That infrastructure, when stripped of identity, becomes forgettable. That road, when they forget their roots, lose their meaning. Baramulla deserves better than that. It deserves roads that do more than function. It deserves roads that reflect its beauty, respect its history and preserve its character. It deserves planning that listens to the land, to the people, to the memory of what once was. Because in the end, a road is not just a way to reach somewhere. It is a way to belong somewhere. And the Baramulla bypass, in forgetting its past, risks losing that belonging altogether.
The author can be reached at ramizspeaks77@gmail.com
