Nazir Jahangir
Last week marked the first snowfall of this winter season in Kashmir. In my childhood, the first snowfall was a moment of sheer joy and excitement. The snow would fall generously, blanketing the surroundings, and we would revel in its beauty with great fervor, warmth, and enthusiasm. For children, it was a delightful source of amusement, while even the young adults—and occasionally the elders—would congratulate one another on this cherished occasion.
However, times have changed. That vibrant culture has faded; the warmth in hearts has dimmed, and the loving, fond emotions that once brought people together seem to have nearly vanished.
In the past, it was a cultural tradition in Kashmir to exchange congratulations on the season’s first snow. People also indulged in a playful custom: gifting a piece of snow to loved ones or friends in a camouflaged manner. It would be hidden in wrapped paper or a covered bowl, and the recipient would often unknowingly accept it. The moment they realized it was snow, the giver would exclaim, “Sheena Shart” (a playful snow wager).
As part of the tradition, the recipient who unknowingly accepted the snowpiece was obliged to treat the giver to a roasted chicken. In some families, this playful act almost carried a sense of obligation, as if it were a rule.
Another cultural tradition, known as “Kokar Shart” (the chicken wager), revolved around the Y-shaped bone of a chicken’s chest. This bone, resembling a slingshot (gulail), was carefully dried until it became crisp. Two participants would each grab one leg of the Y-shaped bone and pull it apart. The person who ended up with the larger piece, including the crest at the crossing point, was declared the winner, and the loser was bound to gift them a chicken.
As a child, I was always eager to obtain the “Kokar Shart” bone whenever chicken was cooked at home. I would challenge my mother, father, or even my grandfather to the game. If I lost, I had no means to fulfill the wager, but when I won, I would gleefully claim a big, hearty chicken from them.
However, as I grew older, I learned that betting—even in such seemingly innocent forms—is strictly prohibited in Islam. I abandoned these wagers altogether, distancing myself from any form of gambling. It was ironic, given that in my younger days, I was known as a master of card games and gambling, a title I now recall with mixed feelings.
It’s fascinating to reflect on how humans once found such simple, delightful ways to amuse themselves and bring joy to life. These small traditions and playful customs created moments of connection and laughter, infusing everyday life with a sense of wonder.
But now, humanity has become mechanical, detached from such joys. Times have changed so profoundly that even artificial intelligence occasionally asks me, “How are you?” It feels as though AI is gaining consciousness, while humans are losing theirs.
(Alas!)
During my childhood winter months, Mishri Makai was a common and much-loved street food in Kashmir. I remember seeing street vendors selling it everywhere in the city. People—men, women, and children—were very fond of it. These were roasted corn kernels, crispy and full of flavor. Everyone enjoyed Mishri Makai with great enthusiasm, believing it to be rich in vitamins that strengthened the body and helped maintain warmth during the cold season.
It was only in the late 1980s that junk food began making its way into Kashmir. During my childhood, the idea of junk food being a part of our lives was unimaginable.
Even today, traditional street foods like Monj Goel, Halwa Paratha, Sik Tuj, and Masala Lavasa are popular in Kashmir. However, these foods are often believed to harbor harmful bacteria. Despite this, people remain fond of them, and their demand persists across cities and towns, among men and women alike, and across all social classes—from the elite to the working class. Unfortunately, most food vendors lack knowledge of hygiene and food safety, which exposes consumers to risks of microbiological contamination. A comprehensive study on this issue revealed detailed observations and recommendations, highlighting that unsafe street foods could potentially cause severe health issues, including cancers.
Interestingly, women seem especially fond of Monj Goel and other fried street foods. Their cravings for these snacks are intense, and men, eager to please their spouses, have also developed a liking for these foods. Now, it is not uncommon to see men relishing Tele Kara, Nadir Monja, and Monj Gard.
As a child, I, too, found these street foods mouthwatering, but they often left me with abdominal pain, as they had an adverse effect on my digestive system. Eventually, I swore off junk food altogether; otherwise, my stomach would have been ruined.
The Hazratbal area has long been the most popular spot for street food in Kashmir. Over time, the number of vendors there has grown significantly, and many now sell Sik Tuj in bulk quantities.
While walking down memory lane, I also recall that… in my childhood, children, especially women, often had burn marks on their legs, specifically on their thighs. These marks were caused by the Kashmiri kangri—a traditional firepot—being pressed tightly or held too close between their thighs due to the extreme cold. This would burn the skin in that area, leaving prominent scars on the thighs, which would only heal slowly, typically during the summer months.
Time moves on, the world changes, and with it, customs and habits do not remain constant. Nevertheless, the pen has learned the art of capturing these memories, so that future generations can visualize the lives of past generations through the eyes of imagination.
The author is a noted journalist and columnist