Dr. Rizwan Rumi
In the grand narrative of progress roads are often celebrated as symbols of hope and development. They bring distant communities closer, reduce the burden of travel and provide vital access to education, healthcare and markets. In a place like Jammu and Kashmir where the terrain is both a blessing and a barrier roads carry even greater significance. They are not just paths carved through mountains—they are lifelines that cut through time and isolation, threading together lives that were once left waiting on the margins.
Over the past few years the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir has witnessed an infrastructural transformation. From remote hamlets tucked between high ridges to towns awakening to tourism the need for better roads has never been more urgent. Roads are undeniably important. They are arteries of growth especially in areas where a single stretch of tarmac can reduce hours of walking or bridge decades of neglect. The vision of enhanced connectivity across the region is both timely and necessary. Yet as roads stretch across valleys and ridgelines they sometimes find themselves confronting something more deeply rooted than stone—the soil of Kashmir itself.
Kashmir is not just a geographical space—it is a living landscape rich in life, memory and nourishment. Its fertile lands are not vacant terrains waiting to be built over. They are the homes of centuries-old orchards fields of golden rice and the vibrant beds of saffron whose fragrance has traveled far beyond the Himalayas. Nearly seventy-five percent of India’s apple production comes from this region supporting the livelihood of more than three and a half million people directly or indirectly. Every apple tree standing in an orchard is not just a source of fruit—it is a source of life, labor and legacy. Every patch of saffron crocus that blooms across Pampore speaks of skill that transcends generations.
It is these lands—soaked in toil and blessed with bounty—that sometimes stand in the path of construction. In various parts of Kashmir the widening of roads or laying of new highways has led to the felling of apple, walnut and almond trees. While compensation is offered and alternatives are explored the truth remains that a fruit-bearing tree takes years to mature and generations to nurture. A walnut tree for instance takes almost a decade to yield in full. Once cut it is not just the fruit that is lost but the shade, the scent, the soil’s bond and the stories etched in its bark.
Moreover the ecological sensitivity of Kashmir is unique. Its mountainous slopes, glacial streams and densely forested ridges are not just picturesque—they are precarious. The Himalayan terrain is young and fragile. Cutting into hills for road construction without due care can accelerate erosion, trigger landslides and disturb natural water flows. Forests that are cleared for alignments do not just vanish from the map—they vanish from the lives of local birds, wild animals and even the bees that pollinate the orchards below. Nature in Kashmir works as a system—touch one part and the whole structure feels the tremor.
This is why development in Kashmir must walk with a wise foot. The government’s efforts to expand road networks are commendable and essential—particularly for border security, trade, tourism and access to education and health. However as we build let us also pause to listen to the land. With a little more planning and a little more patience the damage to orchards and farms can be minimized. Route alignments can avoid cutting through the heart of farmland by tracing along existing village paths or pasturelands. In some districts farmers have suggested alternative alignments which have saved hundreds of trees without delaying the projects. These are examples of participatory planning where the road does not override the farmer’s voice but walks alongside it.
There are also engineering solutions that are promising. Building retaining walls that reduce slope erosion, planting green buffers along road edges and restoring nearby forest patches as ecological compensation are some of the ways to make infrastructure more harmonious with nature. Modern technology including GIS mapping and drone surveys can help planners identify the least disruptive routes and evaluate long-term environmental impacts before construction begins. Such methods are not just smarter—they are safer and more sustainable in the long run.
Kashmir has always been a land of balance—between mountain and meadow, between mysticism and materialism. As we modernize we must not abandon that balance. True progress lies not in replacing orchards with roads but in ensuring they grow together. A well-built road can in fact support horticulture by connecting farmers to distant mandis, allowing quicker transport to cold storages and attracting tourists who want to walk among blossoms in bloom. But this is only possible when the road respects the rhythm of the land.
Imagine a road that curves gently around a hundred-year-old apple tree rather than chopping it down. Imagine an engineer pausing to ask a village elder which patch floods first during spring rains. Imagine a road that does not silence the land but listens to it. That is the kind of development Kashmir deserves—the kind that builds not just structures but trust.
As Kashmir moves forward let it do so with grace. Let its roads be laid not in haste but in harmony. Let every milestone remind us that our progress is only meaningful when it preserves what is already priceless. Because in the end development should not be a choice between roads and orchards. It should be a celebration of both—each enriching the other and together enriching the soul of Kashmir.
The author can be reached at rizwanroomi2012@gmail.com
