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On many mornings in Kashmir, the first real sign of life is the local market. Metal shutters rise, tea stalls steam, milk cans rattle on the back of shared taxis. In one such market in the Valley, surrounded by orchards and small villages, these sounds almost disappeared in 2019.
This piece looks at how a local Kashmiri market changed during unrest and then in the years after the abrogation of Article 370 in August 2019. By unrest, we mean long spells of protests, security operations, and shutdowns that disrupt daily life. By abrogation, we mean the central government’s move to end Jammu and Kashmir’s special constitutional status, and turn it into a Union Territory.
Here, the focus stays close to the ground: daily routines, trade, and the mood among villagers and small shopkeepers.
From silence to slow movement: How one Kashmiri market lived through unrest: Picture a modest bazaar at a road crossing in central Kashmir. There is a line of small shops, a pharmacy, a bakery, a few hardware stores, and vegetable carts that roll in from nearby villages. Before 2019, it opened early, stayed lively till late evening, and worked as both a trading point and a social space.
After August 2019, that rhythm broke. Curfews, checkpoints, and a near-total phone and internet shutdown turned the market into a row of closed shutters. Only security vehicles and the occasional ambulance moved. The local bus stand filled with parked buses that had nowhere to go. Even the usual quarrels over parking vanished.
In the first weeks, people stepped out only for urgent needs. Many families relied on stored rice, pulses, and whatever vegetables they could grow at home. Shopkeepers watched key business months slip away: the tourist season, the apple harvest, the wedding rush. Parents worried about school days lost for their children and delayed visits to hospitals in the town. The market survived, but only as a quiet corridor of metal and dust.
Shuttered shops, empty streets, and lost seasons of trade: Those early months after abrogation hit every link in the local economy. Daily wage workers who unloaded trucks or worked in small repair shops lost cash income. Farmers who brought apples or vegetables to the bazaar could not always find transport or buyers. Some produce spoiled in storage or sold at low prices to whoever could pay in cash.
Curfews and movement rules meant that even when a few shops opened for a short time, customers hesitated to travel far. A person needing medicine might have to wait for a relative with a valid pass, or hope that a nearby chemist had stock. Small traders who depended on credit could not clear earlier dues, which made it harder to restock.
Key earning seasons faded. Tourist-linked orders for dry fruits, shawls, and snacks collapsed. Tailors missed the wedding rush. Parents postponed buying uniforms and books because schools were shut or uncertain. Every lost season meant less money for fees, fuel, and health costs.
When restrictions slowly eased, the market did not spring back at once. It tiptoed. Shops opened for fewer hours, often during fixed time slots agreed with local officials. Traders chose to focus on essentials: rice and flour at the ration shop, vegetables and milk from nearby villages, and basic medicines.
People planned visits carefully. A family would make a list of needs, then pick a relative who felt confident about crossing checkpoints and dealing with questions. With phones often unreliable, many made backup plans. It was common to hear, “If I do not return by noon, go to your uncle’s house.”
Local administration and traders’ groups worked together to keep supply trucks moving from bigger towns. Wholesale goods sometimes arrived late or in smaller quantities, but they arrived. Quiet bargaining replaced loud haggling. Customers asked for credit, and shopkeepers gave it when they could, knowing that everyone shared the same strain.
Even after markets reopened more regularly, the mood stayed different. People spoke in lower voices, watched for signs of tension, and checked news before planning trips. The bazaar, once a place to meet friends, discuss politics, and hear jokes, turned into a location where many did their work and went home.
Older residents remembered earlier periods with more relaxed evenings, cricket matches near the bus stand, and long chats outside tea stalls. Younger people, in contrast, had grown used to sudden calls to “shut shop” and to bags being checked without warning. Trust took a quieter form: short talks with known faces, quick updates about routes to avoid, and shared news about who needed help.
The market was open, but it was still cautious.
Ground level changes after abrogation: What villagers and traders see now
As years passed after 2019, many parts of the Valley saw longer spells of calm. Policy changes, new projects, and a rise in visitors reshaped daily trade in slow but clear ways. The same market that once waited through silence now deals with new roads, more stable power, more tourists in some seasons, and fresh kinds of small businesses.
Better road links made one of the most visible changes. Travel time from villages to the market dropped. A farmer with milk cans or crates of vegetables could reach the bazaar earlier, sell fresh stock, and return home the same day. Fruit from orchards reached district-level mandis more safely, which improved chances of a fair price.
Longer and more reliable electricity helped shopkeepers stay open into the evening, especially in winter. Tailors and mobile repair workers could rely on machines and charging points without running small generators for hours. Refrigerators in meat shops and small eateries cut waste.
Just as important, many traders say that there are fewer sudden shutdowns in several areas. Markets still close during tense events, but regular days feel more predictable. With that, shopkeepers plan stock better, and farmers plan when to send produce.
From 2021 onward, tourist numbers rose sharply in many parts of Kashmir. Markets linked to famous sites, lakes, and meadows saw clear gains. Handicraft sellers reported more orders for shawls and carpets. Tea stalls near roadsides filled with guests from other states. Taxi drivers and pony owners found work for more months each year.
In our sample market, traders who supply goods to nearby guesthouses and taxi stands felt the difference. Summer months brought higher sales of snacks, bottled water, and simple woolens. Some families opened homestays, adding to local demand for building materials and groceries.
Yet, not every village shared this rise. Places far from tourist routes still rely on local buying power. There, traders watch television reports of record arrivals but focus on the same regular customers. Even in busier pockets, many keep one eye on news, worried that a single violent incident could send tourists away and leave shelves overstocked.
Another change shows up at cash counters. More traders now keep QR codes by the register. A vegetable seller may still accept cash but also takes phone payments from nearby college students or office workers. Pharmacies, hardware shops, and even tea stalls use simple apps for small amounts.
New bank branches and mobile banking vans reached some rural pockets, which helped people open accounts, get ATM cards, and receive money from government schemes directly. Women’s self-help groups used these channels to save together and to receive small loans.
These groups sell pickles, bakery items, handicrafts, or woven products at weekly haats and district fairs. For some, digital tools opened access to buyers in bigger towns. Others still face weak networks or feel unsure about phone-based systems, so they use them slowly and with help from younger relatives.
. For many young people, the period after abrogation brought both worry and new ideas. Government schemes and skill programs offered small loans or support to start businesses. In our market, this shows up in the form of mobile repair counters, small cafés with Wi-Fi, photocopy and print shops, and home-delivery services using bikes.
In nearby villages, a few youth groups rented cold-storage space to hold apples and vegetables for off-season sales. Others opened small units to sort and pack walnuts, spices, or dried fruits for online or wholesale buyers. These ventures add fresh life to old markets and give some young people an option other than migration or only seeking government jobs.
Not every effort works. Some shut down due to high rent, debt, or weak demand. Access to training, patient credit, and a long run of peace still decide who survives.
Progress on the ground feels real in many ways, yet fragile. The same market that now sees tourists pass by and QR codes at cash counters still lives with old habits of fear and sudden pause.
Markets still close when fear returns
Even today, a fresh militant attack, a tense political announcement, or a rumor of trouble can close shops within minutes. Transport slows, parents rush to bring children home, and traders worry about goods stuck on the road.
For families, this uncertainty affects big and small plans. Weddings may be scaled down or shifted. Parents delay paying school fees until they are sure salaries or daily wages will continue. Shopkeepers think twice before taking bank loans for expansion. Economic recovery needs not just projects, but a feeling that tomorrow will look like today.
Official surveys speak of higher tourist arrivals, new roads, more power projects, and greater public spending. On paper, numbers show growth in businesses and construction. On the street, the picture is more mixed.
Traders near city centers, highways, or famous spots often gain more. Remote markets still struggle with poor health services, weak internet, or low crop prices. Some self-help groups find good buyers. Others sit with unsold stock after fairs end. Many young entrepreneurs praise new schemes, but also point to slow paperwork or lack of follow-up support.
The story on the ground is neither simple success nor total failure. It is a patchwork.
A market as a mirror of Kashmir
Stand in that small Kashmiri market today and you see both memory and motion. People remember years of unrest, violence, and long closures. At the same time, they now talk about better roads, longer power supply, tourists, and phone payments at tiny stalls. The bazaar carries wounds, but it also carries routine.
Ground level changes after abrogation show up in small details: more stable hours in many places, clearer links between villages and towns, new roles for women and youth, and still-uneven gains. The recovery is real yet fragile, local yet tied to big decisions far away. To shape fair policy, listening to traders, farmers, women, and young people in these markets is as important as any official report, because their daily stories tell us how change actually feels.
Writer can be reached at mdbhat@gmail.com
