In the shade of Chinars and under the vast silence of Himalayan skies, Kashmir has always carried burdens far heavier than the weight of snow that cloaks its mountains. These burdens were not just political or territorial they were deeply emotional, historical, and generational. For decades, the ordinary Kashmiri bore the weight of decisions made far away, in elite circles of politics and ideology. But five years ago, a constitutional decision altered the fabric of this region. The abrogation of Article 370 and 35A was not just a legal exercise; it was a psychological reset.
Now, five years later, the question is not what has changed in Kashmir, but rather, how does the Kashmiri perceive themselves in this new reality?
For years, the common Kashmiri was told that Article 370 was a shield a protective clause that preserved their identity, autonomy, and special privileges. In reality, it functioned more as a barrier not between Kashmir and India, but between the Kashmiri elite and the masses. It insulated a privileged class who thrived on the ambiguity and exceptionalism that Article 370 provided.
Before 2019, a single family or group could dominate land ownership, jobs, political opportunities, and discourse, while ordinary Kashmiris were reduced to passive participants often manipulated through fear, emotion, or religious fervor. Political movements became spectacles of symbolism. Slogans replaced substance. Hartals became routine. And people lost their most basic right: to dream.
Post-abrogation, this monopolistic structure began to dismantle. The entry of national laws, economic policies, and constitutional equality created a new political and social grammar. Panchayati Raj was implemented in full force for the first time. Over 33,000 panchayat representatives were elected — many from backgrounds that would have been excluded under the earlier system. This decentralization of power has made governance more reachable, though challenges remain. Yet, for the common Kashmiri, the difference is perceptible. Politics is no longer a hereditary privilege — it’s an option.
Fear was once a currency that circulated freely in Kashmir. The uncertainty of tomorrow, the threats of shutdowns, the paranoia of raids — all were woven into daily life. There was always something one couldn’t say, someplace one couldn’t go, someone one couldn’t question. But in the last five years, while Kashmir still experiences sporadic violence and continues to be under a watchful security lens, the overall environment of psychological fear has receded.
Stone-pelting incidents, which were once a common occurrence, have dropped by over 90% since 2019. Militant recruitment among youth has declined significantly, and hundreds of youth who may have otherwise fallen into the trap of radicalism are now choosing sports, education, and entrepreneurship. The school calendar has normalized, tourism seasons are no longer disrupted by sudden calls for strikes, and the Valley, once paralyzed by bandhs, is now experiencing record-breaking footfall in tourism — with over 2 crore tourists visiting J\&K in 2023, a number never imagined before.
This normalization, albeit slow and uneven, is not enforced from outside; it is being owned from within. Earlier, a Kashmiri would often be asked “Are you with them or with us?” Political identity was forced into binaries. Nationalism was viewed suspiciously; dissent was often romanticized as resistance.
But after the revocation of special status, this binary has fractured. The idea that one can be proudly Kashmiri and still fully Indian is no longer taboo. There is a growing realization that constitutional integration has not erased culture instead, it has provided tools to protect it more robustly. Language promotion, cultural festivals, regional cinema, and art exhibitions all have found new platforms and state support. For once, Kashmiri culture is being celebrated not as a relic of separatism, but as a vibrant identity within the Indian mosaic.
And most importantly, people are no longer afraid to express this duality. That, in itself, is a quiet revolution. Under the previous dispensation, despite being one of the most subsidized regions in India, Jammu & Kashmir lagged behind in private investment, job creation, and industrial growth. Article 35A’s restrictions discouraged outside investment, and the lack of land rights limited entrepreneurial expansion.
Over Rs 80,000 crore worth of investments have been proposed. New industrial estates are being developed across districts. Tourism, IT parks, agro-processing units, and logistics hubs are being introduced in phases. Job opportunities are now slowly expanding beyond government employment. The common Kashmiri, for the first time, feels a sense of economic ownership. The narrative of grievance is gradually being replaced by the narrative of opportunity.
That said, challenges persist. Unemployment still hovers around 15-17%, particularly among the educated youth. But the difference now is hope. Hope that with policy support, stability, and private sector growth, these numbers will improve — not because someone promised them, but because they’re finally becoming possible. From better roads in border villages to tap water connections under the Jal Jeevan Mission, from new AIIMS campuses to Vande Bharat trains — the signs of physical transformation are hard to ignore.
In the past, many development projects were either indefinitely delayed or reduced to ribbon-cutting exercises. In the last five years, execution has picked up momentum. Nearly 100% electrification, better mobile connectivity, and direct benefit transfers have made public services more transparent and accountable. Even more importantly, people are now participating in these processes attending public hearings, filing RTIs, contesting local elections. This participatory governance model, absent for decades, is finally making its way into the Kashmiri consciousness.
The biggest transformation, however, has not been on paper. It has been in the mind of the common Kashmiri. For decades, Kashmir was projected and at times, internalized as a victim of Partition Delhi. Army everything except its own ecosystem. But in recent years, this victimhood narrative has started to collapse.
The new discourse is centred on agency not grievance. Youth are no longer willing to be symbols of unresolved conflict. They want to be contributors to nation-building, aspirants of competitive exams, creators of startups, athletes on national platforms. They still carry the pain of the past, but they are no longer imprisoned by it. While the mood may be changing, the story is far from over. Alienation hasn’t vanished completely. Security concerns still exist. And political representation at the Assembly level is still awaited.
The return of statehood, holding of free and fair elections, ensuring human rights, and safeguarding against over-militarization or bureaucratic arrogance these are crucial for sustaining the trust that is slowly being built. Equally, the people of Kashmir must continue to reclaim their narrative, resist attempts by any group internal or external to derail peace, and remain focused on the larger goal: dignity with development.
Five years is a short time in a region that has lived through centuries of upheaval. But it is long enough to sense a pattern. And in Kashmir, that pattern is becoming visible. A political decision that many feared would lead to isolation has, paradoxically, triggered inclusion. A constitutional change that was accused of cultural erosion has, in fact, catalyzed cultural expression. And a people once caged by fear are slowly discovering freedom — not the one promised in slogans, but the one felt in everyday life.
The common Kashmiri has always been resilient. What they needed was not sympathy but equal opportunity, not protectionism but partnership, not slogans but sincere governance. As the sun sets behind the Pir Panjal and lights flicker in every home, there’s a quiet realization spreading across the Valley: We are not waiting for peace anymore. We are building it one honest step at a time.
