Samir Hamdani: “My book presents Srinagar as an extremely resilient city”

In what ways does your book differ from previously documented histories of the city?

This is not a book about Kashmir, rather it seeks to look at various aspects of urbanity that define a particular place in Kashmir: Srinagar. This is a book that tries to understand what Srinagar means to Kashmir, and how the city sees itself as the city of Kashmir, or as I write it, the only city of Kashmir.

You write about the loss of “old Srinagar” as the city has expanded into reclaimed swamps, paddy fields and gardens, creating new neighborhoods that you see as lacking identity. To what extent do you see this expansion as an inevitable consequence of urban growth and population pressure, or is it the result of poor planning and policy decisions over time?

there is one masnavi It was written in Kashmir about the devastating flood that occurred in Kashmir in 1903 – Sahlab Nama (Book of Floods)There is a line in this Masnavi, ‘Gov kouini khanbal ti khadnyar‘ (From Khanbal (South) to Khandinyar (North), it (Kashmir) became one), which mainly conveys the extent of destruction caused by the floods.

Unfortunately, given our current unabated and uncontrolled urbanization, I fear this could be our future, where the entire Kashmir from North to South will become one single continuous city. This is a frightening reality, especially for people like me who do not see cities as the only future of humanity.

Policy makers and planners are certainly guilty, but we the people living in villages, towns and cities are also guilty. As a community we have also demonstrated an incredible resilience as our land banks have been eroded, destroyed and built upon.

Is this an inevitable consequence of urban growth and population? No. Do we really need our individual homes in separate plots of land interspersed with gardens, fields and wetlands? Perhaps it is not a question of necessity. In an area where land is limited, can we continue this kind of construction? What about food, and where do you grow it? Look at Srinagar. If you ignore the mountains and the remaining water bodies, it is a huge construction site, devoid of any green space. Is this what we want for the entire valley?

You point out that Jhelum once functioned as a highway with the destination being the city, and Srinagar was surrounded by interconnected water bodies. How has the Jhelum shaped the city and how has this relationship changed in recent decades?

Except for a brief, well-maintained stretch within the Civil Lines, the banks of the Jhelum River are today a long stretch of decaying old houses. Take a boat, and almost every pier in the city is filled with silt and garbage, and life is completely missing. The river that once gave the city a reason to exist now feels like something Srinagar is ashamed of, something it would prefer to forget.

If you come across an old image of the city, read any of the over 50 travelogues written about the city, what captures your imagination is the river, and importantly life on the river. People taking morning bath on the banks of river Yarabal, people carrying food and goods on boats, people trading in their prey, all this is happening on Jhelum. From the eleventh-century Bilhana, who proudly talks about bath houses on the Jhelum, to Muhammad Salih Kambo, the official historian of Emperor Shah Jahan, everyone is celebrating the river. Shrines, temples and khanqahs open towards the river. Fateh Kadal or what we call the Third Bridge has many merchant houses, their kiosks and showrooms selling ‘Kashmir Art’. Gossip also seems to have been a particularly prevalent activity on Zaina Kadal, the first bridge built in the city. He is lost today.

You write that some historians rely too much on memory, which you separate from “real” history. Please elaborate on this and how memory-driven narratives have influenced the written history of the city.

I am not talking here about ‘historians’ whose research is based on academic rigor and evidence. This is an observation on ‘popular history’. We continue to encounter versions of history that are imaginary, based entirely on conjecture and with little or no verifiable evidence to support them. Often, to sidestep any questions, you label them ‘oral histories’, and that’s it. Just check out some popular social media pages, sometimes it seems like the more you can spice it up, the more edible it becomes for general consumption.

We need to bring academic rigor to the way we write popular history. Because ultimately popular history remains influential within the society, in any society.

The recent online conversation regarding the authenticity of Habba Khatoon’s grave at Pandrethan is a clear example of the dilemma we face. How in the twentieth century do you suddenly arrive at the decision that an unknown place on the outskirts of the city is the final resting place of Kashmir’s greatest romantic poet. Someone who died somewhere in the sixteenth century.

Such is the case with the purported tomb of Ghani Kashmiri, Kashmir’s leading poet of the 17th century, which was “discovered” on the basis of a stray, ‘oral tradition’ compiled by Munshi Muhammad Din Fauq. Fauq was a man who wrote prolifically on Kashmir in the first half of the last century, but many of his claims have faded from memory and remain unproven.

You mentioned that until the end of Muslim rule in the nineteenth century, Srinagar was known by its Persian name, Shahr-e-Kashmir. What role did Persian language and culture play in shaping the city’s Muslim identity?

What you call Persian language and culture, I would not limit it to only one particular community. Remember, the first translation of the Ramayana into Persian was done in the court of the Sultans of Kashmir in the fifteenth century, long before a similar experiment took place under the patronage of Emperor Akbar. Visit the Oriental Library in Srinagar and you will find many manuscripts of Persian poetry created by the Hindus living in the city. Sometimes, you may also find owners’ notes in the margins. If you are a connoisseur of arts and learning in, say, 19th century Srinagar, you will surely have a good understanding of the Persian language, and be rooted in the local version of Persian culture. The chronicles of the two oldest temples built in Srinagar after the Sikh conquest of Kashmir are in Persian, and they still exist.

Even the early Dogra rulers, Maharaja Gulab Singh and Ranbir Singh both patronized poets writing in Persian. During my research, I came across an invitation card written on the wedding of Raja Hari Singh (the future Maharaja Hari Singh) – it was in Persian.

And then, even today, if you participate in Mehfil-Malood In a Sufi shrine, in a khanqah or even at one’s home, apart from the prayers in Arabic, most of the recitation is in Persian. Poems of masters like Maulana Jami, Amir Khusru and then our own native poets who wrote in Persian like Khwaja Habib-al-Lah Nausheri. Architecturally, the city’s largest monument, the Jamia Masjid is a prime example of the synthesis of Persian and Kashmiri architectural traditions. This can also be seen at some other sites, about which I have mentioned in my previous book on architecture.

Do you believe that the popular history of Srinagar, and Kashmir at large, should be part of the school curriculum in Jammu and Kashmir?

Unlike those years when I was growing up, today’s youth, I would say, especially those in their late teens and early twenties, show remarkable interest in history. However, much of this curiosity is either a nostalgic venture into an imagined past or is shaped by political readings, selectively enhanced or distorted through social-media debates. In an era when even governments actively promote a particular ‘view of the past’, or rather selective versions of history, accessible and researched popular histories have become indispensable. That’s what I think. Books that are based on evidence and speak to a broad readership are not only desirable; They are a social necessity.

Now talking about school curriculum, should this be done? Yes. Would such a venture make a difference? Yes. Can this be done? Honestly, given the way history courses have been redesigned from school to undergraduate level, I believe this is an almost impossible task. And what is difficult in the rest of the country seems impossible here. But then again, let’s hope.

Majid Maqbool is a freelance journalist based in Kashmir.