SRINAGAR: Sheikh Naseer Ahmed is getting married, yet his home looks like anyone else’s. There are no floral or light decorations, no hustle and bustle. Only close relatives are invited to the modest meal that is being prepared.
His unusually humble nuptials reflect how ordinary life is muted in Srinagar, the urban heart of Indian-controlled Kashmir, as authorities attempt to quash protests against Indian rule.
An eerie silence engulfs downtown, home to half a million people. Shortly after dawn, police and paramilitary soldiers, in full riot gear and armed with automatic rifles, swiftly occupy the roads and streets. They set up checkpoints, and lay steel barricades and razor wire at all the entry and exit points.
Like much of the rest of Kashmir, the sprawling, densely populated neighborhoods have been under curfew since July 9, a day after Indian government forces killed a popular leader of the region’s largest rebel group. Yet public defiance has persisted, sparking deadly clashes between Kashmiris and Indian government forces that left dozens dead and hundreds injured. Separatist leaders have called general strikes.
Shops are shuttered and public movement restricted. Getting food and medicine is a struggle. Dozens of feasts and celebrations have been canceled.
Ahmed’s marriage date was fixed months back, with elaborate celebration plans. He intended to have more than 500 guests fed by 20 chefs cooking more than 500 kilograms (1,100 pounds) of mutton and chicken for the multi-course Kashmiri meal known as wazwan. A principal part of Kashmiri marriage, the wazwan consists of seven to 20 dishes, and is accompanied by a religious ritual solemnizing the nuptial knot.
Those invitations, as well as mutton and chicken orders, have been canceled. The atmosphere is quite subdued. About two dozen women circled inside a hall to sing few traditional folk songs.
“How can we feast and celebrate when so many people are being killed?” Ahmed said in downtown neighborhood of Nowhatta, which houses the city’s historic main mosque of Jamia Masjid. “I’m just managing to solemnize my nuptial knot.”
At a nearby community hall, few hundred meters away from Ahmed’s modest three-story house, there are just two chefs at an open-air kitchen cooking 30 kilograms of mutton. The meal will be an ordinary, single meat dish and a vegetable.
“The entire population is undergoing a grind,” said Mohammed Munnawar, the head chef. “It feels sinful to pound and grind meat for rista,” or minced mutton balls.
“This is a peak marriage season here. But this how we’ve been doing it in these conditions,” Munnawar said.
His unusually humble nuptials reflect how ordinary life is muted in Srinagar, the urban heart of Indian-controlled Kashmir, as authorities attempt to quash protests against Indian rule.
An eerie silence engulfs downtown, home to half a million people. Shortly after dawn, police and paramilitary soldiers, in full riot gear and armed with automatic rifles, swiftly occupy the roads and streets. They set up checkpoints, and lay steel barricades and razor wire at all the entry and exit points.
Like much of the rest of Kashmir, the sprawling, densely populated neighborhoods have been under curfew since July 9, a day after Indian government forces killed a popular leader of the region’s largest rebel group. Yet public defiance has persisted, sparking deadly clashes between Kashmiris and Indian government forces that left dozens dead and hundreds injured. Separatist leaders have called general strikes.
Shops are shuttered and public movement restricted. Getting food and medicine is a struggle. Dozens of feasts and celebrations have been canceled.
Ahmed’s marriage date was fixed months back, with elaborate celebration plans. He intended to have more than 500 guests fed by 20 chefs cooking more than 500 kilograms (1,100 pounds) of mutton and chicken for the multi-course Kashmiri meal known as wazwan. A principal part of Kashmiri marriage, the wazwan consists of seven to 20 dishes, and is accompanied by a religious ritual solemnizing the nuptial knot.
Those invitations, as well as mutton and chicken orders, have been canceled. The atmosphere is quite subdued. About two dozen women circled inside a hall to sing few traditional folk songs.
“How can we feast and celebrate when so many people are being killed?” Ahmed said in downtown neighborhood of Nowhatta, which houses the city’s historic main mosque of Jamia Masjid. “I’m just managing to solemnize my nuptial knot.”
At a nearby community hall, few hundred meters away from Ahmed’s modest three-story house, there are just two chefs at an open-air kitchen cooking 30 kilograms of mutton. The meal will be an ordinary, single meat dish and a vegetable.
“The entire population is undergoing a grind,” said Mohammed Munnawar, the head chef. “It feels sinful to pound and grind meat for rista,” or minced mutton balls.
“This is a peak marriage season here. But this how we’ve been doing it in these conditions,” Munnawar said.
