By Dr. Waseem Ahmad

At a recent wedding in Pampore, a waiter ladled golden saffron gravy over rice and crimson meat. Guests picked up the food with practiced ease, their fingers stained the bright yellow of tradition and celebration.

For a few hours, saffron, the spice of prosperity, purity, and joy, ruled the table. Outside the marquee, however, in the very soil that produces this treasure, saffron is slipping through our fingers.

Kashmir has long been India’s saffron paradise, second only to Iran and Afghanistan on the world stage.

Pampore, known as the golden city of saffron, has nurtured the delicate crocus sativus flower for centuries.

Each autumn, fields should erupt in a sea of purple petals, and from each flower, three fragile red stigmas are plucked by hand. This ritual is painstaking and sacred.

For generations, the harvest has been a rhythm tied to land, climate, and human care.

But today, that rhythm is faltering.

Saffron requires something Kashmir can no longer reliably offer: predictability.

The crocus needs a long, cold winter, at least 1,100 hours below freezing, and a dry spring, besides well-timed August rains.

But now, winters have grown warmer. Springs bring unexpected storms, and May hail........

© Kashmir Observer