I grew up hearing stories of our great-grandfathers, the Kalakars whose hands turned wood into poetry. Their carvings adorned homes across Srinagar, each piece a testament to patience and passion. Today, those stories feel like relics.

The workshops of Kashmir, once alive with the hum of chisels and the scent of cedar, are quiet. Our youth scroll through feeds while the tools of our ancestors gather dust. How did we drift so far from the Mazdoor’s grit, the Karigar’s ingenuity, and the Kalakar’s fire?

The Mazdoor is the backbone of Kashmiri craft. Picture a man hauling timber through narrow alleys, his shoulders broad from years of labor. He doesn’t just carry wood; he lays the foundation for artistry. Without his sweat, there’s no canvas for creation. Yet, we rarely celebrate him. His work is seen as grunt labor, not the bedrock of culture.

I’ve met Mazdoors who take pride in their calluses, but their children dream of desk jobs, not the dignity of manual work. We’ve taught them to look away from the very hands that built our heritage.

Then comes the Karigar, the artisan who blends tradition with invention. I once watched a Karigar in a cramped shop weave a rug so intricate it seemed to tell a story. He spoke of learning from his father but also experimenting with new patterns to........

© Kashmir Observer