Poverty does not always tread on streets sometimes, it is seated soundlessly within the four walls of homes, unseen, unnoticed and unobserved.Poverty does not always tread on streets sometimes, it is seated soundlessly within the four walls of homes, unseen, unnoticed and unobserved.
Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, dazzles with its shimmering Dal Lake, Mughal gardens, and bustling markets—a city that wears its heritage proudly. Yet, beneath this veneer of beauty, tourist buzz, hustle bustle and speedy of life, lies a quieter despair and crisis: the hidden urban poverty. It’s not the visible squalor of slums or the roadside beggar that defines this plight, but the discreet descent of once-prosperous families—merchants, artisan, landowners, traders, meager pensioners and professionals—who, due to a cascade of local upheavals and unfortunate incidents life, now teeter on the edge of ruin. Hesitant to shed their pride or reveal their fall, they navigate an improvised existence, masking their struggles in the shadow of a city that celebrates its elite. These people are well dressed, often smile and still go to bed almost hungry. These usually appear rich, are in rags and bankrupt in reality. This invisible poverty is eating out part of the community which was vibrant once, well to do, rendering noble services to community, are presently burdened to make ends meet while pretending all is well. Ironically there is no greater loneliness than suffering in silence while the community they belong assume they are fine. As Kashmir aligns with Islamic principles and resonance of Kashmiri culture and social ethos believe in charity of dignity and community support, often fail to reach out these hidden poor to whom dignity forbids to join the lines of charity drives. In this month Ramzaan and beyond, there is where our community must step in, not with fanfare but with quite resolve
From Abundance to Anonymity
Srinagar’s urban landscape has long been a tapestry of contrasts—opulent houseboats beside modest shacks, silk traders haggling near fruit vendors. Historically, its well-to-do—families tied to horticulture, handicrafts, or government service—enjoyed a stability envied across the valley. But over decades, a confluence of local storms has eroded this wealth. Take the case of the old trading clans of downtown Srinagar—once flush with profits from shawls and saffron, many saw their fortunes dwindle as conflict shuttered markets and global competition undercut their wares. The 1990s militancy drove buyers away, leaving warehouses silent and debts mounting. Land, another pillar of wealth, has betrayed its owners. Post-2019, after Article 370’s abrogation, property values in urban Srinagar fluctuated wildly—some soared, others crashed. Families who banked on ancestral plots found them unsellable or mired in legal tangles, their cash flow choked. Environmental woes pile on—floods like 2014’s submerged homes and businesses, while this year’s 80% precipitation deficit parched orchards, slashing incomes for urban-edge apple growers. Add decades of political uncertainty, curfews, and internet bans—each a blow to small enterprises—and the rich have quietly become the new poor.
The Mask of Pride
What sets this poverty apart is its invisibility. These are not the destitute sleeping under bridges, but families in crumbling heritage houses or rented rooms, clinging to faded status. A former trader in Rajouri Kadal, once a name in pashmina circles, now drives a borrowed auto-rickshaw by night—his daylight hours spent avoiding old peers. A retired bureaucrat’s widow in Karan Nagar sells heirlooms discreetly, her children tutored to dodge questions about their thrift-store clothes. Shame binds them; to admit ruin is to lose the social capital their names once carried. This hesitation breeds improvised poverty—a patchwork survival. They barter skills—tutoring, tailoring—within tight-knit circles, shunning public aid like ration cards that would mark them as “needy.” Some lean on relatives, others stretch pensions or sell gold bit by bit, all while maintaining a façade of normalcy. In a city where reputation is currency, exposure feels like exile.
A Local Reckoning
Why this fall? Beyond conflict and climate, Srinagar’s urban economy has shifted—favoring tourism and real estate barons while sidelining traditional livelihoods. The private sector, stunted by instability, offers few jobs; government posts, once a lifeline, are clogged with 32,000 vacancies as of March 2025. Urban unemployment hovers at 11.8%, per PLFS data, with youth (32% jobless) and women (53.6%) hit hardest—stats that echo in these fallen households. Corruption and nepotism further lock out the newly poor, who lack the networks to rebound. The city’s planning compounds their woes. Encroached wetlands and choked drains—once Srinagar’s sponges—amplify flood damage, while unchecked sprawl hikes living costs. For the ex-wealthy, selling assets invites predation—lowball offers from cash-rich newcomers—or legal limbo in a bureaucracy that favors the connected. Their poverty is thus both economic and structural, a local brew of loss and exclusion.
Unveiling the Hidden
This silent crisis demands light. Community networks—mosques, mohalla committees—could quietly funnel aid, bypassing stigma. Skill programs targeting urban youth, especially women, might rekindle livelihoods—think digital crafts or eco-tourism, not just shawls. Urban policy must shift—revive wetlands, cap sprawl, and ease property disputes—to stabilize the vulnerable. Above all, Srinagar needs a reckoning with its inequality; the rich-poor gap, widened by decades of upheaval, now swallows its own elite. These hidden poor are not statistics but stories—of pride, resilience, and a city’s shifting tides. To ignore them is to miss Srinagar’s pulse. Their improvised poverty, born of local scars, warns that even the well-to-do can fall—and that sustainability hinges on lifting all, not just the visible. The question lingers: will Srinagar see them before they fade entirely?
Tools of Grace
Ramzaan magnifies the pillars of charity. Zakaat, the mandatory 2.5% of wealth, purifies our earnings and lifts the downtrodden. Sadaqah, voluntary giving, reflects mercy beyond obligation. Alms, a daily act, weave compassion into our fasts. The Qur’an (2:271) urges us: “If you disclose your charitable expenditures, they are good; but if you conceal them and give them to the poor, it is better for you.” For the hidden poor, this discretion is sacred—aid that heals without wounding pride. Our Prophet (PBUH) exemplified this. He gave to the needy in secret, often under night’s cover, ensuring their honor remained intact. In Srinagar, this Sunnah calls us to act—zakaat can rebuild a trader’s stock, sadaqah can pay a child’s school fees, alms can fill a pantry—all delivered without a whisper of exposure.
A Community’s Silent Duty
How do we reach them without breaking their dignity? It begins with awareness—knowing the signs. The neighbour who skips communal congregations, iftars, the friend who sells jewelry quietly, the elder whose stories hint at strain—these are our cues. Mosques and mohalla committees, pillars of Kashmiri life, can lead. Imams can subtly identify struggling families, channeling zakaat through trusted hands—perhaps a relative or a local elder who knows their tale. No public lists, no loud announcements—just a knock at dusk with a parcel of rice, dates, or cash, wrapped in respect.
Community networks thrive in Ramzaan. Bait-ul-Maal committees, already active across Srinagar, can expand their gaze—pooling sadaqah to buy blankets or medicine, slipped into homes via children or women who guard the secret. Neighbors can share iftar platters, not as pity, but as tradition—“We made extra,” they might say, sparing any sting. Small acts—anonymously paid utility bills, a grocery bag left at a doorstep—carry the weight of Prophetic mercy.
Preserving Respect, Restoring Hope
The hidden poor dread pity more than hunger. Charity that parades their need strips their worth; help that honors their past rebuilds their future. A former merchant aided silently might restart his trade; a widow’s rent covered might free her to dream again. This isn’t just relief—it’s redemption, aligning with Ramzaan’s promise of renewal.
Yet, challenges linger. Funds must stretch—J&K’s urban poverty, worsened by 32% youth unemployment, strains resources. Trust is key; mismanaged aid could deter givers. And awareness must grow—our sermons and suhoor talks should echo this duty, urging all to look beyond the obvious.
Ramzaan’s Call to Act
Srinagar’s minarets will soon call the faithful to fast, but the truest fast is incomplete without lifting those who suffer in silence. This Ramzaan, let our zakaat seek the unseen, our Sadaqah shield the proud, our alms cradle the fallen. In every act of quiet giving, we honor Allah’s command and Kashmir’s spirit—binding a community not by wealth, but by compassion. The hidden poor are ours to find, not to expose; to help, not to humble. Will we answer?
Email:---------------------------hamwani24@gmail.co
Poverty does not always tread on streets sometimes, it is seated soundlessly within the four walls of homes, unseen, unnoticed and unobserved.Poverty does not always tread on streets sometimes, it is seated soundlessly within the four walls of homes, unseen, unnoticed and unobserved.
Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, dazzles with its shimmering Dal Lake, Mughal gardens, and bustling markets—a city that wears its heritage proudly. Yet, beneath this veneer of beauty, tourist buzz, hustle bustle and speedy of life, lies a quieter despair and crisis: the hidden urban poverty. It’s not the visible squalor of slums or the roadside beggar that defines this plight, but the discreet descent of once-prosperous families—merchants, artisan, landowners, traders, meager pensioners and professionals—who, due to a cascade of local upheavals and unfortunate incidents life, now teeter on the edge of ruin. Hesitant to shed their pride or reveal their fall, they navigate an improvised existence, masking their struggles in the shadow of a city that celebrates its elite. These people are well dressed, often smile and still go to bed almost hungry. These usually appear rich, are in rags and bankrupt in reality. This invisible poverty is eating out part of the community which was vibrant once, well to do, rendering noble services to community, are presently burdened to make ends meet while pretending all is well. Ironically there is no greater loneliness than suffering in silence while the community they belong assume they are fine. As Kashmir aligns with Islamic principles and resonance of Kashmiri culture and social ethos believe in charity of dignity and community support, often fail to reach out these hidden poor to whom dignity forbids to join the lines of charity drives. In this month Ramzaan and beyond, there is where our community must step in, not with fanfare but with quite resolve
From Abundance to Anonymity
Srinagar’s urban landscape has long been a tapestry of contrasts—opulent houseboats beside modest shacks, silk traders haggling near fruit vendors. Historically, its well-to-do—families tied to horticulture, handicrafts, or government service—enjoyed a stability envied across the valley. But over decades, a confluence of local storms has eroded this wealth. Take the case of the old trading clans of downtown Srinagar—once flush with profits from shawls and saffron, many saw their fortunes dwindle as conflict shuttered markets and global competition undercut their wares. The 1990s militancy drove buyers away, leaving warehouses silent and debts mounting. Land, another pillar of wealth, has betrayed its owners. Post-2019, after Article 370’s abrogation, property values in urban Srinagar fluctuated wildly—some soared, others crashed. Families who banked on ancestral plots found them unsellable or mired in legal tangles, their cash flow choked. Environmental woes pile on—floods like 2014’s submerged homes and businesses, while this year’s 80% precipitation deficit parched orchards, slashing incomes for urban-edge apple growers. Add decades of political uncertainty, curfews, and internet bans—each a blow to small enterprises—and the rich have quietly become the new poor.
The Mask of Pride
What sets this poverty apart is its invisibility. These are not the destitute sleeping under bridges, but families in crumbling heritage houses or rented rooms, clinging to faded status. A former trader in Rajouri Kadal, once a name in pashmina circles, now drives a borrowed auto-rickshaw by night—his daylight hours spent avoiding old peers. A retired bureaucrat’s widow in Karan Nagar sells heirlooms discreetly, her children tutored to dodge questions about their thrift-store clothes. Shame binds them; to admit ruin is to lose the social capital their names once carried. This hesitation breeds improvised poverty—a patchwork survival. They barter skills—tutoring, tailoring—within tight-knit circles, shunning public aid like ration cards that would mark them as “needy.” Some lean on relatives, others stretch pensions or sell gold bit by bit, all while maintaining a façade of normalcy. In a city where reputation is currency, exposure feels like exile.
A Local Reckoning
Why this fall? Beyond conflict and climate, Srinagar’s urban economy has shifted—favoring tourism and real estate barons while sidelining traditional livelihoods. The private sector, stunted by instability, offers few jobs; government posts, once a lifeline, are clogged with 32,000 vacancies as of March 2025. Urban unemployment hovers at 11.8%, per PLFS data, with youth (32% jobless) and women (53.6%) hit hardest—stats that echo in these fallen households. Corruption and nepotism further lock out the newly poor, who lack the networks to rebound. The city’s planning compounds their woes. Encroached wetlands and choked drains—once Srinagar’s sponges—amplify flood damage, while unchecked sprawl hikes living costs. For the ex-wealthy, selling assets invites predation—lowball offers from cash-rich newcomers—or legal limbo in a bureaucracy that favors the connected. Their poverty is thus both economic and structural, a local brew of loss and exclusion.
Unveiling the Hidden
This silent crisis demands light. Community networks—mosques, mohalla committees—could quietly funnel aid, bypassing stigma. Skill programs targeting urban youth, especially women, might rekindle livelihoods—think digital crafts or eco-tourism, not just shawls. Urban policy must shift—revive wetlands, cap sprawl, and ease property disputes—to stabilize the vulnerable. Above all, Srinagar needs a reckoning with its inequality; the rich-poor gap, widened by decades of upheaval, now swallows its own elite. These hidden poor are not statistics but stories—of pride, resilience, and a city’s shifting tides. To ignore them is to miss Srinagar’s pulse. Their improvised poverty, born of local scars, warns that even the well-to-do can fall—and that sustainability hinges on lifting all, not just the visible. The question lingers: will Srinagar see them before they fade entirely?
Tools of Grace
Ramzaan magnifies the pillars of charity. Zakaat, the mandatory 2.5% of wealth, purifies our earnings and lifts the downtrodden. Sadaqah, voluntary giving, reflects mercy beyond obligation. Alms, a daily act, weave compassion into our fasts. The Qur’an (2:271) urges us: “If you disclose your charitable expenditures, they are good; but if you conceal them and give them to the poor, it is better for you.” For the hidden poor, this discretion is sacred—aid that heals without wounding pride. Our Prophet (PBUH) exemplified this. He gave to the needy in secret, often under night’s cover, ensuring their honor remained intact. In Srinagar, this Sunnah calls us to act—zakaat can rebuild a trader’s stock, sadaqah can pay a child’s school fees, alms can fill a pantry—all delivered without a whisper of exposure.
A Community’s Silent Duty
How do we reach them without breaking their dignity? It begins with awareness—knowing the signs. The neighbour who skips communal congregations, iftars, the friend who sells jewelry quietly, the elder whose stories hint at strain—these are our cues. Mosques and mohalla committees, pillars of Kashmiri life, can lead. Imams can subtly identify struggling families, channeling zakaat through trusted hands—perhaps a relative or a local elder who knows their tale. No public lists, no loud announcements—just a knock at dusk with a parcel of rice, dates, or cash, wrapped in respect.
Community networks thrive in Ramzaan. Bait-ul-Maal committees, already active across Srinagar, can expand their gaze—pooling sadaqah to buy blankets or medicine, slipped into homes via children or women who guard the secret. Neighbors can share iftar platters, not as pity, but as tradition—“We made extra,” they might say, sparing any sting. Small acts—anonymously paid utility bills, a grocery bag left at a doorstep—carry the weight of Prophetic mercy.
Preserving Respect, Restoring Hope
The hidden poor dread pity more than hunger. Charity that parades their need strips their worth; help that honors their past rebuilds their future. A former merchant aided silently might restart his trade; a widow’s rent covered might free her to dream again. This isn’t just relief—it’s redemption, aligning with Ramzaan’s promise of renewal.
Yet, challenges linger. Funds must stretch—J&K’s urban poverty, worsened by 32% youth unemployment, strains resources. Trust is key; mismanaged aid could deter givers. And awareness must grow—our sermons and suhoor talks should echo this duty, urging all to look beyond the obvious.
Ramzaan’s Call to Act
Srinagar’s minarets will soon call the faithful to fast, but the truest fast is incomplete without lifting those who suffer in silence. This Ramzaan, let our zakaat seek the unseen, our Sadaqah shield the proud, our alms cradle the fallen. In every act of quiet giving, we honor Allah’s command and Kashmir’s spirit—binding a community not by wealth, but by compassion. The hidden poor are ours to find, not to expose; to help, not to humble. Will we answer?
Email:---------------------------hamwani24@gmail.co
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