The Train That Brought Hope
The very first train to the Kashmir Valley arrives 75 years after Self-reliance– however connection, in this land, implies more than just tracks and trains. After seventy-five years, the Kashmir Valley has actually been sewn to the rest of India by rail. For most of India, it’s a headline– sprinkled across the front page of a newspaper. For us in Jammu and Kashmir, it’s history. Not the kind etched in textbooks, but the kind performed years of waiting, and through promises of connection that took generations to keep. We are a family that has lived in Jammu and Kashmir for 5 generations– through Partition, insurgency, snowstorms, and stories that don’t constantly make the news. And while we have actually heard promises of connectivity in the past, this time felt different. For most Indians, a train is an easy thing: a mode of travel. For us, it is a metaphor for connection. Until now, Kashmir was the only area in the country not fully connected to the nationwide rail network. The final leg, a treacherous stretch between Katra and Banihal remained incomplete, despite years of ambition and billions in financial investment. And yet this June, it took place. The train arrived. It passed through the Chenab Bridge, the world’s greatest railway arch, skyrocketing taller than the Eiffel Tower. It carved almost a hundred kilometers of tunnels into the stubborn Mountain range. It lastly offered steel to a longing that had actually stayed, for years, unspoken for and soft those people who grew up with one foot in Kashmir and the other outside it, this railway is not just infrastructure. For us, this train brings more than guests. It carries possibility. It opens doors for students from Shopian to study in Pune, for backpackers from Bangalore to find Gurez, for business owners from Gurgaon to invest in Gulmarg, and for a girl from Anantnag to board a train that takes her– possibly for the very first time– to see India as hers. It shrinks the idea of distance– not simply geographical, however psychological. It also invites a deeper sort of intimacy in between individuals who have, for too long, misconstrued each other. For lots of Indians, Kashmir has actually existed as either paradise or discomfort– postcard or problem. This train, I hope, allows it to be something more: a lived place. With nuance. With normalcy. With names. But Are We Ready? Here’s the fact: Kashmir is not totally ready. The spirit is willing. The roadways are not. We are brief on skilled manpower, fighting with last-mile transportation, and doing not have scalable facilities to match the inbound need. Even today, during peak traveler season, rooms run out, roadways choke, and restaurants turn away guests. We require more than quite views. We need things to do. Cafés that remain open late. Tracks that are marked. Curated treks. Many more ski lifts. Spaces for art, music, and culture to be showcased. We do not need just step– but circulation. Of ideas. Of capital. Of people. There are deeper concerns too: Will this brand-new age of gain access to bring shared success, or will it be controlled by outdoors corporations? Will the arrival of more travelers and investors leave space for local craftsmens, creators, guides, and hoteliers? Or will the Valley be lowered to a service economy, bypassing its soul? This moment brings opportunity– but it also brings responsibility. It is tempting to see this train as a victory. A last combination. A headline-worthy turning point in a post-Article 370 India. Kashmir ought to never be minimized to a headline. Yes, this is a developmental advancement. But it is also– and maybe more significantly– an emotional gesture. If it is to prosper in the long run, it must be remembered not just as concrete and steel, however as care. To quote Prime Minister Modi: “Dilli se doori aur dil ki doori– dono kam honi chahiye.” This train may be the most actual realisation of that idea. It bridges– both literally and metaphorically– not simply Delhi and Srinagar, however years of distance. But for that bridge to hold, we should do more than travel. We need to listen. We must respect. We need to make Kashmir seem like a place that can be gone into with awe and not an agenda. For me, and for lots of like me, this moment is not about celebration. It has to do with getting– with grace– what our ancestors just dreamt of. It is about imagining a Kashmir that is linked, not conquered. Checked out, not broken. Engaged with, not exoticised. It has to do with thinking, possibly meticulously, that something irreversible has lastly arrived. The mountains, long accustomed to echoes of yearning, now bring the rhythm of arrival of travelers from around the nation. Not the rumble of war, or whispers of departure– but the peaceful certainty of return. The train has come home. And with it, a little bit of hope. The post The Train That Brought Hope appeared initially on Greater Kashmir.
