The Fading Green of the Valley

On World Environment Day, I’m writing from a place that once felt eternal. Now the trees are thinner, the air is heavier, and the lake is dying.

- Nawaz Manzoor

I come from Kashmir. A place people write poems about, where every season once had its own colour and sound. The kind of place that seemed untouched, eternal. But nothing is untouched anymore.

When I was younger, I believed our mountains could not be moved. That the forests would always breathe beside us. That Dal Lake would always reflect the sky cleanly, gently.

Today, I know better. On this World Environment Day, I'm not writing to describe beauty. I'm writing to tell you it's slipping away.

Kashmir has always held more than just postcard views. Our forests still cover a fifth of our land. Our lakes feed our lives. Our mountains hide the last of the Hangul, our own endangered deer. The snow leopard walks silently somewhere up there.

But every year, these places grow more silent. Fewer birds. Fewer bees. Fewer trees.

Our own hands are doing the damage. We cut forests to build roads that crack within months. We mine hillsides, quarry riverbeds, and call it progress.

I've watched soil turn loose, slide down slopes in the rains. I've seen streams that once ran cold and fast now filled with silt and plastic.

Dal Lake, that gentle mirror of Srinagar, is sick. I've seen it shrink, clogged by weeds and waste. I've watched untreated sewage run into its heart. Industrial filth too. Tourists float above it in painted boats, taking selfies with the mountains, unaware that the lake they float on is choking beneath them.