Shifting Srinagar

The steady pull toward the summer capital is reshaping the heritage city and leaving silent spaces behind in Kashmiri villages.

- Uzma Qadir Mir

Cities are living things. They grow, but they also groan. They carry not just buildings and roads, but the weight of people's hopes, the pace of their mornings, and the silent strain of everything a city is asked to hold.

Srinagar, Kashmir's summer capital, is changing in ways that are easy to see but harder to fully feel.

New neighbourhoods rise. Old lanes grow tighter. Roads that once held morning cyclists now hold long rows of cars. There are more shops, more people, more houses, and yet, somehow, less space.

For years, Srinagar was a place people visited for a season or a purpose. It offered hospitals, schools, coaching centres, government offices, and a handful of jobs that villages and smaller towns could not easily provide. It was never a place most people thought of as their final home. It was a stop, not a destination.

But that story is slowly slipping away. Srinagar is no longer just the city where people pass through. It has quietly become the city where they stay. The pattern has shifted from temporary movement to permanent settlement, and with it, the city's rhythm has changed.

Some of this shift is understandable. Villages, though they have made progress, still struggle with gaps that push people out. Roads may exist but crumble. Health centers stand but have no doctors. Electricity may arrive but rarely stays. Mobile networks flicker, and schools do not always hold the teachers they need.

For many, Srinagar seems safer, more certain, more complete.