August 22, 2025

Ties That Bind: The Unbroken Chain of Tradition

In a modest house nestled in the leafy suburbs of London, delicate paper mâché ornaments dominate the floating shelves, while crewel work curtains filter soft daylight into the cosy living room. Silk cushions and beautifully woven Kashmiri rugs, rich in intricate patterns, bring warmth and colour to every corner. The kitchen adjacent is alive with inviting aromas: the comforting scent of leder chaman (cottage cheese in a vibrant yellow sauce) mingling with the earthy spice of dumaloo, a beloved dish of Kashmiri-style potatoes simmering gently on the stove.

This is where Pratiksha moves about her day. Each detail in her home, from interior design choices to the food cooked in her kitchen, creates a bridge to memories and traditions that refuse to be forgotten. Outside, England’s countryside stretches green and serene, yet inside, every small detail in her home is a living reminder of her roots and its rich heritage.

In homes like Pratiksha’s, memory is woven into every day. The rituals of preparing family favourites, teaching the words of a cherished song, or sitting together on beautifully adorned rugs are more than daily habits; they are heirlooms of belonging, binding generations across continents.

For many of us living away from home, tradition is an anchor. It steadies us in unfamiliar worlds and draws us back to our roots. In my own experience, I am always struck by the quiet strength of Kashmiri women; our mothers, sisters, aunts, who so often bear the weight of preserving our shared culture and identity. Men do their fair bit too.

I think back to my mother preparing for our cherished festivals especially after the exodus, never letting disruptions get in the way. In our home, we made light of the difficulties my mother had to overcome. Whenever there was a puja or a celebration with guests expected for a meal, our water supply would suddenly vanish. For someone unfamiliar to the Kashmiri pandit tradition, this might seem trivial. But to her, preparing Sahdarwar food was the foundation of these rituals. Still, she persisted, ensuring every tradition continued, regardless of obstacles. This, I now see, was a quiet form of resistance, a promise that nothing would get in the way of who we are.

Of course, she is not alone. Women like her have always led the charge, going beyond their own families to unite communities, revive our script, teach Kashmiri to the young, organise feasts and keep our music alive.

A dear friend once shared “When we moved to the UK, what I missed most was connection. It was the women who insisted on keeping our festivals alive, gathering us for every festival—reminding our children, of where they come from.”

I see this everywhere: WhatsApp groups springing up to exchange much-cherished recipes, friends swapping stories of mothers and grandmothers, sharing details of where to buy the crunchiest nadrus or flavourful badiyaan (fennel powder).

As Aparna (name changed) reminds me, “We try to hold on to Kashmir through taste. Food is our bridge, our celebration, our memory.”

This is why, no matter the theme for a Kashmiri Pandit get-together. Be it an international dinner or an English-style barbecue, dumaloo and roganjosh always find their way onto the table and batta (rice) is a non-negotiable centrepiece. And let’s not forget the kabargah, nadir monj, or matsch. No meet-up is complete without these classic tastes.

Reflection: After the 1990 Exodus

It’s difficult to celebrate these rituals without sensing the deep current of history beneath them. The forced migration of Kashmiri Pandits in 1990 uprooted our lives, scattering families across India and the world in a matter of weeks, far from the valleys and rivers where our traditions first took root. In this new context of exile, every custom grew sharper and more meaningful. Tradition ceased to be a gentle nostalgia. It became an act of remembrance and a way to resist extinction.

Each prayer and each recipe we share with our children now carry both a pang of grief and a fierce pride. We are painfully aware of all that has already been lost, which makes the need to protect what remains feel vital. The longing for home, whether to return to the land left behind or to recreate it in a new place, means each gathering pulses more deeply with meaning.

Through it all, the women in our community have stood at the heart of this resilience. Their determination to uphold our language, music, food and festivals runs through our story like a golden thread. Woven through sorrow but shining with extraordinary strength. Their steadfastness keeps not just the Kashmir of our memories alive, but also the hope that our heritage will continue long into the future, no matter where our children make their homes.

Naturally, new paths are opening too. Today, young Kashmiri women start businesses, curate art exhibitions, speak up about mental health and lead with inspiration drawn from the perseverance of those who came before. Even so, tradition is a living force, not simply a burden or duty, as I’m reminded by our team of volunteers, who celebrate Kheer Bhavani Hawan in the London suburbs, carrying the spirit of Tulmul into new soil. Their quiet joy, shared with others, ensures our rituals are never lost.

As I continue to share our stories through ISBUND, I realise we are all guardians of memory. In our own ways, through hardship and celebration, we are building the bridges that will keep our heritage vibrant for generations to come.

Dr. Sheetal Raina is the founder and editor of ISBUND, an immersive platform dedicated to preserving and celebrating Kashmiri culture. Deeply connected to the heritage and traditions of Kashmir, she brings a distinctive voice to cultural discourse - blending academic insight with heartfelt commitment to her roots.

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