There’s a strange kind of political theatre playing out in Kashmir these days. It’s loud, it’s crowded, and everyone on stage is having the time of their lives, but completely oblivious to the audience sitting out in the cold. We’ve built a political culture where a stray remark can dominate the news cycle for weeks, while the quiet, grinding struggles of everyday life barely get a passing glance.
For months, the Valley’s public conversation has been hijacked by controversies that generate a mountain of heat and zero solutions. Unemployment, crushing electricity bills and shrinking household incomes have no magnetic pull of a good, provocative soundbite. Instead, our attention gets repeatedly hooked by symbolic turf wars that have a shelf life of about three days or a week.
Take Mehbooba Mufti’s “Banta Hai” remark, which sparked endless loops of TV studio shouting matches and social media spats. Before that dust had even settled, we were plunged into the surreal saga of the “Pyjama Row,” triggered by MLA Tanvir Sadiq’s comment on Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah’s death anniversary. A remark about a piece of clothing turned into an existential political showdown in which it was projected that the pyjama held the secret to our collective destiny.
The BJP, naturally, jumped at the chance to steal the show, even making a questionable effigy of MLA Tanvir Sadiq. But the irony was hard to miss. Not long ago, voices from that same party were calling the martyrs of July 13 traitors, stabbing right at the heart of Kashmiri memory. I’m not equating the two remarks, but I’m pointing out how convenient political outrage really is. Outrage isn’t a moral compass anymore but rather a strategy and a tool efficiently used by political opponents against each other.
Meanwhile, the Congress party hasn’t lagged behind in this theatre either. While people waited for leadership on governance, Congress found the energy to pick a fight with its alliance partner, the National Conference, over singing every stanza of “Vande Mataram.” The NC shot back by pointing out that Congress chief ministers in other states do it all the time. It wasn’t a deep debate about secularism or nationalism but a masterclass in how easily political principles bend when votes are on the line.
Now put it all together and you see a troubling pattern. Outrage has become a professional sport here. Every sentence is sliced open, looking for hidden malice, and every quote is weaponised as a loyalty test. We spend precious intellectual energy debating the genealogy of buzzwords and the symbolism of wardrobes, while the people facing the worst economic squeezes are left cheering for arguments that give them nothing back.
The ordinary citizen is nowhere to be found in this script. He doesn’t sit on prime-time panels, feature in party press releases or become a social media sensation. For him, politics isn’t a battle of narratives but a daily survival test.
He worries about his electricity bill, whether the water supply will hold out, how to pay for his kids’ education and whether his small shop will survive another month. Our young graduate waits years for a door that never opens. A shopkeeper watches his customer base shrink. A household quietly cuts back on meals because incomes refuse to keep pace with reality. These are the things that actually define life, yet they rarely touch the legislative agenda. Why? Because misery doesn’t go viral. There’s no prime-time spectacle in an unpaid power bill or a tired, jobless or underpaid graduate.
This is where both those in power and those in opposition fail us. Governments are supposed to translate authority into tangible relief, while oppositions are supposed to offer substance, not just a louder megaphone for grievances.
None of this means history, identity and culture don’t matter in Kashmir. They matter deeply. Our politics is stitched together from memory and belonging. But there’s a massive gap between using history to make sense of today and getting so drunk on its symbols that we completely abandon the present. One is a calling; the other is a distraction.
A mature society has to hold both truths. History matters, but so does a monthly paycheck. Identity is vital, but so are a reliable power grid, clean water and decent healthcare. You don’t have to choose between them, but you do have to know what comes first.
You can’t pay an electricity bill with outrage. You can’t create jobs with a TV debate. And you certainly can’t build an economy by turning every single disagreement into an existential war.
The Pajama Row will blow over, just like “Banta Hai” did. Another controversy will take its place, another phrase will get blown out of proportion, and the wheel will spin again. The outrage will peak, the camps will mobilise and, eventually, everyone will move on. But the electricity bill will still be sitting on the table. The jobless graduate will still be waiting. The struggling businessman will still be counting losses.
That’s the difference between a controversy and an actual problem. Controversies expire. Real problems don’t. Maybe it’s time our political class changed the subject from what sounds good to what actually matters. Attention is power, and when we spend all our energy on symbolic theatre, politics loses touch with the people it’s supposed to serve. Kashmir doesn’t need another manufactured crisis. It needs leaders who can tell the difference between what’s loud and what’s life-changing.
At the end of the day, a pyjama is just a piece of fabric. It’s the human being wearing it who deserves our attention. And that is the one thing our politics keeps forgetting: the Valley deserves a politics worthy of its people, not just its headlines.
(The Author can be reached at Email: [email protected])
