DR SIBGHAT QADRI
In the Kashmiri imagination, marriage has always been more than a contract between two individuals. It is a binding of families, a weaving together of neighbourhoods, and a moment when joy spills out of homes into streets. Yet, over the past few decades, something profound has changed in how we marry off our sons and daughters in the Valley. The warmth remains, the rituals remain, the flowers and the wanwun remain – but alongside them has grown a quiet anxiety, a heavy economic burden, and a culture of display that is slowly eroding the very spirit of matrimony.
Today, many families in Kashmir plan a wedding with more fear than excitement. The fear is not of whether the couple will be compatible, but of whether the family will survive the expenses. From lavish multi-course wazwans to gold sets, elaborate décor, long guest lists, and an endless list of expectations, marriage has become a test of financial stamina rather than a celebration of companionship. The simple nikah that our elders speak of with nostalgia feels, for many, like a story from another age.
The irony is striking. We live in a place that talks often of modesty, simplicity and Islamic values, yet our wedding customs are increasingly shaped by competition and comparison. Who served more dishes? Who hosted more guests? Who gifted more? Social media, with its curated wedding reels and photo shoots, has added a new layer of pressure. Young people, already struggling with unemployment and rising costs of living, now also feel compelled to stage grand events because “log kya kahenge” has become more powerful than “Allah kya chahega”.
The consequences are visible and painful. Parents take loans, sell land, dip into lifelong savings, or postpone their children’s marriages because they cannot meet social expectations. Daughters carry a silent guilt, feeling they are a burden on families that must “perform” a certain kind of wedding. Sons delay marriage until they are “settled enough” not just to support a spouse, but to fund a spectacle. In a society already grappling with mental health challenges, we have turned what should be a source of joy into another source of stress.
It does not have to be this way. Making marriages simpler in the Kashmir Valley is neither an impossible dream nor an attack on culture. It is, in fact, a return to the essence of our traditions. Our faith emphasises ease, not hardship; dignity, not display. The Prophet’s teachings remind us that the most blessed marriages are the simplest ones. Our own history bears witness to times when community, not consumption, was at the heart of weddings.
Simplification must begin with a shift in mindset. We often talk about how “society” expects extravagance, without admitting that we are that society. Each family, each mohalla, each guest who whispers about how “ordinary” a wedding was, contributes to the cycle. Breaking it will require courage: the courage of parents who choose a modest function and stand by it; the courage of young couples who prioritise building a life together over a few days of display; the courage of religious leaders and community elders to speak clearly against wasteful customs.
Concrete steps are within reach. Guest lists can be shorter and more meaningful, focusing on close relatives and friends rather than distant acquaintances added out of compulsion. Menus can be simplified without compromising on hospitality; no guest’s respect depends on whether they were served ten dishes or twenty. Dowry practices and demands for heavy jewellery must be openly discouraged, not quietly tolerated. Instead of multiple functions spread over days, families can opt for fewer, more focused gatherings.
Equally important is the role of collective action. If neighbourhoods, villages, or local committees agree on basic norms – limits on extravagance, shared venues, or community halls at reasonable rates – no single family will feel isolated in choosing simplicity. When everyone steps down a rung together, the pressure to climb higher disappears. Religious institutions, civil society groups, and the media can amplify examples of simple, dignified weddings as models to be admired, not pitied.
There is also a generational responsibility. Today’s youth are far more aware, connected, and vocal than any previous generation in the Valley. Many of them speak passionately about mental health, sustainability, and justice. Simplifying marriage is not separate from these concerns; it is deeply linked. When they insist on simpler weddings for themselves, they challenge an entire culture of excess. When young men refuse to place financial burdens on their in-laws, and young women refuse to be measured by the size of their trousseau, a new social norm becomes possible.
Critics will argue that weddings bring employment, support local businesses, and circulate money in the economy. That is true to an extent, but it cannot justify driving families into debt or normalising waste. A simpler wedding economy is still an economy: catering, décor, photography, and venues will adapt to more modest expectations. What must change is not whether people earn from weddings, but whether a family’s honour is tied to how much it spends.
In the end, this is not just about events and expenses. It is about the kind of society we want to be. A society that values people over performances will choose nikah over noise, contentment over comparison. A society that claims to live by faith will remember that ease is a mercy, not a weakness. A society that has seen as much loss and uncertainty as Kashmir has in recent decades should know better than to chain its happiest occasions to unnecessary burdens.
Making marriages simpler in the Kashmir Valley is an urgent social reform, but it is also a deeply personal choice. Each upcoming wedding is an opportunity: to resist pressure, to honour values, to free our daughters and sons from expectations they never chose. If we can find the courage to act now, perhaps the next generation will inherit a culture of marriage that is lighter on the pocket, gentler on the heart, and truer to who we really are.
( Author is PhD in Sociology, social activist and is associated with an international NGO)
