BARAMULLA: In Kashmir’s lush, storied orchards—where once the rustle of Chinar leaves marked harvests and every bite of a crisp apple whispered generations of care—a quiet transformation is taking root.
The Valley, known for its rich horticultural heritage, is rapidly embracing high-density apple farming, a modern system promising faster yields and greater profits. Yet with every uprooted old tree, something older and deeper withers—a legacy of taste, pride, and identity.
“I’m not happy with this rush,” says Manzoor Ahmad, a 38-year-old orchardist from Baramulla.
“Everyone’s running after quick money. Right now, it’s profitable because there are fewer trees and fewer apples. But when all these high-density orchards mature in a few years, the markets will be flooded. Then what?”
Manzoor’s orchard, like many others across Kashmir, now carries two stories: one half still draped in the gentle chaos of old apple trees; the other lined with regimented, sleek rows of young high-density saplings. To him, this change is not just economical—it’s cultural.
“We always took pride in the unique flavour of our apples,” he says. “They weren’t perfect to look at, but their taste, their depth—it was ours. Now it’s all about shiny looks and numbers. The soul is disappearing.”
The Jammu and Kashmir government is betting big on this shift. Through its Modified High-Density Plantation Scheme, the horticulture department aims to convert 5,500 hectares into high-density orchards by 2026, with generous 50% subsidies on initial costs, and additional support for irrigation systems, hail nets, and quality planting material.
Vital evolution in focus
Zahoor Ahmad Bhat, Chief Horticulture Officer of the Union Territory, defends the move as a vital evolution in a changing agricultural world.
“Transformation isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity,” Bhat asserts. “With shifting climate patterns and evolving consumer preferences, sticking to traditional methods will only leave our growers behind. Technology gives them a fighting chance.”
He draws a sharp example from the past. “Remember Mahraji apples? They used to be the pride of the Valley. Now, barely anyone grows them. The market moved on. This can happen again if we don’t evolve.”
Indeed, high-density apple plantations bear fruit within two years—compared to the 6–8 years needed for traditional trees. More significantly, they produce over 90% Grade-A apples, a staggering jump from the 30% yield of conventional orchards. Precise pruning, compact spacing, and protective infrastructure make these orchards highly efficient and climate-resilient.
Kashmir currently produces over 20.56 lakh metric tonnes of apples annually, contributing about 75% of India’s total apple output. To keep that edge in an increasingly competitive and volatile global market, authorities argue, innovation is not an option—it is survival.
But the numbers don’t ease the concerns of many orchardists.
“This model works best for companies that sell the rootstocks,” argues Nazir Ahmad Lone, a 32-year-old grower from Baramulla.
“They’ll keep releasing new, ‘better’ varieties to stay in business. And then what happens to the old high-density ones? We uproot them again?”
For growers like Nazir, the switch is also a matter of lifestyle and autonomy. “Traditional orchards give you breathing space. You can manage your trees and still do other work. But high-density farming is like a factory. It demands your full time, full attention—and full money.”
Nazir doesn’t dismiss innovation. What he questions is the cost at which it comes—economically, culturally, and emotionally. “It’s not always about being afraid of change. Sometimes, it’s about choosing peace over pressure.”
That sense of pressure is palpable across the Valley, where the traditional slow rhythm of farming is giving way to a results-driven tempo. For some, this is welcome modernisation. For others, it’s a creeping erasure.
“Earlier, when tourists visited, they’d say they’d never tasted apples like ours,” Manzoor recalls with quiet pride. “What will they say now? That we’re growing what everyone else grows?”
Heritage on the Line
The symbolic and emotional pull of traditional apple orchards in Kashmir is immense. Passed down through generations, these trees were more than just a livelihood—they were living memory, each branch whispering stories of ancestors, seasons, festivals, and struggle.
They also demanded patience and resilience. With longer gestation periods and higher exposure to climatic risks, old orchards reflected the temperament of a place where time was slow and rewards were sweet.
That is why the current wave of transformation feels, to many, like more than just a farming decision—it feels like a cultural crossroad.
Bhat acknowledges this sentiment but remains steadfast in his view. “We’re not letting go of the past. We’re making sure we still have a future. Agriculture must be sustainable and adaptive. And the future belongs to those who prepare for it.”
Still, some see a middle path. Nazir suggests that the government support preservation zones for heritage apple varieties, alongside high-density farming. “Why not have dedicated areas for old apples? Let them be like wine regions—prized for uniqueness, not just volume.”
Such voices hope to ensure that Kashmir’s identity as an apple haven isn’t reduced to mere tonnage. For them, it’s about preserving a story, a craft, a way of life—even if the orchards bloom slower, and the profits come late.
As the summer sun bathes the Valley in green hues, the future of Kashmir’s orchards hangs in a delicate balance. Between sleek progress and textured tradition, between fruit and flavour, the land must now choose what it wants to grow—and what it’s willing to lose.
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