Kashmiri, the only scripted branch of the Dardic group of Indo-Aryan languages, is one of the subcontinent’s oldest surviving languages, which is also known for its flexibility and its complex history of Persian, Sanskrit, and Central Asian influences. Yet today, this ancient language faces a modern threat - technological obsolescence.
Digital equity is fundamental to the issue of Kashmiri survival. At a time when machine translation and artificial intelligence are changing human interaction, Kashmiri is buried under the relentless logic of algorithms. Digitally forgotten with that is the profound wisdom of mystic poets like Lal Ded and Sheikh ul-Alam.
Without urgent institutional action, including strong integration into school curricula, support for software localization, and full Unicode standardisation, its future could shift from a vibrant, dynamic medium to a mere relic of cultural nostalgia.
UNESCO's Global Task Force for the International Decade of Indigenous Languages (2022-2032) aims to promote participation, multi-stakeholder engagement, and inclusion. Its mission includes guiding activities to protect linguistic diversity. The silence of governing bodies in Jammu and Kashmir against this global call to action is in direct contradiction.
The responsibility for this rests with successive governments in Jammu and Kashmir. There has been a consistent lack of political will for decades to fund and implement the basic structures necessary for a language to thrive in the 21st century. Instead of state-led efforts for standardised Unicode fonts, Kashmiri interfaces in operating systems, and digital literacy programs, there has been no acknowledgement of this challenge.
Ironically, some prominent political leaders including the current Chief Minister, Omar Abdullah, and PDP's youth leader Iltija Mufti, are not comfortable speaking Kashmiri, signalling a deep disconnect between the decision makers and the grassroots through a linguistic disconnect. This is also one reason why the language suffers neglect both in the physical and digital space.
This institutional neglect has widened the gap. Young people are becoming fluent in the global dialects of the internet while feeling increasingly disconnected from the linguistic richness of their own heritage.
According to India’s 2011 census, Kashmiri was the leading mother tongue in Jammu and Kashmir, but those figures conceal a complicated reality. For generations, Kashmiri was pushed into the private sphere. Urdu, followed by Hindi and English, became the languages of administration, education, and career advancement. Koshur became the language of home, agriculture, and folklore, leading to a generational divide where fluency in its literary wealth began to diminish.
Kashmiri is not a single entity. It is a diverse mix of dialects, including Bhaderwahi, Kishtwari, and Pogli, each shaped by the mountains and valleys that separate them. Until recently, this entire linguistic heritage faced quiet erosion. Technology and social media have entered this void, and further pushed it to the margins, even as it is being reclaimed by the young.
On YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok, a younger generation is trying to revive Kashmiri innovatively. But some of the quality content is lost in mass production of sub-standard content in Kashmiri by another section of youngsters.
They have created a dynamic mix of Kashmiri, Urdu, and English that keeps the language fresh and contemporary. A popular genre within this expression is drama, rap and confrontational skits.
Young content creators often work in pairs or groups to stage loud, chaotic arguments over trivial matters. The dialogue frequently races toward increasing vulgarity, where creativity is measured by the coarseness of the insult. In one typical video, which received over two million views, two actors playing neighbours engage in a screaming match, their insults growing more personal and profane, encouraged by an off-screen crew.
"Traditional Kashmiri humour was satirical, witty, and often gentle in its criticism,” observes Dr Amin Malik, a political scientist. “But now we see a raw, shock-driven style. A coarsening of public discourse is the outcome. The language that once bore the weight of mystical poetry is now used to craft jokes based on obscenity. This content flows unregulated into children’s feeds, fundamentally shaping their views on comedy and social interaction."
These digital creators abandon established guidelines and prioritise viral appeal over grammatical correctness or vocabulary depth.
Thus, this revival occurs in the shadow of cultural distortion. The public space is becoming cruder, historical nuance is fading, and the gap grows wider between the language's chaotic digital present and its rich literary past.
“The algorithm does not understand culture; it understands data points,” explains a digital media analyst based in New Delhi. “It recognizes that highly emotive videos, particularly those invoking anger and comedy, keep users engaged. Therefore, it promotes them. In the context of Kashmir, this unintentionally leads to a rise in sensational and polarizing content, shaping the language's digital revival.”
This technological bias is made worse by practical challenges. The Perso-Arabic script traditionally used for Kashmiri faces keyboard and Unicode issues, making it difficult for the average user. As a result, most web-based Kashmiri is typed in an evolving and inconsistent Roman script. Users spell words phonetically, with no standardised writing system.
This fundamentally alters the language’s form. The unique sounds of Kashmiri, with its distinct vowels and consonants, are compressed into a Romanized approximation. Over time, this is diminishing the standardised form of the language and altering its intricate grammar.
The Kashmiri language, known natively as Koshur, has a rich literary heritage. Its foundations date back to Sanskrit, but its golden age flourished from the 14th to the 20th centuries with deep mystic poetry composed in the everyday language that crossed religious lines, preaching unity and personal connection to the divine.
This was later enriched by the lyrical Sufi poetry of Wahab Khar, Shams Faqir, and others, along with romantic epics from Mahmud Gami, love lyrics from Rusul Mir, and the melancholic works of Asad Mir, alongside the nationalistic poetry of Mehjoor and the revolutionary writings of Azad.
However, this vibrant heritage is not well-preserved in digital archives but lives on in fragile manuscripts, fading memories, and some oral traditions. The political turmoil in the region has worsened this situation by disrupting the transmission of language and literature from one generation to the next. The "deep divide", while being political, threatens to erase a unique cultural voice.
While the digital space buzzes with current debates, it has not yet tapped into the most powerful voice of all: the timeless wisdom of Kashmiri literature.
Imagine enriching the digital realm with the verses of the 14th-century poet, Lal Ded, a figure respected by both Hindus and Muslims. Her Vaakhs are not just poetry; they offer the foundation for coexistence and inner peace. She wrote:
Huk chuy thali thali rozan,
Mo zan Hindu Musulman.
Truk ay chuk pan panun parzanav,
Soy chay Sahibas zan zan.
(God's presence is everywhere, in every particle of the universe, / Do not differentiate between a Hindu and a Muslim. / In your own heart, seek true wisdom, / That is how you will know the Creator, O know this!)
The reflect on the deep introspection of Sheikh ul-Alam, who reminds us that the ultimate journey is one of personal purity.
"Aanan' paanan' chhu sonuy zaah' myon'
Zoojhey chhu na maaran' zaah' myon'
Traavun' chhu na taaran' zaah' myon'
Soucha chhu saahibas zaah' myon'."
("This cycle of birth and death will end for my sake, / But my struggles will not slay anyone for my sake. / They will make me swim but will not save anyone for my sake. / Only purity (of heart) will take me to my Lord.")
The absence of this legacy in our digital feeds is a loss but there is still time to reclaim it.
According to Dr Shafqat Altaf, a cultural historian at the University of Kashmir in the Kashmiri department, the internet has done a disservice to Lal Ded.
"It has reduced her deep sea of spiritual insight to a kiddie pool," he says bluntly. "The younger generation sees the surface ripples with the catchy, out-of-context couplets, and mistakes them for the entirety. They are trained to communicate, to network, to trend. But we have neglected the most important subject—the language of the soul. We are raising a generation that is all text and no context; I am to blame as well,” Shafqat admits.
We are witnessing a monumental institutional failure. While the vibrant poetry of Lal Ded and centuries of wisdom sit gathering dust, our cultural academies and state language institutions have remained sluggish and disconnected. Their response to the digital age is limited to a trickle of poorly digitised manuscripts and uninspiring teaching materials. They have failed to create open-access digital archives that can compete for public attention.
The result is a cultural surrender in the digital space. A simple YouTube search for 'Lal Ded' reveals a few poorly recorded recitals.
The immense task of preservation must be taken up by dedicated volunteers, scholars, and underfunded diaspora communities. A coordinated, multi-faceted response is crucial if Kashmiri is to survive and thrive with its soul intact.
This requires a large-scale, publicly funded initiative to digitise ancient texts and present them in engaging, modern formats which can include animated videos, podcasts, and graphic novels. The verses of Lal Ded and Sheikh ul-Alam must be made as accessible and visually appealing as the latest viral rap video.
Additionally, cultural institutions must undergo a radical change. They must become proactive, digital-first creators. They need to engage with young people on TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, Facebook, using the digital language they understand to guide them toward the profound wisdom of their own heritage.
Ultimately, the fate of the Kashmiri language depends on one crucial question: Can the academics, content creators, tech-savvy youth, and the diaspora build digital bridges?
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