In the cramped markets of Fateh Kadal and Naid Kadal, downtown Srinagar's beating culinary heart, economics works in reverse. Copper degs (cauldrons) - some over a century old - represent frozen capital, yielding not volume but value. Mutton pounded by hand commands three times the price of machine-minced meat. Over 400 family-run stalls across just these two neighborhoods sustain more than 2,000 workers on an eight-hour workday and a generational recipe no corporate kitchen can replicate.
The supply chain is strictly local: wood from Ganderbal and other areas, spices from Nowhatta's godowns, lamb from sheep markets controlled by downtown traders called Kotdars. The result is a low-output, high-value micro-economy that resists aggregation by design. Tourists, mostly local, pay a premium not for speed but for authenticity, making slow food a faster economic hedge against disruption.
The Unlikely Custodians
The Waza - master chef of Kashmir's 36-course Wazwan - is not a native. The custodians of the valley's most regal cultural export are the Dard-Shin, high-altitude tribal migrants from Gurez Valley, pressed against the Line of Control (LoC) at the edge of the known world.
Kashmiri Wazwan is a traditional meal of seven to thirty-six meat dishes.
How did shepherds from a remote frontier become keepers of this royal feast? Many believe that the Wazas were originally from Srinagar. Under Dogra rule, Begaar (forced unpaid labour) was imposed across Kashmir. Gurez Valley residents were exempt. It is believed that Srinagar's master chefs and their assistants, seeking refuge from conscription, migrated north. In Gurez, they honed their skills and when political conditions changed, they returned, carrying not just their recipes but a new culture and language.
Abdul Samad Bhat of Gulshanpora Bakhtoor Gurez and Mohammad Jabbar Bhat, also from this village, trace their origins to Rainawari and Ali Kadal in Srinagar. Oral family records state their ancestors fled to the isolated Gurez Valley around 1886, under Dogra rule. The key driver was Begaar - a brutal system of forced labor that impoverished local communities at that time.
Once settled in Gurez, these families upheld their inherited profession as Wazas, the esteemed traditional chefs of Kashmir. Through learned skill and cultural devotion, they sustained this culinary art across generations. Today, numerous descendants still work as professional Wazas, affiliated with leading Waza groups of Kashmir. They actively preserve and advance the Valley’s rich food traditions.
The Wazwan was not born in the courts of emperors. It was born in displacement and migration. Its story is being rewritten in the rented kitchens of economic refugees. The cooks of Tangmarg in Baramulla have carved their own reputation in catering, but their mastery is mostly limited to the hotel industry. The Wazas from Sopore of North Kashmir, Kadipora and Malaknag, of South Kashmir, Drabgam of Pulwama and Fatehpora of Anantnag are also known for their expertise. The feast's intimate, domestic tradition comes from Gurez.
From the Silk Road to City
To understand the Wazwan is to follow the Silk Road's ghost. Kashmiris celebrate the feast as purely their own. But its DNA is a hybrid of nomadic life.
The story begins in the 14th century. That is when Timur (also known as Tamerlane) descended from Samarkand, and with him came an entourage of master chefs from Persia and Uzbekistan. "When they arrived in the valley, they grafted their fiery, meat-heavy methods onto the local ingredients," says Ishaq Nehvi, a social commentator.
But the culinary lineage did not stop there. A later, more specific chapter belongs to the Dard-Shin of Gurez - a tribe now closely associated with the craft. Their arrival, Nehvi explains, was driven not by conquest but by necessity.
"The Dard-Shin, originally from Tulail and Dawar in Gurez, fled extreme poverty and harsh winters in search of better opportunities," he says. Over the decades, they made Khanyar, Nawhatta, and Naid Kadal - Srinagar's old neighbourhoods - their second home.
"They discovered a dying urban trade," says Nehvi, "and gave it a new life."
Even though they had lost their ancestral land, the chefs or assistants of Gurez discovered that their hands could control the kitchens of ministers and millionaires. That seems to be an ongoing process. When NHPC's Kishanganga hydro-electric project recently submerged 535 acres of their ancestral land, 36 dozen families were forcibly displaced with a paltry relief of just 5.57 lakh rupees. Many among these families now work as chefs or assistants and live in the urban slums of Srinagar.
“The native Wazas - the Bhandharis and Khosas - are almost gone now and shifted to other professions, which are more rewarding with excellent economic viability," says Dr Hashim Iqbal, an expert on cultural exchange along the Silk Road.
“The Dard-Shin picked up the mallet in their stead. They learned the art of Rista and Gushtaba not from Persian texts, but from necessity," he says.
Persian Soul, Kashmiri Fire
Wazwan did not emerge in isolation. From the Sultanate period onward, caravans of merchants, pilgrims, and travellers moved through Kashmir, reaching as far as Armenia, Egypt, Iran, and Central Asia.
"Wazwan is a juxtaposition," says Dr Mumtaz, archaeologist at the University of Kashmir's Centre for Central Asian Studies. "An economic and cultural symbiosis where settled agrarian practices met nomadic trade routes."
The Mughals shaped the philosophical pivot of Wazwan as a ceremonial cuisine. Their famous Kashmir gardens recast hospitality as political theatre, elevating Wazwan from sustenance to social capital.
There is no direct archaeological evidence that Wazwan originated within the Kashmir Valley.
The food itself reflects a region at a crossroads. Rich proteins and rare spices signalled wealth and redistribution. Labour and ecology shaped what was possible. "Wazwan is not an invention," Dr Mumtaz argues. "It is an accumulation - a material archive of centuries of mobility, hierarchy, and adaptation."
One can find such parallels in other cuisines. The slow-cooked grain-and-meat blends of Delhi, Lucknow, Hyderabad, Lahore, and Karachi are called ‘Haleem’. A similarly cooked dish is ‘Harisa’ in the valley. Both share no direct lineage yet arrived at strikingly similar forms. The same economic pressures produced the same solutions.
In Wazwan, the Persian names remain - Rogan Josh, Yakhni - but the method is unmistakably Kashmiri. Slow-cooked in vast copper vessels (Quadren) with steam, never dry-roasted. Spiced with fennel, dry ginger, and cardamom rather than the pepper-heavy heat of the plains.
The spices tell the story of the terrain.
The Politics of the Platter
Because it defies religious polarisation, the Wazwan is kind of subversive. The cuisine blurs religious boundaries. Even as Muslim Wazas dominate the trade, Kashmiri Pandits have their own Wazas and slightly different methods of preparation. Shaivites, or Saraswati Brahmins, they are mostly non-vegetarians.
According to research, "when Kashmiri Pandits cook mutton, it is usually Halal," says famous master chef Nazir Ahmad Waza of Malaknag, Anantnag. He is much sought after by Pandits displaced to Jammu. Traditionally, this was a cultural necessity, as the butchers are predominantly Muslim.
While Pandits use yogurt and asafoetida (hing) in Wazwan dishes, Muslims prefer onions and garlic. The feast that is shared by the two communities also gradually assumed a political status.
Former Jammu & Kashmir Prime Minister Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad and Soviet leaders Khrushchev and Bulganin were famously photographed sharing Gushtaba, or soft meatballs in yogurt gravy, during the visit of Soviet leaders to Kashmir in December 1955. That image was used to cement the India-Russia friendship and to counter the diplomatic moves of Pakistan, right in the heart of Srinagar, giving birth to a new term, ‘Gushtaba Politics’.
The Waza’s genius in using his artful dish as a tool of diplomacy earned the then chef the title of ‘Shaitan Waza’. Bakshi bestowed it on him, not as an insult but as an honour, says Mushtaq Ahmad Khan of the same lineage.
Strengths, Opportunities, Challenges, and Threats
For all its cultural grandeur, the traditional preparation of Wazwan carries serious risks. Open-air cooking, poor hygiene, and the absence of standard food safety practices create conditions ripe for contamination. More alarming is the widespread use of toxic artificial dyes and the repeated reheating of meat that allows bacteria to multiply in the danger zone between 40°F and 140°F.
A single Wazwan meal can run to 5,483 calories, making it a genuine hazard for those with diabetes, kidney disease, or obesity. Its high protein content may benefit growing children and nursing mothers, but that is no substitute for oversight. Without commercial standardization and clear quality controls, the cuisine's entry into national and international markets remains both premature and risky.
Yet economically, Wazwan is a lifeline. The Dard-Shin Wazas of Srinagar hold something close to a monopoly on the craft, and demand for them never slumps for long. A skilled Waza from Gurez can earn up to Rs 15,000 a month during wedding season, a figure that dwarfs what subsistence farming in the valley can offer.
Wazwan's grip on Kashmiri social life is equally firm. No wedding is complete without it. The Tarami - a shared copper platter for four - is less a serving vessel than a social contract. Buffet-style catering has been tried but it survives only at government functions, where the intimacy of shared eating was never the point.
Globally, appetite for the cuisine is growing. A push for a Geographical Indication tag for Wazwan would both legitimise its trade and protect the livelihoods of Gurez Wazas. The unexpected popularity of Turkish dramas has also stirred interest in Central Asian food culture, and notably, Turkish chefs tend to recognise Wazwan more readily than most Indian cuisines, hinting at a culinary tourism corridor along the old Silk Route.
Not all change, however, is welcome. A younger generation of chefs has been experimenting with what they call modernisation - viral creations like the Drone Kebab, Grenade Kebab, and Khamoosh Kebab, made from pounded meat and shaped for spectacle. Traditionalists are furious. Critics have accused these chefs of turning a sacred feast into a battlefield of novelty, hollowing out the craft for clicks.
The threats to Wazwan run deeper than aesthetics. In 1960s, Prime Minister Ghulam Mohammad Sadiq tried to abolish it outright, branding it a relic of aristocratic excess and confiscating Waza utensils for museum display. The feast survived, but the instinct to erase it has not entirely disappeared.
The most recent flashpoint came in 2019, when filmmaker Vivek Agnihotri claimed to have invented a vegetarian Wazwan. The backlash was immediate and cut across community lines. Kashmiri Pandits joined Muslim Kashmiris in rejecting the idea. To purists, the objection is not sentimental. Wazwan was born out of necessity in the high Himalayan cold, where meat was not a luxury but a survival requirement. Eliminating meat leaves anything but Wazwan.
The Last Refuge
The Wazwan is a bittersweet feast for Kashmiris. In the city of Srinagar that frequently views people from Gurez as ‘outsiders’, the Wazas of Gurez preserve Persian art in the basement kitchens of Naid Kadal, where dust and the smell of burned spices mix, while also preserving their distinct culture and language. A feast that originated in Samarkand’s courts, was refined in the Hindu Kush mountains, and was perfectly shaped for a political or diplomatic feat is maintained by the those displaced from the borderlands. They keep the deg bubbling.
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