Kashmir's cold has a piercing that sometimes ices Dal Lake's edges and reaches deep into the valley's bones during Chilai Kalan, the 40 hardest days of winter that start in late December. The Pheran, a long, loose robe worn by both men and women, becomes Kashmir’s transportable shelter against this weather.
What appears straightforward and an austere cloak is far more complex, intertwined with migration, history, identity, resistance, and an uncertain future. It is a garment of deep dualities; it is both eternal and ever evolving, it hides and reveals, it unites and separates.
According to renowned Kashmiri archaeologist Dr Mumtaz, who teaches at CCAS University of Kashmir, "the Pheran is not just an outfit; it is the skin of Kashmiri culture."
“While it looks aesthetically pleasing, like hands tracing the air, its bountiful fabric embodies the winters, history, art, and fortitude of Kashmiris. The Pheran is a constant when everything else is changing,” he says, and adds that even a constant needs to learn to breathe the air of the present, with a little of the past and more of the future.
Unstitching a Layered Past
The story of the Pheran begins not with a single thread, but with many influences. Its name descends from the Persianised or Dari ‘Perahan’, meaning long shirt or robe, a linguistic heirloom from the 14th and 15th centuries when Central Asian traders and Sufi saints traversed the mountain passes, bringing with them new ideas, art, and attire.
Tajik people in Tajikistan and the adjoining countries including in Afghanistan continue to wear a Pheran-like attire but that is front open – from top to bottom – and tied a thick ribbon like belt around the waist.
In Kashmir, during the 15th century, local crafts flourished under rulers like the enlightened Sultan Zain-ul-Abidin, and the Pheran began to evolve from a basic tunic into a more refined garment. The Mughals, who introduced fine textiles and valued the Pheran’s practicality and form, further solidified its place in history.
From its inception, the Pheran was a sartorial language of social stratification. It served as a canvas for opulence for the aristocracy, landed gentry, and courtiers of the 18th and 19th centuries. Their Pherans were adorned with intricate tilla (gold wire) embroidery and were made from the finest Jamawar, which was a mix of pashmina and silk, or pure pashmina.
The Qorab Daar Pheran was the most exquisite of these, a style in which the entire front flank was embroidered with dense, shimmering tilla work, frequently featuring intricate floral or paisley designs. This was not just clothing; it was also a display of status that could be worn and shone in the gloom of a winter fireplace.
The commoners, including the farmers, artisans, and labourers used the Pheran as a means of survival. Made of coarse, hard-wearing wool or cotton, it was a functional, multi-purpose garment.
Artist S.A. Shakeel says, "our ancestors would tie a cloth, a lungi or a Patti, around their waists and gather the Pheran's voluminous fabric above it." Shakeel, whose watercolors frequently depict the vanishing details of Kashmiri culture.
“This created a large pouch, a kangaroo-like pocket. It kept the Kangri, a portable fire pot made of wicker and clay, securely tucked against the belly while allowing for complete mobility for apple tree pruning and rice transplanting. Their Pheran was their workshop, their heating system, their personal ecosystem," Shakeel said.
To him, the Pheran is a flowing attire that grants the body liberation and awakens the mind to boundless inner freedom.
The class distinction was mirrored and complicated by community and gender regarding the Pheran. Different sartorial dialects developed over time.
The taranga, an elaborate, usually red headdress that tapered down the back like a river of cloth, was traditionally worn with the Pheran by Kashmiri Pandit (Sarasvati Brahmin) women. A Kashmiri Muslim woman’s ensemble, by contrast, featured the Kasaba, a padded turban, with the affluent adorning. The Kundan Kasaba was a heavier, jewel-encrusted version. Sozni, with its delicate, almost-invisible chain stitch, was popular among Muslims, whereas Pandits were more likely to use certain motifs and colour palettes.
The embroidery spoke of different traditions. While the Pheran was a cultural skin that everyone had, the patterns on it told more specific stories about family and faith.
The Pheran in Migration
The Pheran's story took a tragic and defining turn in the early 1990s when the escalating armed violence forced the vast majority of the Kashmiri Pandits to flee the valley out of fear of violence. They left their homes almost immediately and became refugees, settling in cramped camps and one-room tenements on Jammu's scorching plains and elsewhere. The Pheran became a relic of a lost world, as a result of this sudden displacement.
It became a tangible piece of a homeland that no longer existed, but in memory.
The Pheran evolved into a portable fireplace and a very personal museum of an interrupted life for the Pandit community. The women continued to wear their Pherans, often with the distinctive Taranga on festive occasions, not as mere fashion, but as a defiant preservation of identity. The familiar weight of the wool would be a relief from the disorienting reality of migration for the men, who would also don their Pherans.
In the migrant camps of Jammu and the colonies of Delhi, the sight of a pheran-clad figure became a poignant reminder of a collective wound.
This story of displacement is not one-dimensional. A quieter, less well-documented migration occurred alongside the well-documented migration of Kashmiri Pandits to Jammu and other parts of India. During the same volatile period in the early and mid-1990s, numerous families, primarily Muslims, crossed the Line of Control into Muzaffarabad side, Pakistan-administered Kashmir (PaK).
They were also driven to migrate by a pervasive fear of counter violence and the chaos that would follow, a desperate flight to what they thought was safety that cut them off from their ancestral homes, orchards, and the familiar sight of Pheran-clad figures in their home villages.
For these communities too, scattered now across Muzaffarabad and beyond, the memory of the Pheran endures as a ghostly emblem of a life left behind in the valley, as a shared artifact in the fractured mirror of Kashmiri identity.
The Political Fold: Resistance and Reclamation Woven into Cloth
The Pheran was being drafted into a new role back in the valley at the same time, that of a powerful, silent symbol of identity and resistance for those who remained.
An "intimate object" is a mundane, everyday item that acquires profound political significance in a region where overt political expression can be dangerous.
“In the face of cultural homogenisation and immense political pressures, the Pheran has emerged as a quiet, but firm means of asserting our identity,” notes Dr Hasrat Hussain, an expert in Kashmiri language.
He added, "It is a daily, tangible reaffirmation of a Kashmiri self that is unique." "We are still here, and this is who we are," he declares. Hasrat continues, "It is often a conscious, if unspoken, act of cultural perseverance when a young person chooses a Pheran over a Western jacket."
The garment's economic lifeline is inextricably linked to this symbolism. The Pheran is the product of a fragile ecosystem of artisans, including the handloom weavers, the Kangri makers, the Sozni and Aari embroiderers, which are threatened by multiple factors including prolonged conflict, mass migrations and the influx of cheap, machine-made imitations.
Therefore, a hand-embroidered Pheran Commission is a political and economic decision. An anonymous artisan in downtown Srinagar declares, "The Pheran is our economic identity," citing the sensitive nature of discussing any local industry. “When it is valued, our families eat. A portion of our heritage dies when it is forgotten. Every stitch is a plea for remembrance.”
This potent mix of culture, memory, and politics finds a focal point in International Pheran Day, observed on December 21st to coincide with the start of Chilai Kalan. Inaugurated a few years ago, largely through social media activism, its motives are as layered as the garment it celebrates.
It frequently serves as a celebration of identity and perseverance for Muslims in the valley. It is a day of bittersweet nostalgia for Kashmiri Pandits and some Muslims in migration, as it offers a chance to connect online with a common heritage. The day itself may not be steeped in ancient tradition, but the motivations behind it are as old as the struggle for self-definition and the pain of separation.
The Generational Divide
In its traditional form in the 21st century, the Pheran faces an existential challenge despite its symbolic weight and historical depth.
A walk through the posh streets of Polo View in Srinagar or the campuses of the city's universities, will reveal teenagers and young adults dressed in sneakers, puffer jackets, and denims, rather than in the flowing, ankle-length robes worn by their elders.
Dr Mumtaz laments, "We must be honest about the reasons for the decline in its everyday use." "Gen Z and even younger Gen Alpha are children of the digital age," added Mumtaz. Their tastes are shaped by global trends amplified through Facebook, X, Instagram, YouTube , etc. They may perceive the traditional Pheran as cumbersome, out-of-date, or worse, as a sign of a narrow-minded, inward-looking identity that they wish to abandon in favor of a more globalized modernity.
This change reflects a fundamental shift in lifestyle and is not just a fashion fad. Electric heaters, gas fires, and central heating are taking the place of the Kangri, the Pheran's symbiotic companion for centuries, in more recent residences. The slow, deliberate, home-centric pace of life that the Pheran embodies is at odds with a world hurtling towards digital speed and a more physically active, outward-facing social life for the youth.
The traditional Pheran is a garment of stasis. The modern world requires a garment of motion. However, to misunderstand the resilience of culture would be to declare the Pheran as a dying relic. The obituary is premature.
Instead, a new generation of Kashmiri designers, entrepreneurs, and fashion-conscious youth in the valley and abroad are reinventing the garment, which is undergoing its most rapid evolution in centuries.
The most prominent new avatar is a hybrid garment that sits somewhere between a long coat and the traditional Pheran. It is shorter, often knee-length or mid-calf, features deep side slits for ease of movement, and incorporates modern tailoring elements. It retains the essential soul of the Pheran but sheds the perceived bulkiness.
As a nod to grandeur that fits a contemporary aesthetic, the heavy, all-over tilla of the Qorab Daar is now frequently used as a subtle accent on cuffs and collars.
“This evolution is not a betrayal of tradition; it is the very mechanism of its preservation,” argues artist S.A. Shakeel.
“The Pheran must survive. It cannot be a museum piece. It must breathe the air of the present. These new styles make it relevant. They let a young woman wear her heritage with jeans or leggings to a university lecture, a business office, or a cafe. Culture thrives in this way - not by hiding behind glass, but by adapting and being lived in,” he said.
Social media, which was once thought to be the main cause of its decline, is now a powerful force behind its revival. Kashmiri influencers, designers, and everyday users proudly showcase their contemporary Pheran styles on Instagram and Pinterest.
They curate looks that are at once authentically Kashmiri and globally fashionable, creating a new aesthetic that appeals to a diaspora hungry for connection and an international audience interested in sustainable, artisanal, and unique fashion. The Pheran is being rediscovered as a statement rather than a relic.
The Unfolding Future
As another winter deepens over the Valley, the traditional floor-length versions will still be stitched by master artisans in the old city's dark, narrow alleys. Young designers will sell their modern interpretations in trendy boutiques. In migration, a grandmother will carefully unfold a Pheran from a cedar chest, its scent of mothballs and nostalgia filling the room. The unresolved conversation about Pheran continues as a metaphor of the unresolved conversations about the region itself.
As Dr Hasrat Husain reflects, the Pheran remains the valley’s second skin, within Kashmir or scattered across the globe, continuing to comfort us through countless winters, in its different transformations, both meteorologically and politically.
A garment that has served as a royal robe, a tool for farmers, a banner of identity, a symbol of exodus, and now a canvas for a new generation, the Pheran is, and will likely remain, the most eloquent, complex, and enduring chronicle Kashmir has ever produced.
The sharp wind combs the winter's hair,
And ice branches, stark and bare.
But woven wool, a gentle deep,
Will hold the quiet while you sleep.
A mobile home, a kindly sphere,
To guard your heart from rising fear.
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