Aabid Mushtaq
For generations, Kashmir has been celebrated as India’s “fruit bowl,” where orchards are not just fields of production but landscapes of memory, culture, and survival. Apples glowing in autumn sunlight and saffron flowers carpeting Pampore have long symbolized prosperity in the Valley. Today, however, a quiet crisis is unfolding — one that does not arrive with headlines or sirens, but with warmer winters, erratic rains, and failing harvests. Horticulture is the backbone of Kashmir’s rural economy. It contributes nearly 9–10% to the region’s GDP and provides employment equivalent to 8.5 crore man-days annually, supporting millions of families directly or indirectly. Even more striking, about half of Kashmir’s population depends on the apple industry alone, which typically produces over 20 lakh metric tonnes of apples each year. Yet climate change is steadily destabilizing this lifeline. The Valley’s weather patterns — once predictable — have become increasingly erratic.
Warmer winters are reducing the “chilling hours” essential for apple flowering, while sudden heatwaves and unseasonal rains are damaging fruit formation. In recent years, growers have reported production losses of around 30% due to climate-related weather disruptions, including dry spells, hailstorms, and disease outbreaks. Behind these statistics are human stories. Farmers who once counted their harvests in thousands of apple boxes now struggle to produce even a fraction. The financial burden is rising too — climate variability forces orchardists to spend more on pesticides, irrigation, and protective measures, often pushing small farmers into debt. The story of saffron is even more alarming. Official data shows that saffron production has fallen dramatically from about 8 metric tonnes in 2010–11 to around 2.6 metric tonnes in 2023–24, marking a decline of more than 67%.
“The horticulture crisis in Kashmir serves as a vivid illustration that climate change is a present, local reality rather than a distant threat. By impacting the region’s fertile landscapes and traditional livelihoods, it warns that even the most resilient ecosystems are vulnerable. The focus has shifted from predicting future impacts to taking immediate, decisive action to preserve what is left of our natural and cultural heritage.”
Prolonged dry spells, shrinking water availability, and rising temperatures have weakened the crop’s growth cycle. For Pampore’s farmers, this is not just an economic loss — it threatens a centuries-old cultural heritage. Climate change is also reshaping the Valley’s ecology. Retreating glaciers, such as the Kolahoi are reducing ,meltwater supplies critical for irrigation, while unpredictable rainfall is disrupting agricultural planning. Experts warn that glacier loss in the region could severely affect water resources and farming sustainability in the coming decades. What makes this crisis particularly troubling is its ripple effect. When horticulture suffers, the entire rural economy feels the shock — traders, transporters, packaging workers, and seasonal laborers all depend on orchard cycles.
Reduced yields mean lower incomes, rising unemployment, and growing uncertainty in already vulnerable communities. Yet this is not a story of inevitable decline. Adaptation is possible. High-density plantations, improved irrigation systems, climate-resilient crop varieties, and better weather forecasting can help farmers cope with changing conditions. Innovative solutions — such as indoor saffron cultivation — are already being explored as ways to safeguard production against climatic unpredictability. Ultimately, the crisis facing Kashmir’s horticulture sector is a powerful reminder that climate change is not an abstract global issue — it is deeply local and profoundly human. It touches livelihoods, traditions, and identities. If Kashmir’s orchards are struggling today, they are sending a warning far beyond the Valley: when climate stability collapses, even the most fertile landscapes can fall silent. The real question is no longer whether climate change will affect us — it already has. The question now is whether we will act in time to protect what still remains.
(The author is a freelancer. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
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