Once, Kashmiri weddings were pure, soulful, and deeply spiritual occasions — celebrations that carried fragrance of faith, the innocence of simplicity, and the beauty of community unity. They were not just about two individuals coming together, but about two families merging in love, compassion, and dignity. Every custom held meaning, every meal carried blessings, every song echoed joy without losing modesty. The Nikah was once a sacred contract, an act of worship witnessed by angels, guided by the holy Qur’an, and sealed in humility. But today, that purity has been buried beneath a mountain of extravagance, pride, and waste. What was once a symbol of faith has now become a competition of status, where the poor suffer silently, the middle class breaks under debt, and the rich boast of weddings that sparkle only for a night but leave behind moral ashes for generations. The modern Kashmiri wedding is no longer a union, it’s a display. The race begins the moment a wedding date is fixed. Families start comparing halls, decorations, and photographers; they discuss how many dishes will be served, how much gold will be displayed, and how grand the groom’s arrival will look in videos. Social media becomes the stage, and the wedding becomes the show. Simplicity, once a sign of class and faith, is now mocked as stinginess. Those who try to keep things simple are looked down upon as backward. The poor and middle-class parents, fearful of judgment, sell their savings, mortgage their homes, or take loans they’ll spend a lifetime repaying, all just to keep up appearances. That single night of “show” becomes the cause of years of hidden tears. Parents who worked for decades lose everything in hours; what they earned with sweat vanishes in the smoke of firecrackers and the glitter of gold. The destruction runs deep. Gold, once a token of love, has turned into a curse. Today, every bride is burdened with gold ornaments, not as a blessing but as a test of her family’s worth. Families struggle under impossible expectations — “How much gold did they give?” “How heavy was her necklace?” “How much was her dowry worth?” These poisonous comparisons break hearts and relationships. The price of gold has soared beyond reach, and yet society’s greed keeps pushing people to buy more. Some sell land, others borrow money, and many postpone weddings for years, waiting until they can “afford” society’s demands. The same gold that once symbolized joy now brings sorrow, debt, and humiliation.
The glitter blinds our eyes to the tears behind it — tears of parents who wish to fulfill traditions but can’t. What was meant to unite hearts now divides society into the rich who flaunt and the poor who silently bleed. And then there is Wazwan — the heart of Kashmiri hospitality, once a sacred symbol of brotherhood, now turned into an engine of waste. Dozens of dishes are cooked, not for hunger but for show. Rogan Josh, Tabak Maaz, Gushtaba — these dishes once carried warmth, now carry pride. People measure status by the number of tramis and dishes they serve, not by the sincerity of their hearts. Thousands of rupees worth of food ends up in garbage bins, while families in nearby villages struggle for a single meal. What an irony — the same society that prides itself on generosity turns blind to its wastefulness. Disposable plates, aluminum boxes, and plastic cups pile up after every wedding. Streets, rivers, and drains are filled with garbage that stinks for days. Nature, which once blessed our valley with beauty, now groans under our carelessness. The Wazwan that once united communities now feeds our arrogance. And it doesn’t end there. The nights of marriage, which were once filled with Dhol, Nagma, and cheerful laughter, are now filled with deafening music, vulgar songs, and fireworks that light up the sky while darkening our hearts.
Singers are hired, and loudspeakers blare till dawn, disturbing elders, patients, and infants. The entire night becomes a concert — a stage for ego, not a prayer for blessings. Firecrackers explode as if announcing pride rather than joy, wasting lakhs of rupees that could have been spent on charity or the poor. People celebrate while animals panic, patients suffer, and the environment burns. The money that a father earns through a lifetime of struggle is burned in a few hours of fake happiness. Those who promote this noise — singers, DJs, and even those who encourage these trends — are equally responsible for destroying our cultural and spiritual essence. The Prophet ﷺ said, “The most blessed marriage is that which is easiest and least costly.” But our generation has turned it upside down. We have made weddings the most expensive, wasteful, and sinful events of our lives. The Azaan calls, yet the DJ drowns it out. The Qur’an reminds us of modesty, yet our halls echo with arrogance. The same people who barely donate to orphans spend lakhs on decoration and fireworks. The same community that cannot unite for education unites to compete in extravagance. The result? Families fall into debt, youth delay marriage, relationships crumble, and blessings vanish.
While the focus of a broader public perception is on reviving the soul of Kashmiri weddings by rejecting extravagance for generating a social order of simplicity, decency, and faith, theexcessive spending is a destructive “disease” that threatens the individual, home, and society. To survive, the culture must restore its core values—making a simple Nikah a “revolution”—before the loss of simplicity and faith leads to inevitable destruction.”
The social destruction is visible everywhere. Parents now see daughters as burdens because of gold and dowry. Young men fear marriage because of expenses. Many marriages break under expectations before they even begin. The poor are humiliated, the middle class destroyed, and even the wealthy lose peace of mind. Marriages have turned into theaters of jealousy — people don’t go to bless; they go to compare. The joy once found in community has turned into silent suffering. This is not celebration — it’s cultural suicide.
It is time for serious reform. The Ulema must rise, not with silence but with strength. Mosques should form committees to promote simple nikah, limited dishes, and the elimination of music, fireworks, and waste. The rule should be clear — no more than three dishes, no unnecessary gold, no DJs, no disposable waste. Instead, let there be dua, Qur’an, and blessings. Let marriages be solemnized in mosques or small gatherings, where the real beauty lies — in faith, not display. Those who violate these norms should not be admired but corrected. It’s time our religious scholars speak openly during khutbahs, reminding people that extravagance is not a sign of progress but a mark of decay.
Every rupee wasted on showing off is a curse, every song played in arrogance a sin, every plate of food wasted a burden on the soul. When we throw food, we insult Allah’s blessings. When we buy gold to compete, we enslave ourselves to pride. When we burn money on fireworks, we burn our peace. The money that could support the poor, educate children, or build hospitals disappears in one night of ego. The Qur’an warns us, “Indeed, the wasteful are brothers of Shaytan.” And that is what we have become — servants of pride rather than servants of Allah.
Social media has made the wound deeper. Weddings are no longer for blessings but for content — every ritual is recorded, filtered, and posted for likes. The bride and groom are no longer humble servants of God; they are performers in a public show. People who couldn’t attend are made to feel small, those who did attend are compared, and those who didn’t do the same are ridiculed. The disease of showing off spreads faster than any virus. And in this storm of vanity, the sanctity of marriage — the foundation of peace — is lost.
What was once the pride of Kashmir has become its greatest shame. The same community that once valued modesty and respect now bows to greed and glamour. A society that spends more on a single wedding than on a child’s education cannot expect a bright future. This is how civilizations fall — not from outside attacks but from within, when their values die. We are standing on that edge.
We must revive the beauty of simplicity. Let every family promise — no show-off, no waste, no pride. Let weddings return to their true purpose: uniting hearts under Allah’s mercy. Let the Qur’an replace the DJ, let the mosque replace the banquet hall, let prayers replace fireworks, and let humility replace arrogance. Simplicity is not backwardness; it is the Sunnah. The Prophet ﷺ married his daughter Fatimah (RA) with a simple Nikah, and that marriage became a light for the world. If we want our homes to have peace, our hearts to have contentment, and our society to survive, we must kill pride before pride kills us. Every rupee saved from waste is a reward, every dish reduced a blessing, every simple Nikah a revolution against this disease. The time has come to restore the soul of Kashmiri weddings — not through decoration and gold, but through decency and gratitude. Because a society that loses its simplicity loses its faith, and once faith is gone, destruction is inevitable. Let the echo of duas return where music now plays, let humility rise where vanity rules, and let the light of simplicity heal the darkness of extravagance. For a Kashmiri wedding without faith is not a celebration — it is a funeral of values. Let us not bury our culture with our own hands. Let’s revive it — before it’s too late.
(The author a freelancer is a teacher by profession. 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”)
