Regulated, not banned: The real story behind Kashmir's liquor debate

By Raqif Makhdoomi* 

Kashmir's political atmosphere rarely settles. Barely a day passes without some fresh tussle between parties, their leaders trading accusations while ordinary people watch, exhausted and disillusioned. They voted for change. What they got was theatre.

People in Kashmir are politically aware. They understand exactly what each party stands for and what each leader is worth. But that awareness has curdled into fatigue. Most have simply decided to focus on their own lives and let politicians perform for each other. The hope that accompanied the last election is gone. What remains is the daily drama.

A Long History, Not a New Problem

Alcohol in Jammu and Kashmir is not a recent arrival. The state's Excise Act dates to 1984, enacted when Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad was Prime Minister, formalising the sale and consumption of liquor. But wine shops in Kashmir actually trace back to the 1850s. The Dogra rulers, who governed from 1846 to 1947, made alcohol commercially mainstream. The Gupkar area of Srinagar was once a functioning vineyard, a revenue source for the monarchy with distilleries running since the late 19th century.

One prominent Srinagar shop, licensed since 1964, stocks hundreds of brands today. Kashmir, in other words, has never been a stranger to this.

Even during the turbulent 1990s, there was no official ban. Consumption dropped out of fear, not law. When the fear lifted, the bottles returned.

What Has Changed is the Culture Around it

There was a time when being seen as an alcoholic carried social shame. That brake is gone. Young men walk openly on roads visibly drunk. A habit once hidden is now worn as a badge. The Bollywood line "Haan haan main alcoholic hun" was once a throwaway lyric. Today it functions as a flex.

The common justification heard is: at least it is not drugs. But that argument collapses quickly. Alcohol in excess kills just as surely as a heroin overdose. Both drain finances. Both destroy health. Normalisation is perhaps the most dangerous thing that can happen to a society, and Kashmir is living through it.

The political response: revealing and evasive

When a legislative assembly member introduced a bill to restrict alcohol, a ruling party MLA pushed back, arguing that Kashmir is a tourist destination and that a ban would hurt state revenue and tourism. Public backlash was sharp enough that the MLA issued a clarification, but the clarification could not undo what the statement revealed.

Then came the Chief Minister. Omar Abdullah said that nobody is being forced to consume alcohol, that existing shops serve those whose faith permits it, and that his government's role is regulation, not promotion. The response from the public was immediate and fierce. Abdullah later acknowledged he had spoken without fully explaining his position, and blamed the opposition for distorting his words.

That might carry more weight if his own party's vice president had not separately declared that alcohol would only be banned if the central government compensated the revenue losses.

That single word, if, tells you everything about the political calculation being made.

The Cost Nobody is Accounting for

Between the revenue calculations and the political point-scoring, a generation is being lost. Leaders are debating compensation figures for the treasury. Nobody is asking who compensates the future.

That is the real Siyasat-E-Sharab. Not the bottles. The bargaining.

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*Student of law and human rights activist