His misty eyes and weather-beaten face belie his age. As Mushtaq slouches back against the wall, he listens to us with a resigned look writ large on his gnarled visage. He gives the impression that we are engaged in a futile discussion. A second look at him, and you will wonder whether he’s just waiting for the ordeal to tide over. He probably is. He, today, does not have a life. He has not a livelihood worth the name. Mushtaq was once an artisan who worked with furs; today he is just another worker who can barely eke out Rs 100 in a day at making artificial fur garments that few like and fewer buy.
The room we are seated in is a dusty one that doubles up as a stockpiling space in Srinagar’s Nawakadal area. This place is as craggy as Mushtaq’s countenance. It bears a rude testimony to the destitution that Kashmir’s furriers have been reduced to by the state government’s apathy. The man he is listening to is Nazir Ahmed, the General Secretary of the All-Kashmir Fur, Leather Manufacturers Tanners and Dyers Association. This name may sound a mouthful, but their members can barely feed their mouths.
This has been so, says a wizened Nazir, since the Jammu and Kashmir government banned sale and procurement of fur in the state in 1997. A decade and a half have passed by, but they are yet to be compensated for the loss of their livelihoods that happened practically one, cruel “overnight”. They have a case pending with the state handicrafts department. Nazir is hopeful something positive might transpire, but does not know when. If he’s certain of something, it’s of the death of his craft.
Nazir, like his colleague, understandably seems lacking in any drive. But he is clear-minded, and has the facts at his fingertips. In 2005, he tells me and my colleague Abdul Mohamin, the government had allocated Rs 2.20 crore as compensation to 440 workers. It had been ad hoc, and certainly did not take into account the fact that, according to the association, there were 1400-odd workers who should have been compensated. The association filed a case in 2007 and the following year, the Jammu and Kashmir High Court directed the state handicrafts department to look into the grievances of the artisans. The department was asked to interview workers and eliminate spurious claims.
What the handicrafts department did was conduct a three-part examination and those securing over 40 per cent were deemed to have passed. In other words, certified as bona fide workers. The process comprised a practical examination (of creating wares), an identification test, and a viva. Only 659 workers could pass this examination. This, as Nazir points out, was a farce. First, most were illiterate villagers who felt intimidated by the format itself. Many workers had not been working with fur or leather for years, and were suddenly asked to prove their skills through a practical examination. Most were hardly as deft with their hands as they were a decade earlier. And then there was this identification (of furs and pelts) test which had to be done on basis of not-so-good photographs. The results of the gruelling examination had been a foregone conclusion.
A decision, however, is yet to come in. This may happen in a few months time. And then Nazir plans to call it a day. “I am tired after fighting for our dues for 14 long years.” The amount that would be distributed among the 440 workers (as the government had initially said) or 659 workers (if it goes by the results of the tests) would be paltry. “It can be seen only as relief, and not rehabilitation,” says Nazir.
Traders, however, had been luckier than the workers. In all, 244 dealers had been compensated with after they surrendered their stocks to the government. The amount had not been as per the rates announced by the government, but some money had still come in. For instance, Mohammad Altaf Qureishi, who now runs as woollens shop in the heart of the city, was able to extract Rs 2.29 lakh from the government against the Rs 3.5 lakh that he ought to have got as per the official rates for his stock. Altaf says he is still pursing the matter with the government, but doesn’t sound sanguine. He remains good-humoured, and doesn’t let show on his face that most of the woollens in his shop are stuff that you can get practically in any city. Except for the phiran, there’s hardly anything Kashmiri here.
Altaf has lived to see another day. But the craftsmanship has for sure receded into history. Nazir says barely 10 per cent of workers with skillsets are left. In another five years, even they would be gone.
Some alternatives are sprung up for discussion once in a while, but seem good only for feasibility reports. Kashmiris are meat-eaters, and 3.5 million sheep and goat are said to be slaughtered annually for consumption. Though these skins can be used for producing quality leather, there are not too many tanneries around. For those who work with leather, the raw stock comes mostly from faraway South India. Production costs naturally shoot up and finished products have to be sold at lowly prices to keep up with the competition. The going might be rough, but those working with leather are still surviving.
Unlike the fur workers, who are an impoverished lot. Working with synthetic fur is an option not many can afford. “Investment is extremely high,” points out Nazir. Many have turned to other professions, though not many have been successful at that. Neither Nazir nor his beleaguered organisation can provide succour to the workers. That, if at all, has to come from the state government. And the Omar Abdullah regime does not seem to be in a hurry to do that.
Till such time Mushtaq will only be counting days.
