In Kullan village of central Kashmir’s Ganderbal district, Zulfikar Ali Shah, a 52-year-old farmer, stands in what was once a mosaic of green paddy fields. He remembers his childhood vividly, which was filled with days of laughter, water-filled plots, and neighbours working together in the open fields. Today, the same landscape is dotted with houses and roads. “This whole area used to be farmland,” Zulfikar says, pointing to a cluster of half-built houses. “You wouldn’t see a single concrete wall here back then. Just fields and trees.”
Today, cement structures dominate the landscape. Multi-storey houses and new roads have replaced the fields. Residential colonies have sprung up where rice once grew. Farming quietly disappeared. Ganderbal, once a small town north of Srinagar, changed rapidly after it became a district headquarters in 2006. Paddy fields in villages like Tulumula and Beehama became schools and shopping complexes. Three other towns declared district headquarters the same year and saw a similar pattern.
“No one grows rice now,” Zulfikar says, shaking his head. “People sold their land. Some built houses, shops and complexes. I gave up one kanal of my own land and built a house. Others left farming altogether.”
He said, “I was the only son to my father. We built a house years ago. Now I have four sons. I had eight kanals of land, and each son gets two. They built houses and small vegetable plots. That reduced the farmland further.”
The change came slowly, building by building, field by field. But for people like Zulfikar, the change is hard to ignore. His village no longer looks the same. “Now it’s a town,” he says. “But not the kind I dreamed of.”
According togovernment data, Kashmir has lost nearly 34,000 hectares of farmland between 1996 and 2023, dropping from 163,000 to 129,000 hectares, much of it to housing and commercial projects. Yet, agriculture continues to define the lives and livelihoods of most rural households, even as its form changes.
Most people in rural Kashmir still depend on farming, not just for income, but for identity. Around 70 percent of the population lives in rural areas, where most people depend on farming for their livelihoods. For many, it's not just income; it's inheritance.
Satellite imagery confirms this shift. A study tracking land use in South Kashmir from 1990 to 2017 found farmland shrank by five percent, while horticulture, mainly apple orchards, expanded by over four percent. The study covered 113 villages across 5,454 square kilometres and a population of 2.38 million. Experts warn that losing farmland threatens food security and harms soil health, which could reduce long-term productivity.
Like many others, Zulfikar relied on paddy farming to support his family. But shrinking farmland and rising costs have made it harder to continue. “People say farming doesn’t pay anymore,” he adds. “But no one talks about what we’re losing.”
Farmers once grew a range of traditional rice varieties like Mushk Budji and other local types. Now, high-yield strains are replacing them.
Low returns from rice cultivation have already pushed some farmers to switch to apple farming, especially high-density orchards that promise higher yields and better profits.
“Rice brings ₹20,000–₹24,000 per four kanals, while apples earn several times more,” says Tariq Rasool, a professor at Sher-e-Kashmir University of Agricultural Sciences and Technology (SKUAST). About 800 hectares in Kashmir now grow high-density apples, official figures show. The government plans to expand this area to 5,500 hectares by 2026.
Rasool warns that construction pressure is adding to the crisis. While farmers cite low returns and rising costs, experts also point to policy gaps and weak regulation as major drivers of land loss. The government says it plans to support high-density apple farming and promote agro-based industries, but many farmers say help rarely reaches them.
Tariq Ramzan, an agriculture expert and field supervisor in the Agriculture department, says rapid urban growth is eating into paddy fields. “Urban areas are spreading into fertile farmland without planning,” he says. “Laws exist, but they’re rarely enforced.”
“Once the land is gone, we can’t bring it back; it affects food, water, and rural jobs.” “If this trend continues, Kashmir may have houses to live in, but not enough rice to eat,” he adds. “We are losing both land and identity, one kanal at a time.”
While climate is reshaping the land, regulations have played a role too. In 2022, new government rules allowed landowners to convert farmland for commercial or industrial use with fewer restrictions. The 400 sq. metre cap on converting farmland for commercial or industrial use was lifted.
A district-level committee, led by the District Collector, reviews applications and must decide within 30 days. The owner pays 5 percent of the land’s market value as a fee. If the land isn’t used as approved within two years, the permission is cancelled.
Most conversions benefit private builders and affluent families. Some farmers earn quick profits, selling their land or building rental properties. But as experts note, the short-term gains come at the cost of long-term security.
The 2025 government report confirms this trend: unplanned development and farmland conversion have reduced local food production, making Kashmir increasingly dependent on imports.
It warns that this shift has wider effects. “Inflation remains higher than the national average,” the survey notes, adding that poor land-use enforcement and the lack of long-term farming policy continue to damage the sector.
Experts say the net sown area is around 30 percent, but much of it is no longer cultivated. Some fields lie dry. Others are already built over. Actual farming happens on far less. This policy shift has affected many farmers, including Yaqoob Nabi Dar, who faced tough choices in Bandipora.
In Bandipora district, 38-year-old farmer Yaqoob Nabi Dar from Ajas village has gradually stepped away from paddy farming. He owns 43 kanals of land across the Bandipora and Ganderbal districts but cultivates barely any rice now. “There’s no market for rice. We do not get irrigation support. The losses were too much,” he says.
He switched to apple orchards and built roadside shops to rent in 2020, joining many who are reinventing their livelihoods. Jammu and Kashmir’s agriculture share in GDP has fallen from 28 percent in 2004–05 to 16 percent in 2022–23.
At the same time, farmers face new climate stress. Rising temperatures and erratic rainfall make paddy farming harder.
Traditional practices like Thaejkaad (nursery), the Kashmiri method of paddy transplantation, depend on seasonal patterns. The process starts with paddy soaking in mid-April, followed by nursery preparation, transplantation from May to June, and harvesting between September and October.
This year, Kashmir recorded unusually high temperatures above 37°C, nearly 10°C above normal. Such heat disrupts the timing and success of these age-old farming rituals.
“Apple trees need less water,” Yaqoob says. “They earn more too.” Small farmers are hit hardest. Hilal Ahmad Ganie from Kangan owns just two kanals of land. “Fifteen years ago, I harvested at least two quintals of rice. Now I barely get fifty kilograms,” he says. Puddling blocks seed growth. Rising heat and erratic rain have made it worse for small farmers.
As paddy farming declines, demand for local rice has risen sharply. Meanwhile, rising demand for local rice, driven by reduced government allocations through the public distribution system, has pushed rice prices up over the past two years.
Rice prices have doubled in the past year, putting extra pressure on consumers. Local varieties that once sold for ₹2,500–₹3,000 per quintal now cost ₹5,500. Premium rice like Mushk Budji sells for up to ₹10,000 per quintal. The Geographical Indication (GI) tag, granted in 2023, was a nod to its heritage, but few farmers can afford to grow it now.
The vanishing grain
The rapid loss of paddy fields raises serious concerns about food security in Kashmir. Dar is not alone. Climate change is making things worse.
The region produces only 0.45 million tonnes of food grains against a need of 1.34 million tonnes, leaving a deficit of 0.89 million tonnes. Official estimates warn the shortfall could hit 36 percent by next year and cross 50 percent by 2030. For households, this isn’t just about supply but nutrition. Rice prices have risen as local production shrinks, and studies show rural families already face a 40 percent food intake gap and 38 percent calorie deficit.
Many now rely on imported rice or cheaper substitutes, spending more on staples while cutting diet quality. The decline of paddy farming is eroding not only Kashmir’s food security but also its daily nutrition
In Kashmir, rice is more than food. It’s tied to identity, rituals, and pride, especially heritage varieties like Mushk Budji, once served only on special occasions. Its sweet aroma and rich texture make it a staple in Wazwan, the region’s traditional feast.
The climate turns against the farmer
According to the survey, the growing conversion of farmland into residential and commercial use has reduced employment in agriculture. In 1961, 85 percent of Kashmir’s workforce was in this sector. Today, it stands at just 28 percent.
Others have followed similar paths, leaving paddy farming behind, not by choice, but out of necessity. Yaqoob Nabi Dar says climate change has added to the crisis. “Unseasonable rainfall and late snowfall have hurt us badly,” he says. “Every year, people in this line face losses.”
A land losing its identity
Studies show that in many parts of Kashmir the net earnings from paddy are extremely low, as little as ₹213 per hectare in foothill areas and only ₹373 per hectare on the karewas. Even in the valley floor, where conditions are better, farmers make barely ₹1,500 per hectare, with cost–benefit ratios ranging from 1.04 to 1.28. That means for every rupee spent on paddy cultivation, returns are just a few paise more, leaving farmers with little incentive to continue when apple orchards or shops promise higher profits.
Ayoub Lone, a 57-year-old farmer from Lar in Ganderbal, owns a small apple orchard spread over 15 Kanals. His trees grow in straight rows. Pale green apples hang from the branches. Just beyond a low wall, the main road runs past his land.
He switched from paddy to apples, hoping for better returns. “I thought horticulture would help,” Ayoub says. “Rice farming wasn’t working. Water was scarce, and we were barely breaking even.”
According to a 2007 report by ActionAid, the average temperature in Kashmir has increased by 1.45°C. In Jammu, it’s up by 2.32°C.
So far this June, Jammu and Kashmir has recorded a 26 percent rainfall deficit. Rice farming, which needs a lot of water, is becoming harder to maintain. Farmers are now dealing with erratic rainfall, melting glaciers, and drying water channels.
Temperatures in winter and spring have gone up a lot. Some places have seen winter temperatures rise by 1.3°C. This change affects farming, especially rice cultivation, which is a key crop in Kashmir.
In Kullan, 22-year-old Adil, Zulfikar’s son, doesn’t plan to farm. “My father struggled,” he says. “I’d rather work in town.” His decision reflects a broader generational shift away from farming. This year, winter drought hit hard. Rivers dropped. Power cuts followed. Kashmir’s rural identity is fading.
His words echo a generational turning point. Meanwhile, experts warned that if the trend continues, the UT may become heavily dependent on food imports. “The government must introduce sustainable farming programmes, improve irrigation, and create better market access for farmers,” said Dr Tariq, an agricultural expert.
He said climate change has significantly altered traditional farming patterns in J&K. “Erratic rainfall and water shortages are making it difficult for farmers to sustain their crops. Without strong climate-resilient strategies, agricultural productivity will continue to decline.”
Once, Kashmir’s identity was rooted in its rice fields, in the sound of water running through irrigation channels, and in the sight of farmers transplanting seedlings in the mist. Today, that rhythm is breaking. If the land continues to disappear, Kashmir may not just lose its crops. It may lose the memory of what it means to farm.
This story is produced as part of the India Water Portal Regional Story Fellowship 2025.