How we let Gulmarg slip away

A construction frenzy has devoured the Meadow of Flowers. Now, the authorities promise a crackdown. But where was the enforcement all these years?

There was a time when Gulmarg looked like it had slipped out of a postcard.

A glacial meadow framed by fir trees and snow-peaked horizons drew comparisons with Switzerland.

Its ecosystem, fragile but in balance, managed to survive the seasonal rush of tourists, the ponies galloping over wildflowers, and the trickle of hotels that stopped short of intrusion.

But somewhere in the last five or six years, that postcard was torn up.

The construction boom came in waves. First as whispers of development, then as metal and concrete poured into the green zones of the meadow and its surrounding areas.

Buildings went up where there were once wild hares and moss. New roads carved through slopes where only shepherds once walked. The forest thinned, and the meadow shrank.

What we are witnessing today in Gulmarg is not just environmental decline. It is official negligence catching up with itself.

The Gulmarg Development Authority (GDA) now says the party is over.

Its Chief Executive Officer, Tariq Naik, has promised tough action. No more construction without paperwork, and no more bypassing the master plan.

“Nobody is above the law,” he said, a line that feels ironic given how many years that law was ignored.

But the truth is, the messy meadow, dotted with dozens of questionable guest houses, resorts, and villas, is finally getting some attention.

A few buildings have been sealed, many rule-breakers have been flagged. Surveillance cameras are up, and enforcement teams are on the ground.

But this raises a harder question: how did it go this far?

These aren’t a few sheds or stalls tucked behind trees. We are talking about multi-storey hotels, road diversions, and land-filling that would have been impossible without either blind eyes or silent nods from those tasked with protecting the meadow.

The master plan for Gulmarg was never meant to be a formality. It was designed to guard against this very kind of disaster.

A blueprint outlining zones of permissible development, limiting construction, and protecting the ecologically-sensitive core has been in place for years.

But like so many such documents in Kashmir, it gathered more dust than authority.

So, what changed suddenly, and sparked some sense and semblance in power corridors?

Beyond law and ecological reality, many reckon, the meadow move was driven by the urgency of the matter, as the damage is too visible to ignore now.

Streams once lined with alpine flowers now run alongside parking lots. Marshlands where migratory birds nested are being drained. The skyline is spiked with buildings that don’t belong.

During peak tourist season, Gulmarg struggles with its own popularity. The roads are jammed, the slopes are crowded, and the once-peaceful silence is gone.

It’s good that the GDA is finally speaking up. It’s good that Mr. Naik has issued warnings and reaffirmed the rulebook.

But enforcement must go beyond statements. It must reach those who sanctioned the illegal structures, not just the ones who built them.

Accountability must extend to those in power who stayed silent when the damage was fresh and reversible.

And perhaps most crucially, this moment demands more than a crackdown. It requires reflection.

How do we define development in a place like Gulmarg? Does growth mean more rooms, more shops, more cars? Or does it mean preserving the meadow so that future generations don’t inherit a broken version of it?

The people of Kashmir, and especially those in Tangmarg, Qazipora, and Drung, know what they’ve lost.

The footfall may be growing, but something sacred has shifted. The meditative calm has been disturbed, and a sense of trust has already been lost.

Gulmarg did not change overnight. It was slowly erased by illegal permits, unauthorised walls, and indifferent position-holders.

The law may now be knocking on doors, but the real test is whether it can restore what has already been lost.

If not, the green in Gulmarg will survive only in memory and misty photographs from a different time.