Falak Bilal
Soibugh, Budgam, Aug 29: Every tandoor Abdul Rashid Kumar makes begins with a handful of earth and ends with a furnace capable of withstanding the intense heat of a traditional Kashmiri bakery.
For nearly 40 years, Rashid has worked with clay in Soibugh, Budgam, making the traditional ovens used by kandurs to bake breads such as girda, lavasa and t’chot.
The craft was handed down to him by his father.
“He taught me this work and told me never to leave it,” Rashid says.
But as he grows older, he is confronted by a question for which he has no easy answer: who will take over when he stops?
His children have no interest in the trade.
Tandoor making is a laborious process that begins long before the oven takes shape.
The clay is dug out, dried and crushed before being mixed with sand and water. It is then kneaded, often by foot, until it reaches the required consistency.
Rashid builds the oven layer by layer, using his hands to shape and smooth the clay. The structure is then allowed to dry gradually before being seasoned with heat.
“There is a lot of hard work in this. It takes time, patience and experience,” he says.
For those who use the ovens, the tandoor is an essential part of Kashmir’s traditional baking culture. For Rashid, it is also a family legacy.
The very qualities that once sustained the craft are now making it difficult to attract young workers.
The work is physically demanding, while the returns are often modest compared with other employment opportunities.
Rashid says his children have watched him work for years but do not want to pursue the same occupation.
“They have seen the labour involved. They do not want to take up this work,” he says.
He is not alone. Many people in his locality who once practised tandoor making have already left the profession, leaving fewer artisans with the skills needed to keep it alive.
The decline of the craft reflects a larger change taking place across traditional occupations in Kashmir.
As younger people move towards education, salaried employment and other forms of livelihood, trades once passed from father to son are increasingly being abandoned.
But traditional crafts survive only when their skills are transferred.
Rashid’s concern, therefore, is not simply about losing a source of income.
“This work has been part of my life for 40 years,” he says. “I learned it from my father, and I wanted to carry it forward.”
His story is also a reminder of the people behind Kashmir’s food traditions.
Every girda or lavasa baked in a traditional kandur carries a connection to the craftsmen who make the ovens possible.
Rashid continues to make tandoors despite the uncertainty surrounding the future of the craft.
He has carried his father’s knowledge for four decades. But unlike his own childhood, when the trade was inherited almost as a matter of course, there may be no son or daughter waiting to learn the skill.
“My biggest worry is what will happen to this craft after me,” he says.
For now, the clay still passes through Rashid’s hands. Another tandoor takes shape. Another oven is prepared for a kandur. And another chapter is added to a craft that has survived generations — even as the man making it wonders whether his will be the last generation to know how.
