Falak Bilal
Srinagar, May 4: In a modest workshop tucked within the old quarters of Srinagar, the rhythmic tap of chisel against walnut wood echoes like a heartbeat from another era. Surrounded by intricately carved panels, floral motifs, and half-finished calligraphy pieces, Manzoor Ahmad Bazaz leans over his workbench, continuing a legacy that is as fragile as it is beautiful.
For over forty years, Manzoor has dedicated his life to the ancient art of Kashmiri woodcarving—an inheritance from his father, Haji Abdul Aziz Bazaz, a revered master craftsman whose accolades included some of the highest honors in the field. But beyond awards and recognition, what Manzoor truly inherited was a responsibility.
“My father didn’t just teach me how to carve wood,” Manzoor recalls, gently brushing sawdust from a carved lattice. “He taught me patience, discipline, and respect for tradition. Every piece we create carries a story.”
Woodcarving tradition, particularly on walnut wood, is renowned worldwide for its intricate detailing and timeless elegance. From elaborately carved furniture to Quranic calligraphy panels and ornamental décor, each creation reflects centuries of artistic evolution.Manzoor’s workshop is a living museum of this heritage. Shelves display floral arabesques, geometric patterns, and finely etched nameplates—each piece handcrafted, each design unique.
“Machines can replicate patterns, but they cannot replicate soul,” he says. “Hand carving has a human touch that no technology can replace.”Despite its cultural richness, the craft faces an uncertain future. According to Manzoor, fewer young people are willing to pursue woodcarving as a profession.“The younger generation wants quicker income and less labor-intensive work,” he explains. “This craft demands years of learning and doesn’t promise immediate returns.”Economic pressures, lack of institutional support, and competition from mass-produced goods have further strained the survival of traditional artisans.
Determined not to let the craft fade into obscurity, Manzoor has taken matters into his own hands. Under his guidance, a free 15-day training program has been launched, aimed at introducing youth to the basics of woodcarving.
The initiative has already attracted a small but enthusiastic group of learners, many of whom had never held a chisel before.“When I see young hands trying to learn what my father taught me, I feel hopeful,” Manzoor says with a faint smile. “Even if a few of them continue, it’s a step forward.”Participants are taught foundational techniques, design principles, and the cultural significance behind the motifs. More importantly, they are shown how the craft can become a sustainable livelihood.
Manzoor believes that preserving such heritage requires more than individual effort. He advocates for integrating traditional crafts like woodcarving into school curricula.“If children learn about these crafts early, they will value them,” he argues. “It’s not just about making artisans—it’s about preserving identity.”
He also calls for government-backed initiatives, better market access, and financial support to make the profession more viable for young artisans.As sunlight filters through the workshop window, illuminating the fine dust in the air, Manzoor returns to his work—chiseling delicate petals into a wooden panel.
Each stroke is deliberate, each movement practiced over decades.For him, woodcarving is not just a profession; it is a lineage, a language, and a lifeline.
“This craft has given me everything—my identity, my livelihood, my pride,” he says. “All I want is for it to live on, even after I am gone.”
In a world racing toward automation and speed, Manzoor Ahmad Bazaz stands as a quiet guardian of tradition—one carving at a time.
