Pinjirakari on brink as Kashmir’s timeless woodcraft fades

Falak Bilal
Srinagar, Apr 28: In the old quarters of Srinagar, where carved wooden balconies lean over winding alleys and time seems to move at a gentler pace, a centuries-old craft is quietly slipping away. Known as Pinjirakari, the intricate art of lattice woodwork that once defined the architectural soul of Kashmir is now on the brink of disappearance.

For generations, Pinjirakari was more than ornamentation — it was identity. Homes, mosques, shrines, and traditional havelis were adorned with finely crafted wooden lattices, assembled without nails or glue. Each piece was a testament to patience, geometry, and the remarkable skill of Kashmiri artisans.
Today, that legacy survives in only a handful of workshops.
One such space belongs to Mohammad Ashraf Bhat, a veteran craftsman who has spent nearly four decades preserving this fading tradition. Inside his modest workshop, thin strips of wood lie carefully arranged, each awaiting its place in a larger geometric puzzle.
“Every joint has to be perfect,” Bhat says, his hands moving with quiet precision. “If even one piece is slightly off, the entire pattern collapses. This craft doesn’t forgive mistakes.”
Bhat’s journey began in childhood, when he learned Pinjirakari through the traditional ustad-shagird (master-apprentice) system. Back then, the craft was thriving, with demand flowing steadily from households across the Valley. But the passage of time has disrupted that chain of knowledge.
“Earlier, young boys would come eager to learn,” he recalls. “Now they want quick results, quick money. This work takes years — sometimes a lifetime — to master.”
The decline of Pinjirakari mirrors broader shifts in Kashmir’s socio-economic landscape. Rapid urbanization, changing architectural preferences, and the rise of machine-made alternatives have dramatically reduced demand for handcrafted woodwork. Cheaper, mass-produced designs now dominate the market, pushing traditional artisans to the margins.
What was once a symbol of pride has become a rarity.
“People used to value this art because it represented culture,” Bhat says. “Now they look for convenience. Machines can copy the design, but they cannot replicate the soul of handmade work.”
Despite these challenges, Bhat continues his practice with unwavering dedication. In 2023, his efforts were recognized with a state award — a moment he describes as both an honor and a reminder of responsibility.
“This recognition is not just for me,” he says. “It is for the craft itself. But awards alone cannot save it.”
Artisans and cultural experts warn that without immediate intervention, Pinjirakari could vanish within a generation. They emphasize the need for structured training programs, financial incentives, and stronger market linkages to attract younger artisans.
“There has to be awareness,” Bhat stresses. “People need to understand what they are losing. Once these skills disappear, they cannot be brought back easily.”
There are also calls for integrating traditional crafts into modern architecture and design, giving them renewed relevance in contemporary spaces. Some designers have begun experimenting with Pinjirakari in interiors, but such efforts remain limited.
Back in the lanes of Srinagar, the silence surrounding the craft is telling. Workshops that once echoed with the rhythmic tapping of wood have fallen quiet. The few that remain stand as fragile guardians of a rich cultural past.
As Kashmir continues to modernize, the fading of Pinjirakari raises a deeper question — what is lost when tradition is replaced by convenience?
Because the disappearance of a craft is not just the loss of an art form. It is the erosion of memory, identity, and the human stories embedded within each handmade piece.
And as artisans like Mohammad Ashraf Bhat continue their solitary work, the future of Pinjirakari hangs in a delicate balance — much like the intricate wooden patterns they have spent a lifetime creating.