Falak Bilal
Srinagar, Apr 07: On a crisp morning in Srinagar, as the hum of engines and honking cars fills the air, a different sound cuts gently through the noise—the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the road. At the reins sits 70-year-old Ghulam Rasool Kumar, guiding his horse-drawn tonga through the city, reviving a tradition that once defined Kashmir’s streets.
A few years ago, tragedy struck his family when both of his sons lost their lives in a drowning incident. The loss left him shattered.
In search of solace, Kumar turned to a memory from his youth. Decades ago, he had earned his living driving a tonga—then a common and respected mode of transport in Srinagar. With time, however, tongas vanished, replaced by cars, autos, and buses.
“I used to drive a tonga when I was young,” he recalls. “Back then, it was a part of everyday life. People depended on it. I never thought I would return to it again—but life brought me back.”
Today, his tonga is more than a vehicle—it is a moving symbol of resilience, memory, and cultural preservation.
As he navigates the city’s roads, Kumar often finds curious onlookers stopping to watch or take photographs. Some even choose to ride with him, not out of necessity, but for the experience.
“When people sit in the tonga, they smile,” he says. “Some tell me it reminds them of their childhood. That makes me happy. It feels like I am giving something back to the city.”
Locals have warmly embraced his effort. Many see in his work a rare attempt to keep Kashmir’s fading traditions alive in an era of rapid modernization.
“It’s like seeing a piece of old Srinagar come back to life,” says a local shopkeeper who watches Kumar pass by each day. “We grew up seeing tongas on these roads. Now, it’s all gone. What he is doing is special.”
Tourists, too, have shown interest in the slow-paced, eco-friendly ride—offering a stark contrast to the hurried rhythm of modern travel.
For Kumar, however, the journey is not about business or recognition. It is about healing.
“When I sit on the tonga, I feel at peace,” he says. “It keeps my mind occupied. It reminds me of better days, and somehow, it gives me strength.”
Each ride, he adds, feels like a silent tribute to his sons.
“I think of them all the time,” he says softly. “This… this helps me carry on.”
In a city racing toward the future, Kumar’s tonga moves at its own pace—unhurried, deliberate, and full of meaning. It is a reminder that progress does not always have to erase the past, and that even in the face of deep loss, one can find purpose in preserving what once was.
As the sun begins to set over Srinagar, the silhouette of the tonga fades into the evening traffic—but its message lingers: sometimes, the slowest journeys carry the deepest stories.
