paddy fields

Paddy fields of Kashmir, past the check point at Lower Munda.

An Army officer, posted in this region, once told a cousin of mine, “You Kashmiri men are no good! Look at at your field, only your women do all the work!”

Paddy cultivation is said to be a very delicate process. In Kashmir, unlike most other places in India, mostly women work in paddy fields and sow, harvest and stack paddy. And they sing while work. They sing a type of Kashmiri folk song known as Naindai Gyavun. They sing and ask for the kindness of their prophets and Gods, Nabis and Bharavs. And to their lover they sing:

Reaping and reaping, my hands are now tired,
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
Cutting and cutting, my hands are now bruised,
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
Drops of sweat, in drains, now run down my forehead.
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.
The golden harvest, this harvest a tease, dances with wind.
And yet, my love, the end of this field is in no sight.