Kashmir

As autumn approaches, the rhythmic thud of wooden mallets pounding lamb echoes across courtyards and back lanes in Kashmir, where cooks prepare Wazwan – a lavish, multi-course mutton feast that remains central to traditional wedding celebrations.

Wazwan arrived in the valley from Central Asia in the 14th century, when rulers brought skilled chefs along with the carpet and shawl weavers that later defined the region’s craft heritage.

Today, the feast is both a marker of social status and a powerful symbol of Kashmiri identity.

Among its guardians is 74-year-old Ghulam Nabi Baba, a veteran Wazwan chef who traces his lineage to those early migrants. His forefathers settled in Srinagar’s old city as part of a community of cooks known as Wazpora.

“There were only seven mutton dishes at that time. Over the centuries we added more, and now there are around 20,” Baba said.

He explained how the number of dishes and the amount of meat often reflect a family’s wealth.

“Forty years ago in Delina [a village in north Kashmir] I cooked 4,500kg (9,920 pounds) of meat. That was a very big wedding. Normally, at an average marriage we cook 200kg (440 pounds),” he added.

Despite the expanding menu, the core techniques have changed little. Lightly spiced meat is still pounded by hand before being simmered slowly over wood fires – a labour-intensive process Baba has followed since joining his father as a cook at 15.

But the pressures of modern life are reshaping the tradition. Baba’s son has chosen to open a restaurant rather than work weddings, saying the round-the-clock demands are too exhausting.

He believes he is still carrying forward the family’s centuries-old culinary legacy – just in a different setting, as Wazwan adapts to contemporary tastes and lifestyles.

New Delhi, India – On the morning of August 26, the Himalayan landscape above Nepal’s Rasuwa district changed in minutes.

A mass of ice and rock broke loose high in the mountains and sent a violent surge of water, mud and debris down the Lhende Khola River. The torrent travelled through valleys, swept away settlements and infrastructure and eventually reached the Nepal-China border.

What followed was not simply a flood.

It was a chain reaction.

By mid-September, more than 1,400 people had been reported dead and at least 6,000 remained missing in Nepal and across the border in Tibet. Twelve hydropower plants were destroyed, while roads, bridges and homes were buried or washed away.

The scale of the destruction has left scientists and disaster managers confronting a difficult question: How do you warn communities about a disaster whose trigger may occur high above them, in terrain that is difficult to monitor and where there may be only minutes to react?

Basanta Raj Adhikari, director of the Centre for Disaster Studies at Tribhuvan University in Kathmandu, described the event to Al Jazeera as unprecedented in size, affected area and mechanism. His estimate suggested that the energy involved was greater than that released by the Hiroshima atomic bomb, a comparison intended to illustrate the scale of the physical forces involved rather than suggest that the event was equivalent to a nuclear explosion.

For scientists who study the Himalayas, the disaster demonstrated how quickly an event originating in a remote, high-altitude environment can become a regional catastrophe.

And Nepal is not alone.

The warning problem

A warming climate is altering glaciers, snow cover, permafrost and high-altitude lakes. At the same time, roads, hydropower projects, tourist facilities and settlements have pushed deeper into mountain valleys.

That combination is creating a new risk landscape in which one hazard can trigger another.

An avalanche can block a river. A blocked river can form a temporary lake. A sudden release can become a debris flow. That debris can destroy a road or bridge, block another river and create another flood downstream.

The August disaster in Nepal showed how quickly such a sequence can unfold. It also exposed a weakness in the way early-warning systems are often designed.

Many systems are built around a particular hazard: rainfall, river level or glacial lake outburst flood. But the Himalayas do not always respect those categories.

In July, the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development, or ICIMOD, warned that a below-normal monsoon should not be interpreted as a safer one.

“The biggest misunderstanding is that less seasonal rainfall means lower flood risk,” said Saswata Sanyal, a disaster risk reduction specialist at ICIMOD.

“A drier monsoon can still be a dangerous monsoon,” he added, warning that seasonal averages cannot capture the cloudbursts capable of producing catastrophic flooding in mountain valleys.

The Nepal disaster went a step further.

The immediate trigger was not simply heavy rainfall.

Scientists have been examining an ice-rock avalanche and other possible processes that temporarily obstructed the river system before releasing a destructive surge. ICIMOD has described the event as an ice avalanche rather than a conventional glacial lake outburst flood, while other scientists have examined the role of local seismic activity and other high-altitude processes.

That distinction matters.

A warning system waiting for rainfall or a rising river may not provide enough time when the real trigger happens several kilometres upstream and above the line of sight of the communities below.

Kashmir’s warning signs

Thousands of kilometres away, scientists studying Kashmir’s Himalayas are seeing another part of the same problem.

A study published in the Journal of Glaciology this year mapped 155 glacial lakes above 2,500 metres (8,200ft) across the Himalayas in Indian-administered Kashmir.

The researchers found that the area of ice-contact proglacial lakes – bodies of water that form directly against the margin of a melting glacier, trapped by moraine ridges, bedrock basins, or ice dams – had increased by 26 percent between 1992 and 2024.

Five lakes were classified as having very high susceptibility to glacial lake outburst floods.

An outburst from those lakes, the researchers found, could threaten several thousand buildings, 15 major bridges, roads and a hydropower project.

More significantly, the study warned that hazards could occur in chains, with an upstream lake outburst potentially triggering secondary events downstream.

For Irfan Rashid, a glaciologist and associate professor at the University of Kashmir who co-authored the study, the implications extend beyond individual lakes.

Rashid recently told Al Jazeera that without action, the melting, thinning, and destabilisation of glaciers, seasonal snow cover, and permafrost along the Hindu Kush-Himalayas system would increase, and water shortages could become a major problem across the Upper Indus, Ganga and Brahmaputra basins by the end of the century.

That is why the Nepal disaster resonates in Kashmir.

The landscapes are different, the rivers are different and the individual hazards may differ. But the underlying problem is increasingly similar: Communities living downstream of a rapidly changing high-altitude environment may have little time to respond when something breaks loose above them.

The challenge is particularly acute in places where roads, bridges and hydropower projects occupy narrow valleys.

Once a mountain river begins carrying enormous quantities of rock, ice and mud, infrastructure designed for conventional floods can quickly become irrelevant.

Pakistan has already begun building a warning network

The same concern runs across the western Himalayas and Karakoram ranges.

The Gilgit-Baltistan region in Pakistan-administered Kashmir contains hundreds of glaciers and glacial lakes, while communities and infrastructure sit along valleys exposed to sudden floods and landslides.

Pakistan has responded by expanding early-warning infrastructure.

Under a United Nations-supported programme, early-warning systems, evacuation shelters, disaster-management centres and other protective measures have been established in vulnerable valleys.

But technology alone cannot solve the problem. A sensor can detect a change. Someone still has to receive the message. Someone has to understand what it means. And people downstream have to have a route to safety.

That last part is often the weakest link. A siren is useful only if the people hearing it know where to go. An automatic warning is useful only if it arrives before the flood. A satellite image is useful only if the information can be converted into a decision quickly enough to save lives.

This is why disaster scientists increasingly talk about anticipatory action rather than simply disaster response.

“The era of preparing for a single, predictable hazard is over,” Sanyal said earlier this year. “Anticipatory action and early warning must now be the foundation.”

The infrastructure trap

The Himalayas are also becoming more heavily engineered.

Hydropower is central to Nepal’s economy. Roads are being expanded. Border crossings are growing in importance. Tourism is pushing deeper into remote valleys.

The benefits are obvious. So are the risks.

The August disaster struck an area where hydropower infrastructure was concentrated along the river corridor. At least 900 workers were believed to have been inside tunnels and other facilities in the aftermath, making rescue operations extraordinarily difficult. Two workers were eventually pulled alive from a hydropower tunnel nine days after the disaster.

The question is no longer simply whether infrastructure can withstand a flood. It is whether planners have adequately considered what happens when a flood is carrying an enormous mass of rock and ice, when a river changes course, or when one mountain hazard triggers another.

For decades, engineering risk assessments have often relied on historical records. But history becomes a less reliable guide when the physical conditions producing disasters are changing.

A river that flooded once every several decades may no longer behave according to the same pattern. A glacier that appeared stable from satellite imagery may sit beneath an increasingly unstable slope. A lake that was considered remote may suddenly become a threat to a road, village or power plant hundreds of metres below.

The border problem

There is another complication that no satellite can solve on its own.

Borders.

The Himalayas are divided among countries with different political systems, security concerns and approaches to sharing information. But rivers do not stop at international boundaries. Neither do floods.

The August disaster reached the Nepal-China border and damaged the Gyirong crossing, an important trade and pilgrimage route. The disaster also raised questions about how quickly information about hazards in high mountain areas can move between countries.

This is where regional cooperation becomes more than a diplomatic slogan, experts say. A sensor positioned in one country can provide warning to people in another. A satellite image collected over one mountain range can reveal a developing hazard that threatens a valley downstream. A river gauge can provide critical information before floodwaters reach a settlement.

The technical capability already exists in many cases. The missing piece is often the architecture connecting it.

A 2026 assessment of Himalayan disaster risks has argued for stronger monitoring, early-warning systems and regional coordination because hazards are increasingly interconnected.

The idea is simple: Information about a mountain hazard should not stop at the same line where a political boundary begins.

From Nepal to Sikkim to Kashmir

The August disaster in Nepal isn’t a tragedy belonging to one country, point out experts.

The Kashmir Himalayas study has already identified lakes capable of producing destructive outburst floods and has warned of cascading processes.

Northeast India’s Sikkim provides another example.

After the 2023 South Lhonak glacial lake outburst flood killed dozens and damaged major infrastructure, India expanded monitoring and mitigation efforts.

Today, 40 high-risk glacial lakes have been identified in Sikkim, including 16 placed in the highest-risk category, with authorities working on drainage, flood-retention and other protective measures.

But the lesson from each disaster is broadly the same: Waiting for a disaster to prove the risk is the most expensive form of preparedness.

The Third Pole test

The Himalayas are sometimes called the Third Pole because they contain one of the world’s largest concentrations of snow and ice outside the Arctic and Antarctic.

Major Asian rivers depend on water originating in these mountains. Hundreds of millions of people live downstream.

That makes the changing Himalayas not only an environmental issue but a security, infrastructure and humanitarian one.

The August disaster demonstrated the most frightening version of that future. A mountain can collapse without warning. A river can become a weapon of debris. A hydropower tunnel can become a trap. A border crossing can disappear in minutes. And by the time people downstream understand what is happening, the water may already be there.

It’s a future that a region stretching from northeast India, spanning Tibet, Nepal, Kashmir and Pakistan, can no longer ignore. Yet disaster management remains largely divided by national boundaries. That contradiction is becoming harder to navigate.

The next glacial collapse could begin in Kashmir. It could begin in Pakistan’s high mountains. It could begin in Sikkim, Nepal or Tibet.

Wherever it starts, the same question will follow the mountain downstream: Who knew, how early did they know, and did the warning reach the people in time?

For a region entering an era of increasingly complex mountain hazards, that may be the real measure of whether the Third Pole is prepared.

Srinagar: Every spring, mason Mohammad Ghulam Sarwar boards a train to Indian Kashmir, seeking higher wages despite the risk of being targeted by militants in the disputed Himalayan region.

Sarwar, 25, is one of an estimated half a million migrant workers who stream into the Himalayan region each year, forming the backbone of an economy increasingly reliant on labour from some of India’s poorest states.

The dependence has endured despite decades of insurgency and a series of militant attacks that have made migrant workers vulnerable targets.

Since 2019, at least 24 migrant workers have been killed in militant attacks across the territory, according to local media reports.

More than 1500 people were killed in the same period, according to the South Asia Terrorism Portal, 219 of them civilians.

The latest attack last month saw gunmen shoot dead two brick kiln workers from the central state of Chhattisgarh.

But for workers like Sarwar, the rewards outweigh the risks.

“Kashmir is real paradise. I will keep coming every year for as long as I have the strength to work,” Sarwar, from the eastern state of Bihar, told AFP.

While millions of Indians seek jobs in the Gulf, some workers say Kashmir offers nearly comparable earnings without the costs and complications of overseas migration.

Sarwar earns 1,200 rupees ($12) a day in Kashmir, compared with about 700 rupees in Bihar for the same work, if he could find any at all.

The Muslim-majority region, battling some of India’s highest unemployment rates, has become increasingly dependent on outsiders to perform jobs that many locals consider menial, including domestic work, agriculture and construction.

Local businesses say they struggle to find workers willing or able to take up many jobs.

“Outside the handicrafts sector there is not nearly enough local skilled labour available in Kashmir,” said Mohammad Ashraf Mir of the Kashmir Chamber of Commerce and Industry.

“We see a rising dependence on migrant workers, tending towards absolute dependence.”

Waiting to be hired

Each morning, groups of labourers gather at prominent squares in the main city of Srinagar, waiting to be hired.

Most stay for about eight months before departing ahead of Kashmir’s harsh winter, when construction slows and agricultural activity dwindles.

Muslim-majority Kashmir has been divided between India and Pakistan since their independence in 1947, while an insurgency against Indian rule that erupted in 1989 has claimed tens of thousands of lives.

Although the rebellion has been largely weakened in recent years, sporadic attacks continue.

Sarwar said he saw a barber from his home state shot dead by suspected rebels some years ago.

While he was saddened by the incident, it failed to deter him.

“Life and death are in the hands of God,” he said.

“If I remain fearful, I will have nothing. But if I overcome, I will have everything.”

Sarwar shares a building in Srinagar with around 200 other labourers. Some 7-10 workers squeeze into tiny rooms, sleeping and cooking in the same cramped space while paying little more than five dollars a month each.

Outside, security is conspicuous.

Paramilitary troops, armoured vehicles and police special operations units patrol streets. CCTV cameras monitor the compound around the clock.

“They have been soft targets for the terrorists in the past,” a senior security official said on condition of anonymity.

“But security arrangements for them have become robust over time.”

‘Feels peaceful’

Police encourage labourers to live in clusters and avoid venturing out after dark.

A labourer from West Bengal said many Hindu workers adopt Muslim-sounding names while in Kashmir, fearing that displaying their religion could make them targets.

Rebel groups say they target migrant workers to avenge police harassment of their families.

Many labourers are reluctant to discuss security concerns publicly.

“I face no troubles here,” said Mohammad Iqbal, a 53-year-old painter from Uttar Pradesh state who has worked in Kashmir since before the insurgency began and is now accompanied by his son.

“It feels peaceful.”

Others are more candid.

“I am afraid of terrorists here,” said Shahid Sofi, a 24-year-old mason from Bihar who previously worked in Delhi and Mumbai.

“But overall working conditions here are good, the weather is good, and I like working in the wide, open spaces of Kashmir.”

In a historic move last week, the United Nations General Assembly voted overwhelmingly to encourage the use of new world maps which more accurately depict continents with their true sizes.

The move followed months of lobbying by the African Union, which itself adopted a new map earlier in February. A total of 164 countries voted in favour while six abstained.

The United States was the only member to oppose it. US representative Yaryna Ferencevych said before the vote that the resolution was “the reason this institution is losing its credibility”.

“Instead of focusing on genuine problems … this body is debating map projects from the 16th century,” she said.

But since the resolution was approved, at least three other countries have voiced concerns about the changes: India, Ukraine and Japan.

None are explicitly opposed to adopting a new projection. However, they are raising concerns about how certain disputed territories should be depicted.

Here’s what we know:

Why is there a new world map?

The UN endorsed a resolution promoting the Equal Earth projection of the world map, rather than the Mercator projection, which is currently widely used.

The resolution does not ban Mercator or impose a particular replacement – it merely encourages nations to adopt the Equal Earth version, which was created by three researchers in 2018.

The Mercator projection, which was produced by Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator in 1569 when the West was busy “conquering” new territories, attempts to show a three-dimensional globe on a two-dimensional surface. That is why countries closer to the poles appear much larger than countries at the equator.

For decades, map experts have pointed out that Mercator’s projection disproportionately shrinks the true size of the African continent and that of other developing regions, while making Europe and the US seem much larger by comparison.

For example, Greenland is shown as roughly the same size as Africa, but, in reality, it could fit into the continent 14 times over. Europe, which is portrayed as bigger than South America, is actually half its size.

Advocates from African countries pointed out that the map is problematic because of the size issues. Importantly, they argued, it reinforces negative perceptions of Africa.

Several cartographers have attempted to develop equal area maps. However, African activists specifically pushed for the Equal Earth projection map, which significantly expands Africa and shrinks Europe and the US.

Experts say while maps are inherently inaccurate because of the constraints of depicting a spherical world on a flat plane, the Equal Earth projection is as close as it gets.

Why is Ukraine worried about the new map?

Ukraine was one of six countries which abstained from the vote at the UNGA, along with Estonia, Georgia, Moldova, Serbia and Lithuania, who voted in solidarity with Ukraine.

Kyiv has complained that the Equal Earth projection depicts the Russian-occupied Crimean peninsula in a distinctly lighter shade than mainland Ukraine.

Russia illegally occupied and annexed Crimea in February 2014, a move the UN has denounced.

Although the peninsula is also shaded differently from mainland Russia on the new map, its yellowish tint appears closer to the Russian shade than Ukraine’s.

“Ukraine does not in principle oppose the core issue addressed in this draft resolution,” Andrii Melnyk, the country’s permanent representative to the UN, said in an address to the assembly.

Melnyk said Kyiv had asked for corrections before the vote but had not received positive responses. The new map, he said, could be tantamount to opening a Pandora’s box, enabling the “abuse and distortion” of the world map.

“It would be a truly fatal mistake for all of us, and for this General Assembly, to seek to correct a historical injustice in the geographical depiction of countries and continents by simultaneously allowing a deeply troubling interpretation of the text of this draft resolution,” he added.

What is Japan demanding?

Meanwhile, on Thursday, Tokyo, which voted in favour of the new map, said it had also asked for corrections to the Equal Earth projection because the map uses the same colours and shades for Russian territory as it does for the disputed Kuril Islands.

Russia and Japan have long fought over control of the four islands, known in Russia as the Southern Kurils and in Japan as the Northern Territories. In 1945, during World War II, the Soviet Union invaded and annexed the islands as part of a pact with Western Allies that stipulated the Soviets would take the disputed territory. The islands’ Japanese inhabitants were removed.

Subsequently, Japan and the US have claimed that the islands were not part of the original pact. The islands, however, remain under Russian administration.

In August this year, Russia’s President Vladimir Putin paid his first-ever visit to the islands, drawing condemnation from Japan. Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi called the visit “absolutely unacceptable”, saying it “offends the sentiments of the Japanese people”.

This week, Chief Cabinet Secretary Minoru Kihara said the Japanese embassy in the US has asked Equal Earth’s creators to change the map.

“Displays that contradict the Japanese government’s position are seen [on the map],” Kihara said at a news conference. “We need to prevent incorrect perceptions regarding our country’s territories and geographical names from spreading.”

Why is India uneasy about the map?

India also voted in favour of the Equal Earth projection, but on Sunday, the Ministry of External Affairs published a caveat regarding depictions of the disputed border territory of Kashmir.

Following the Indian partition of 1947, both Pakistan and India lay claim to the former state of Jammu and Kashmir, which had been controlled by the British through indirect rule. The region has subsequently been a flashpoint for tensions between the two rivals and has led to several wars.

Parts of Kashmir are administered by Pakistan, while other parts are administered by India. China, which also disputes some Kashmir territory with India, administers its northeastern portion.

In his statement, spokesperson Randhir Jaiswal noted that the UN vote was in favour of encouraging the use of equal area projections and that it had not made the use of any one map mandatory.

“India’s sovereign territory, including the Union Territories of Jammu and Kashmir and Ladakh, must be depicted in accordance with India’s official map,” he said. “Any inaccurate or misleading depiction is unacceptable.”