For far too long, the people living along the mighty Chenab have been described only in negatives: not Kashmiri enough, not Jammu enough, not developed enough, not represented enough. We have been the footnote in every political narrative, the blank space on every development map, the silenced voice in every discussion about Jammu & Kashmir. I coined the word “Chenabi” in 2017 not to invent a new identity, but to stop the slow erasure of the old ones.
Chenabi is not an ethnicity. It is not a political party. It is not a separatist slogan dressed in pretty clothes. It is simply the name of the land and the people who belong to the Chenab River’s embrace (Bhaderwahi, Sarazi, Padri, Poguli, Khash, Kishtwari, Bhalesi, Paddri, Gojri, Dogri-speakers, Kashmiri-speakers, Gujjars, Bakarwals, Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, everyone). When I say “Chenabi,” I am saying: look at the map again. There is a third space between the Pir Panjal and the Kashmir Valley that has its own rivers, its own tongues, its own wounds, and its own dreams.
We are told that demanding recognition is “balkanisation.” I find that accusation both amusing and insulting. Balkanisation is what happens when empires forcibly divide people who want to live together. What has happened to the Chenab Valley is the opposite: three districts (Doda, Kishtwar, Ramban) forcibly scattered across two administrative divisions, neither of which cares for us. Jammu Division treats us as its backward backyard; Kashmir Division treats us as its irrelevant frontier. We are administratively orphaned, politically exploited, and developmentally starved. Our children study under trees while flyovers are inaugurated hundreds of kilometres away in areas that already have them. That is not unity; that is organised neglect.
Some well-meaning friends from Kashmir tell us, “You are Kashmiri, why this new label?” I smile and reply: I am a Kashmiri-speaker from Kishtwar, my mother tongue is the same as that of Srinagar. But when the winter scholarships are announced, when the medical seats are allocated, when the recruitment boards are formed, when the cultural academy budgets are disbursed (my Chenabi Kashmiri identity suddenly evaporates). The valley forgets us the moment the last tourist leaves Gulmarg. We are remembered only when someone needs votes or when a militant crosses the Pir Panjal and the headlines need a “remote mountainous region.”
Friends from Jammu are quicker with their anger: “You want to break Jammu!” No. We do not want to break anything. We want to stop being broken. Give us a Chenab Division with its headquarters in Doda or Kishtwar, give us the same reservations and development packages that other divisions take for granted, give our dying languages the tiny oxygen of radio bulletins and school primers, and watch how quickly we stop shouting. We are not asking for the moon; we are asking for the basic dignity that every other region in this state received decades ago.
The beauty of “Chenabi” is that it threatens no one’s existing identity. A Bhaderwahi remains Bhaderwahi, a Sarazi remains Sarazi, a Gujjar remains Gujjar, a Kashmiri remains Kashmiri. The term is an umbrella, not an eraser. It says: we may pray in different languages and vote for different parties, but the same river gives us water, the same mountains bury our dead, and the same neglect darkens our future. In unity there is strength, yes; but first there must be recognition that unity is even required.
I have been called a “regional chauvinist” for this work. Let the record show: the only chauvinism I practise is the chauvinism of existence. I refuse to let my people become a historical parenthesis. When UNESCO lists Bhaderwahi and Sarazi as “definitely endangered,” when young boys in Paddar have to walk six hours to reach the nearest high school, when Kishtwar’s sapphire mines enrich distant corporations while our roads remain broken (someone has to stand up and say, loudly and unapologetically, “Yeh Chenab hai, aur yeh hum hain.” This is Chenab, and these are its people).
The Chenab Valley does not need pity. It needs justice. It needs a seat at the table where its fate is decided. Until that happens, I will keep writing, keep speaking, keep insisting on the word “Chenabi” (not because it divides, but because it finally allows us to be counted).
We are not asking for a new state. We are not asking to redraw the map of India. We are only asking the map to stop pretending we are not on it.
Founder, The Chenab Times
Kishtwar, Chenab Valley
24 November 2025
