FROM WILD VALLEYS TO SILENT GREENS: Lessons from Two Worlds

When I left Kashmir for Germany, I carried with me the memory of a land alive not just with mountains and rivers, but with the hum and flutter of everyday life: the caw of crows overhead, ants weaving through the grass beneath me, sparrows in the hedges, and dogs trotting through city lanes as familiar as neighbours. Nature was not something separate from daily life, it was daily life.

But upon arriving in Germany, I was struck by a different kind of beauty. A controlled beauty. Travelling by train through the German countryside, I saw endless stretches of green, carefully trimmed lawns, manicured forests, and impeccably clean streets. Everything felt in order.

But over time, having lived here for two years, I began to notice something else. A different kind of quiet. A stillness that went beyond peace. The birds were few. Insects, almost absent. The grass beneath my feet was still, undisturbed by ants or beetles. I would sit in perfectly maintained public parks and feel a sense of calm yet also a sense of something missing.

This contrast raised a deeper question in me: Had cleanliness and order come at the cost of life itself?

Germany is rightly admired for its environmental awareness, infrastructure, and public discipline. But behind the neat facades, a different kind of crisis has been quietly growing. Studies have shown a drastic decline in insect populations across Europe; over 75% lost in recent decades. Bird numbers have fallen. Biodiversity is thinning.

Why? The reasons are now well known: - Intensive monoculture farming - Heavy pesticide use - Over-sanitized urban spaces

- Fragmented habitats and light pollution

The pursuit of aesthetic perfection; spotless lawns, tree-lined boulevards, paved paths has led to an unintentional sterilisation of life itself.

In contrast, Kashmir is still rich in life - rivers alive with fish, skies filled with birds, mountains echoing with unseen animals, and everyday roads dotted with creatures we often overlook.

But while nature still thrives despite us, it is now suffering because of us. Today, Kashmir faces a different crisis, not the loss of life due to over-order, but the destruction of life through neglect. This includes:

Plastic waste strewn across picnic spots and trekking routes left on mountain tops, lake shores, meadows where no one will clean it for years, if ever. Sewage and medical waste being dumped directly into lakes and rivers from hospitals, homes, and businesses, with no meaningful intervention from municipalities or environmental authorities. Lack of civic awareness, where many people knowingly litter, burn waste, or damage ecosystems, while fully understanding the consequences, but still participating in the problem. And a fading culture of stewardship: elders and children alike now separated from the natural cycles they once honoured.

Interestingly, in some chaotic aspects of life in Kashmir there is still life. Waste food thrown inappropriately may attract crows, dogs, or sparrows. Overflowing bins may feed stray cats. These aren’t good practices, in fact, they are unsanitary and dangerous but they reveal something important: Even disorder creates an ecological response.

But now imagine what could happen if that life was supported intentionally, not accidentally. If we moved from careless mess to care-full wildness not over-control, but thoughtful coexistence. We should not reject Western environmental systems. Germany offers many valuable lessons: local governance, recycling infrastructure, clean public transport, and a deep respect for public space.

But we must not imitate blindly.

The West is now spending billions to undo the ecological damage caused by “neatness.” They are planting wildflowers again. Restoring meadows. Building bee corridors. Letting some parts of their cities go wild because they finally understand that a healthy city must be alive, not just clean.

The way forward for Kashmir must be neither imitation nor isolation. It must be a model drawn from the land itself, from the character of its people, and from the deep spiritual traditions that have shaped its valleys for centuries.

Kashmiris are not disconnected from nature; they are deeply tied to it. Our ancestors prayed beneath chinar trees, bathed in rivers not just to clean but to reflect. The seasons

of Kashmir are part of our language, our cuisine, our folklore. The environment is not a utility; it is our identity.

And for a land whose majority professes Islam, a faith rich in teachings about balance, stewardship, and humility before creation; the potential for ecological leadership is not only possible, it is spiritually required.

Islam teaches us that we are khalifa; caretakers of the Earth. The Prophet Muhammad instructed us not to waste water even at a flowing river, and he planted trees with his own hands. He showed mercy to animals, warned against excess, and praised those who protected the environment.

What if we took these teachings seriously? What if Kashmir became not only a green land by nature, but a green land by choice; a place where educational institutions, and mosques led reforestation efforts, organised cleanup drives, and educated people on ecological ethics? Where Friday sermons reminded us not only to pray but to plant, to protect, and to preserve?

Let it be known that cleanliness in Islam is not just about clothes or mosques; it includes the streets, rivers, air, and farms. It includes the future of our children.

This vision does not demand massive wealth or technology. It demands intention, discipline, and love. It demands that we look inward before we look outward.

Let us imagine a Kashmir where keeping a river clean is seen as an act of gratitude; a way of honouring the gift that God has placed in our care. Where managing hospital waste and recycling materials is not done merely to meet a legal requirement, but as a sincere service to the well-being of the land and the people who depend on it. A place where forests are not seen as future construction plots, but as sacred trusts, preserved out of reverence for creation, and as a responsibility toward future generations.

Let Kashmir be a leading example not only for its beauty, but for its moral clarity in the global vicinity. A region that others look to and say: “They did not just preserve their land. They honoured it.”

We do not need to wait for governments to save us. A movement that begins in homes, mosques, schools, and hearts can grow stronger than any policy. When people lead, systems follow.

There is a quiet urgency in the air. The rivers are still flowing, but not forever. The birds still sing, but fewer than before. The mountains still stand, but their silence grows heavier.

Kashmir stands at a crossroads of the beautiful and the broken, the remembered and the imagined. But we still have something rare: a living landscape, and a people with the capacity to reflect, to change, and to lead. Let us not become another story of what was lost. Let us be the story of what was revived. Clean, but not silent. Ordered, but still wild. Faithful, and also forward-looking. The seeds are already in our hands. It is time to plant them.

Baseer Hussain, a Kashmiri student and DAAD scholar currently pursuing his master’s at Bauhaus University in Germany.