How Tibetan Muslims in Kashmir have carved out a space for themselves

The Dalai Lama’s remarkable escape to India during the Tibetan uprising of 1959 is well documented. But, there was another migration triggered by the upheaval—of the Tibetan Muslims. It is now a largely forgotten chapter of modern Asian history. They returned to their roots—their ancestors were from Kashmir—and, over six decades, have quietly built a life for themselves at Hawal and Eidgah in Srinagar.

 

“Our elders came to Kashmir from Tibet in 1961,” said Omar Adil Qazi, a prominent member of the community. His father, Ziauddin, was among the members of the 129 families that left Tibet, hoping to rebuild their lives in the land of their forefathers. A few families stayed in West Bengal, but most chose Kashmir, believing it to be a sort of spiritual homeland.

 

The decision to leave Tibet was not easy. Many had lived there for generations, their culture shaped by Tibetan customs and Islamic traditions. But, when China reportedly offered them freedom and facilities for abandoning their faith, they chose exile.

 

“Our elders approached the Indian government, citing Kashmiri ancestry,” said Qazi. A note by the external affairs ministry to the Chinese embassy in India on September 24, 1959 read: “Persons whose permanent domicile remained in Jammu and Kashmir and who visited India from time to time... whose parents or grandparents were born in undivided India are potential citizens of India. It is this group of persons who have repeatedly stated to the Chinese authorities that they were Indian citizens. They have submitted applications in writing for registration as Indian citizens and are entitled to claim the benefits of Indian nationality.”

 

Once allowed into India, the families spent some time in West Bengal’s Kalimpong district, before the majority made their way to Kashmir. But, not everyone made the journey to India. “My paternal aunt was married to a Chinese Muslim and stayed behind,” said Qazi. “We lost contact with her owing to China’s restrictions. My father tried to meet her in Nepal in 1984, but could not. My mother eventually met her after my father’s death.”

 

The early years in Kashmir were challenging for the families, who initially lived in tents at Eidgah. Ubaidullah Tantray, an artisan, recalls what his parents told him about those days. “The prime minister of Jammu and Kashmir Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad visited us,” he said. “He promised support and had a special fondness for our salted Tibetan tea, known as gur-gur chai.” Eventually, the government built houses for them at Eidgah. “Each house had land in the front and back,” said Tantray. However, those houses were later demolished, and the families were relocated to flats in newly constructed buildings.

 

Qazi’s family moved to the Tibetan Muslim Colony, Hawal, from Safa Kadal in down town Srinagar in the 1980s. “The colony started with 142 plots,” he said. “By 2001, more than 300 Tibetan Muslim families lived in Hawal.” The plots were leased for 20 years at nominal rates, with sizes depending on the number of family members. Ownership rights could be claimed once the full cost was paid. Yet, because of political unrest as well as lack of awareness, many families did not apply initially. “Now, many have applied,” said Qazi. “Some have even bought land in posh areas of Srinagar.” Qazi was sent to Jamia Millia Islamia in Delhi after Class 3 owing to his father’s emphasis on quality education. He obtained a master’s in international relations from Jawaharlal Nehru University.

 

In terms of education, Qazi may well have been an exception. In general, the Tibetan Muslims seem to have prioritised religious education. A madrassa that was functional in Tibet was revived in Hawal, initially offering education up to Class 3. “It provides education up to Class 10 now, for 900 students, and is open to all, not just Tibetans,” said Irfan Qazi, chairman of the madrassa. “In 2001, the school was upgraded after permission from the government and some financial support from the Central Tibetan Authority (CTA), the Tibetan government-in-exile in Dharamsala.”

 

The CTA also sent engineers to assist with the design and construction of the school’s ground floor. Later, as the school’s popularity increased, the authorities completed the building. Currently, most of the students and staff are from Kashmir.

 

The CTA also runs a health centre in Hawal and provides training. “I was trained by the CTA in paramedics,” said Sarfaraz Shahkuli, who runs the centre. “They offer various courses, but I chose this one.” Waliullah Shahkuli, 70, who had come to get his blood pressure checked at the centre, said he was 10 when he arrived in Kashmir with his parents. “We slowly rebuilt our lives, but lost contact with relatives in Tibet—mostly women who had married Chinese Muslim men,” he said. Waliullah and his father were artisans skilled in chobi embroidery, once popular in pherans (a loose-fitting, long-sleeved Kashmiri robe for women). “I learned the art and worked in our shop in Nowpora, Srinagar,” he said. “Now my son runs it.”

 

Waliullah explained how Tibetan Muslims coped with economic hurdles. “Our elders sold handmade caps, a skill they picked up in Tibet,” he said. As demand reduced, they turned to tilla-kari (hand embroidery using thin wires of precious metals like silver or gold), learning it from Kashmiri artisans. Tibetan men soon earned a name for their machine embroidery on pherans, too. Another traditional embroidery, known as bota tilla, involves intricate designs made with gold and silver thread and is usually reserved for special occasions. “It is now replicated by migrant workers from Bihar,” said Tantray. “They have set up units across Srinagar. The business was better even during the peak of militancy. The earnings have dropped now and our youth is struggling.”

 

He said changes that followed the abrogation of Article 370 had hit the community hard. “Since the removal of Article 370, Kashmir has been experiencing economic stress,” he said. “Our business has declined, and artisans are seeking other avenues to survive.” He is referring to higher taxes resulting from the removal of special status and changes implemented by the lieutenant governor, like usage-based charges for electricity instead of flat rates, leading to higher costs of living. “Today, we hardly make Rs300 to Rs400 a day,’’ said Tantray. “The future looks bleak.”

 

However, while the artisans are struggling on the one hand, restaurateurs seem to be flourishing on the other. Apart from handicrafts, it was for their culinary delights that Tibetan Muslims gained recognition in Kashmir. Tibetan restaurants are spread across Srinagar, but those situated in Hawal, like Chopsticks, attract customers from all over Kashmir. The owner, Muhammad Yousuf, initially ran his shop from the basement of a building in Regal Chowk. However, he had to vacate the space when the building’s owner decided to use it for parking. Yousuf then converted a few rooms in his house into a restaurant. Now, Chopsticks is always bustling. Dishes such as chicken fried rice and thukpa (Tibetan noodle soup) are popular, but the star is the momo. “Once word spread, business took off,” said Yousuf. The restaurant has become more than just a place to eat. It serves as a reminder of the heritage of Tibetan Muslims.

 

Despite living in Kashmir for decades, the community remained on the margins of state policy. They could vote in parliamentary elections, but were excluded from state assembly polls and government jobs. Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad’s regime had offered them jobs at the state transport corporation, but they chose to run their own businesses.

 

In 1980, Sheikh Abdullah’s government promised them state subject status—the local citizenship equivalent—but his death in 1982 stalled the process. After the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, Tibetan Muslims were issued domicile certificates. “Now we can apply for government jobs, buy land and access other benefits,” said Qazi. “This will be helpful for us in the long run.”

 

Decades of living alongside Kashmiris have brought Tibetan Muslims closer to the local culture. One of the most striking examples of this cultural convergence is the adoption of waazwan, the multi-course feast that is central to Kashmiri weddings. Tibetan Muslims have embraced this culinary tradition for their weddings. “While eight to10 dishes are typically prepared at Kashmiri weddings, we have limited ours to no more than four,” said Muhammad Arif, a community elder.

 

They speak Tibetan at home, but are fluent in Kashmiri, Urdu and Hindi. In terms of attire, there is now little to distinguish them from Kashmiris. Their traditional dress, the chuba, an ankle-length robe, is now mostly reserved for weddings and special occasions. Though marriages generally occurred within the community, that, too, is changing. The younger generation is more open to marrying Kashmiris—there have been more than half a dozen such unions in recent years. Moreover, Tibetan Muslims share surnames with Kashmiris, strengthening bonds and making the acceptance of marriages easier.

 

Tibetan Muslims in Kashmir carved out a space for themselves by blending two rich cultures without losing the essence of either, and that too while battling statelessness and economic hardship. “My children are doing well,” said Qazi. “My son is a doctor at AIIMS and daughter is an aeronautical engineer in Bengaluru.” He had worked in Saudi Arabia after his studies, but eventually returned and set up a jewellery business in Nepal. He travelled between Nepal and Kashmir. His family stayed in Kashmir as his children were going to school—like his father, Qazi prioritised the education of his children.

 

“We came with nothing, but we have preserved our identity, faith and traditions,” he said. “That’s something no government can give or take away.”

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