From polluted waters to art: Kashmiri craftswoman finds inspiration in Dal Lake

In a small but colourful Srinagar workshop, Kulsum Irshad, an artisan who works by the name Simran, mixes something not usually associated with Kashmir's centuries-old papier mâché tradition: algae, scooped from the murky waters of Dal Lake.

Papier mâché is said to have arrived in Kashmir in the 14th century with Persian Sufi mystics, and later flourished under royal patronage. Generations on, it remains one of the valley's best-known handicrafts.

For Simran, that heritage feels increasingly fragile.

For five years she worked the craft the traditional way, pulping waste paper and old schoolbooks into the base material for Kashmir's famed hand-painted decorative pieces. But as paper grew scarcer and costlier, she began worrying about the craft's future.

"Many forms of art have already disappeared or are disappearing," she said. "I did not want it to disappear for any reason."

Two years and many failed batches later, her answer is what she calls "grass mâché" — swapping paper pulp for dried grass, weeds and, above all, algae pulled from Dal Lake, one of Kashmir's most iconic but polluted waterways. 

Crushed by hand in a stone khalbatta, it's worked much like traditional pulp but yields a lighter, more durable finish that she says appeals especially to foreign buyers.

Officially nicknamed the “Jewel in the crown of Kashmir”, Dal Lake has for years battled encroachment, sewage run-off and choking weed growth. For Simran, clearing that overgrowth by hand is as much environmental repair as material sourcing — a way, she says, of protecting the water her children will inherit.

"Our children are our future, and we have to think about them," she said. "Tomorrow, the lake could become even more polluted, and our children may not even have clean drinking water. Where will they go then?"

When Simran first tried to learn paper mâché, she was told plainly it wasn't women's work. Her teacher, Mohammad Yousuf, says that resistance didn't last long.

"Simran is the only one who picks things up quickly," he says. "That's why she's part of every discussion with me now — the two of us sit down together to decide what the next step should be."

Simran has since trained around 50 girls in traditional paper pulp work and hopes to do the same with grass mâché — though for now, space and resources limit her to 15 apprentices at a time.

For her, the stakes reach beyond craft or even water quality. In a region where educated young people often struggle to find work, she sees her workshop as something closer to a lifeline against unemployment and the depression she says it feeds.

"This may seem like a small initiative," she says, "but for me it is a very big task."

Camera: Shaharat Ali; Editing, Production and Writing: Shaharat Ali and Cooper Inveen/Reuters