Woman in the houseboat: A Dal Lake story

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Editor’s note: This excerpt from Sadaf Wani’s ‘City as Memory’ introduces us to Saima—and the Haenz community who have lived and worked in shikaras, houseboats, and floating markets on the Dal Lake for generations. This is the Kashmir we almost never see—obscured either by the fog of politics or the candy-coloured hues of tourism. This excerpt has been published with permission from Aleph Book Company.

While women throughout the city speak of the scrutiny they face navigating public spaces, for Saima, each outing is especially conspicuous. Every trip to the city involves the elaborate process of procuring a shikara to ‘cross the lake’ to and from her home. These journeys, being so visible, inevitably draw more attention and consequently, invite heightened scrutiny and gossip within the community. 

She has been cognizant of these limitations since her childhood. Due to the distance of shops and the market from their home on the lake, even minor purchases became major undertakings. These outings required not only parental permission but also the arrangement of a boat to traverse the Dal. Given these logistical challenges, she and her cousins devised a game out of throwing coins into the water, often finding that easier than going through the hassle of spending the money in the markets. 

As Saima and her sister grew older, supported by their parents they opted to pursue higher education, but their choices raised eyebrows in their tight-knit community. The Haenz community still harbours reservations about formal education and exposure to the broader world. 

Many questioned the sisters’ decision to study, with some explicitly suggesting that since their predetermined role was solely to prepare meals for tourists in houseboats, education would be wasted on them. So, when Saima began attending school and later college, the frequency of her crossings became a hot topic in their community circles. She explains, ‘Once you’re out on the lake, the idea is to complete all your tasks before returning. The fewer times you “cross the Dal”, the better.’ 

To minimize community chatter, Saima would strategically plan her outings. In one trip, she would attend school, tuition, and darsgah, and only then return home. Recurrent trips back and forth would be far too noticeable and invite unwarranted attention. 

The community’s indigenous lifestyle frequently finds itself under the attack of the state’s Dal clean-up drives, which curiously coincide with election timelines and significant media events. Both in public discourse and official statements, the state and the wider society have unjustly attributed much of the lake’s pollution to this community. This narrative perpetuates an ever present fear among community members that their houseboats might be the next target. Adding to these challenges are the longstanding issues of economic hardships, disparities in education, neglect in basic civic amenities, and social marginalisation based on their caste status, as well as their unique water-based way of life. 

Reflecting on this, Saima reflects, ‘What they want is for the Haenz community to diminish, to vanish, and ultimately to perish. Yet, it’s bewildering because the very essence of tourism in Srinagar rests on this community’s shoulders. We uphold everything that the city is renowned for. The shikaras, houseboats, and floating markets—all these iconic attractions are managed by the Haenz community. There appears to be a calculated strategy: to challenge the community’s survival, appropriate and commodify our cultural assets, all while demonizing us in the process. They want the cultural symbols associated with our community to remain but wish the community itself to fade away.’ 

Over the past decades, Dal Lake’s water quality has deteriorated considerably due to the inflow of untreated sewage from various sources like commercial establishments, residential colonies, houseboats, and municipal sewers. A 2016 study by the University of Kashmir revealed that only 20% of the lake’s water could be categorized as clean, with 32% being badly deteriorated. The Haenz community bears disproportionate blame for the deteriorating condition of the lake, while the impact of untreated sewage from residential and commercial areas remains unaddressed. Official figures from 2017 reveal that out of the total daily discharge of 44 million litres of sewage into the lake, only 1 million litres originate from houseboats, challenging the notion that water-dwelling communities are the primary polluters. 

Saima is particularly infuriated by the persistent stigma tying her community exclusively to water pollution. ‘The water is our home. From a young age, we’re instilled with the values of respecting our environment, with strict instructions against littering in the water or disposing of waste in it. A common childhood pastime we had involved patrolling the lake, fishing out trash, mainly wrappers discarded by tourists. We’d compete over whose section of the lake was cleaner.’ 

What grates on Saima is the prevailing discourse that seemingly puts her community in the dock without a fair trial. The narrative tends to sidestep the accountability of the numerous commercial establishments around the Dal, failing to call them out on their environmental impact. 

Amidst pressures from the state and the precariousness of their living conditions, the Haenz community is witnessing a decline in their indigenous way of life due to myriad reasons. Saima elaborates, ‘A significant number of my relatives and extended family have already migrated out of Dal Lake. Factors like space constraints and an increasing preference for privacy have played their part. 

From my observation, only about 20% to 30% actually remain in the Dal, with the rest relocating. Many are now setting the city as memory up their primary residences in areas surrounding the Dal, like Taelbal, retaining their houseboats for guests or tourism. Raising children on the lake, with its unique challenges, can be demanding. So, it’s understandable that many choose to move.