Talk to anyone in Kashmir today and the conversation drifts toward cement. Someone’s cousin has poured a new roof. An aunt is adding a second floor. A neighbour’s marble gate went up last week.
Building a home feels like a milestone. It tells you that your children will have a safe place and that the difficult years have not dimmed your dreams.
But step inside many of these fresh-painted homes and you sense worry in the air.
The walls stand firm, but the family is still trying to pay the mason. Bank loans are out of reach for many. Land papers are unclear, incomes change from day to day and property cases move slowly.
When the bank turns them away, people walk to lenders in back alleys who offer cash at 24 or even 36 percent interest with no questions asked.
So a staircase goes up and then stays unfinished.
A gate is installed, while the rooms behind it remain bare. Prices of bricks, timber and sand jump each spring. Winter stops work for months.
Every pause adds more debt. And social pressure only adds to the weight.
Parents feel judged if they delay repairs. Newly married couples want their own entrance. Relatives keep track of every upgrade.
A lovely front yard can end up hiding skipped meals, children moved out of private schools and postponed clinic visits.
Government schemes exist in small pockets. Grants and subsidised loans are there on paper, but the forms expect steady salaries and clean titles.
Many families fall outside those neat requirements.
Cooperative banks, community purchase plans and a simple one-hour money basics session at the village office could make a real difference.
Small steps like these can keep a home from weighing people down.
A house, at the end of the day, should feel like shelter, a space that brings calm instead of stress.
