In the land where cuisine is culture and every celebration is scented with meat-based delicacies—wazwan that is fresh and safe when prepared at home by a group of professionals known as waza. For random parties and get-togethers we Kashmir’s prefer ready-made wazwan from hotels and restaurants. We buy ristas to kebabs, momos, and burgers—Kashmiris now find themselves haunted by a chilling question: Are we consuming decomposed, even dangerous meat dressed up as gourmet food in market?
This is not an exaggerated fear or a stray rumor. On July 31, 2025, food safety authorities in Srinagar seized a staggering 1,200 kilograms of decomposed meat—meat that was visibly putrid, discolored, and unfit for human consumption. Swift action led to its immediate destruction, but not before it shocked the collective conscience of a region already battling trust issues in governance, markets, and public services.
Yet, as disturbing as the seizure was, it merely scratched the surface. The real meat of the matter lies in the deeper questions it raises: Where did this meat come from? To whom was it sold—and has it already reached our plates in some form? Why were the culprits not named? And most hauntingly: Has this been happening all along, unnoticed?
Kashmir’s food is its pride. Whether it is the slow-cooked goshtaba, finely minced rista, street-side tujj, meat is not just nourishment—it is heritage. Our dishes carry centuries of culture, craftsmanship, and flavor. But what happens when this sacred culinary tradition becomes a cover for profit-driven deception?
The truth is bitter. In many localities, meat reaches restaurants and homes without any proper cold chain, without veterinary inspection, without traceability, and often—without any accountability. The seizure of 1,200 kg of decomposed meat was not a one-off; it may be a symptom of a systemic rot.
Equally appalling is the official silence over the identity of those responsible. Authorities mentioned that the spoiled meat was recovered from specific premises, and that action was taken under the food safety and standards act. Yet, no one was held visibly accountable—at least as of this writing.
Had it been a counterfeit drug racket or a food poisoning incident in a school, names would be splashed across headlines. But here, despite the possibility that this meat was intended for public sale, the identity of those who stored or traded it remains shielded.
This creates a vacuum where black-market butchers and backdoor meat vendors thrive, while consumers are kept in the dark. It is a betrayal of public trust and public health alike. You walk into a restaurant. The aroma is irresistible. The meat looks well-cooked. The taste is intense.
But stop for a moment and ask: Was this meat slaughtered in a licensed facility? Was it transported in refrigerated conditions? Was it certified by a veterinary officer? Was it stored at the right temperature? In most cases across Kashmir, the answer is no.
This means the meat in many restaurants and street-side eateries could be days old, contaminated, or even chemically treated to mask decomposition. Without robust inspection and enforcement, we are all potential victims of a silent poisoning—served fresh, but rooted in rot.
The food safety and standards act mandates that meat sold for consumption must be: Slaughtered in hygienic, licensed units, transported and stored under regulated cold chain, periodically inspected by veterinary authorities, labeled and traceable to source. In Kashmir, most of these requirements are either ignored or poorly enforced.
Veterinary officers are few and far between. Slaughterhouses are often illegal or unregulated. Transporters use ordinary vans or bikes without temperature controls. And restaurant kitchens—some of them shockingly unhygienic—continue buying from the cheapest suppliers available, regardless of quality. Meanwhile, consumers are never told where the meat on their plate comes from.
The price of inaction is steep. Rising cases of gastrointestinal diseases, food poisoning, and infections. Public distrust in local markets and eateries. Collapse of Kashmir’s food tourism credibility, which was just beginning to recover. Damage to small honest butchers and meat traders, whose reputations are ruined by the unscrupulous few. This is no longer just a question of hygiene. It is a public health emergency.
If the administration is serious about protecting public health and Kashmir’s food heritage, the following steps must be taken immediately. Names, photos, shop locations, and license numbers of those found with decomposed meat must be made public. The time for secrecy is over. Every restaurant should be required to display the source of their meat (butcher name, license number), date of purchase, and certification of freshness.
Just as we have mobile labs for milk and water testing, we need mobile meat inspection units to randomly test meat across cities and districts. Meat transporters must be licensed and equipped with refrigerated vans. Any restaurant found storing meat outside recommended temperatures should be fined or shut down. Let the food safety department publish weekly updates on quantity of meat inspected, violators penalized, seizures and fines imposed. This will keep the system transparent and citizens aware.
While systems must improve, citizens too must rise to the occasion. Ask questions when you dine out, check if your butcher is licensed. Report anything suspicious. Use the government helpline “104” to lodge complaints. Because in the end, the rot will stop only when both sellers and buyers demand accountability.
The title of this op-ed—Dead Meat, Served Fresh?—is not meant to sensationalize. It reflects a grim possibility. A reality that already exists under our noses, in our markets, in our tujj stalls and food courts.
Kashmir cannot afford to let this slide. We cannot allow our pride in cuisine to become our downfall in health. A place known for its wazwan must not become infamous for its waste meat. The choice is clear. Either we clean the system, or we keep swallowing the lies—one bite at a time.
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi is a teacher and researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora J&K
