In Jammu and Kashmir, a road is never just a road. It is a lifeline, a gamble, a prayer whispered against the roar of landslides and the silence of snow. The recent review of highway and tunnel projects across the Union Territory paints a picture of progress; tunnels slicing through mountains, highways stretching across gorges, bridges spanning rivers. But as winter descends, the real test begins. Asphalt may promise speed, but spirit lies in preparation, equity and foresight.
The numbers tell a story both inspiring and alarming. Travel time between Srinagar and Jammu has dropped from ten hours to six, thanks to the Banihal-Qazigund tunnel and NH-44 upgrades. Zojila and Z-Morh tunnels, once distant dreams, are inching toward completion, promising year-round access to Ladakh. For traders, students, and patients, these are not conveniences; they are transformations. Yet, in 2024 alone, over 1,200 road accidents were reported across J&K, many on high-speed corridors. The thrill of faster travel is shadowed by the risk of reckless driving, poor enforcement, and inadequate emergency response.
Winter remains the valley’s most formidable adversary. Mughal Road, hailed as an alternative lifeline, closes for nearly four months every year due to snowfall. Even the Srinagar-Jammu highway, the arterial route of the valley, faces frequent disruptions during heavy rains and snow. In 2023, over 60 road closures were recorded during the winter season, stranding thousands and choking supply chains. Pir Panjal range does not yield easily. It demands readiness, and realism.
Connectivity is not just about kilometres; it is about inclusion. While marquee projects dominate headlines, remote regions like Gurez, Warwan, and Tangdhar remain in infrastructural exile. Tunnel proposals for these areas exist, but progress is slow, tangled in land acquisition and environmental clearance delays. Development must not be a spotlight that blinds the margins. It must be a lamp that illuminates the forgotten.
As winter looms, preparation must replace optimism. Snow clearance machines, avalanche monitoring systems, and emergency shelters must be deployed across vulnerable stretches. Coordination with meteorological departments for timely advisories is essential. In 2024, delays in snow clearance on Zojila led to a 72-hour blockade; an avoidable crisis if readiness had matched rhetoric. Reviews must ask not just what has been built, but whether it can endure the season that tests it most.
Ecological cost is another reckoning. Blasting through the Himalayas risks destabilizing fragile ecosystems. The mountains are not inert; they breathe, shift, and respond. Tunnel construction must include environmental impact assessments that are not just bureaucratic rituals but living documents guiding responsible development. The balance between speed and sustainability must be more than a footnote; it must be the foundation.
Still, the broader arc bends toward hope. These roads and tunnels are stitching together a region long torn by terrain and turmoil. They are enabling trade, tourism, education, and empathy. They are making it possible for a Kashmiri artisan to reach Delhi markets, for a tourist to explore without fear of being stranded, for a child in Kishtwar to dream beyond the mountains.
In Jammu and Kashmir, the road ahead is both literal and symbolic. If built with equity, resilience, and justice, it can carry the weight of a region’s aspirations. But if rushed or neglected, it risks becoming a path to peril. Winter is not just a season; it is a mirror. And in its reflection, we must see not just what we’ve built, but who we’ve become.