Riyaz Ahmed, 35, came to Srinagar from Jammu on August 6 with ₹1,000 in his pocket. He had hoped to return the next day with a customer and some earnings. The curfew-like restrictions in Kashmir’s capital, however, have quashed his hopes.

The taxi stands in Srinagar have suffered heavy losses since August 4—a day before the Indian government scrapped Article 370 of the Indian Constitution and imposed a draconian communications clampdown in Jammu and Kashmir. This has significantly deterred movement in the region, badly damaging the cab industry, whose fate is intertwined with tourism in the Valley. 

Consequently, cab prices have increased significantly. While a one-side ride to Jammu would cost ₹700 before, it has now doubled to ₹1,400. 

“Everything is over for us. It’s finished,” rues Mohammad Aziz, who manages a taxi stand in Srinagar. Aziz requested a name-change for this report because he did not want a “late-night door knock” at his home.

There are 300 cabs at Aziz’s stand. During a normal tourist season, at least 100 of these cabs arrive and depart every day from different parts of Kashmir as well as Punjab, Ladakh and Jammu. Aziz claims that there hasn’t been a single customer since the Indian government’s lockdown.

“India’s lockdown has economically crushed us,” says Hamid Mir (name changed), a coordinator, who sits beside Aziz in one corner of the taxi stand.

A taxi stand in Srinagar

Drivers like Ahmed ferry customers between Jammu and Srinagar and park their cabs at a designated stand. They head to either of the destinations once they find a customer. Through Jammu drivers alone, the stand in the Kashmiri capital makes a profit of ₹15,000 every month. But since the lockdown, Aziz and co have not made a single penny. They, however, continue to shell out money for regular expenses.

These expenses include money paid to the driver (which includes salary and other travel costs), the parking fee for every cab at the stand (₹500 per cab), and the sums reserved for wear and tear of vehicles. 

Aziz claims that if the situation doesn’t change this month, he’ll make a loss of ₹15,000 for every cab in his stand. That’s ₹45 lakh for 300 cabs. “I’ve been in the business for 40 years. Things have never been this bad. India has ruined us,” he mutters angrily. 

On the other hand, drivers like Ahmed have been stranded in Srinagar for a week now. He says he has run out of money and has been surviving on tea. “I haven’t had anything except tea and some bread that maalik (boss) arranged yesterday. There haven’t been any customers for Jammu so I haven’t made any money either.”

“There is one shop near the SHSM hospital that gives food at subsidised rates. But I haven’t been going there because cabs are often attacked and mirrors are broken.”

The conversation is interrupted by a passing Jammu and Kashmir police car. “Those who provoke people will be arrested. Stay inside your homes,” announces a megaphone from inside the vehicle.

“Inhone pure Kashmir ko dabake rakha hai [They’ve suppressed all of Kashmir],” remarks a livid driver standing nearby.

Ahmed makes ₹15,000 every month and lives in a rented room in Jammu. He has to part with a portion of his salary that goes to the car’s owner so that he can pay the vehicle’s instalment. He hasn’t been able to contact his wife and 11-year-old son for a week.

Aziz adds that some of his drivers haven’t been showing up at the stand because they fear harassment by the armed forces. He despairs: “I have a driver from Bandipora who ran away because he was scared. Wo kehte hai ki fauj humein maarti hai [He says that the armed forces beat us].”

The conditions are equally severe at another taxi stand in the city. 29-year-old Irfan Bhatti and 23-year-old Amit Kumar have not found a customer for Jammu for three days. About half a dozen other drivers from different regions also sit around without purpose. In their most desperate moments, they stand by the road and harangue potential customers. 

Like Ahmed, Bhatti and Kumar are left with meagre sums, having spent most of their money on tea, bread and water. “Last night we went to a nearby Hindu hotel. It closed down just as we arrived. So four of us went to a bakery and bought cakes worth ₹20. That was our dinner,” says Bhatti. 

The two have been camping inside Bhatti’s SUV all day. When their friend, 25-year-old Mohammad Tahil, arrived from Jammu that day, they broke the bad news to him. Tahil now regrets travelling to Kashmir. 

“I’ve to return home for Eid,” says Tahil. “I spent the money I had left with on petrol and it’s unlikely I’ll find a customer today.” Not just Tahil, but most of the drivers have decided to head home for Eid without a customer. 

As part of the agreement with their employer, most drivers have to pay ₹5,000 from their profits every month. If the situation lasts all August, then there is no way they will be able to pay the amount. “It’ll then be deducted from our salaries for the next five months,” says Bhatti.

This is as bad as it gets. Both Tahil and Bhatti are married and have children. They too live in rented homes in Jammu and are the sole breadwinners.

“The situation is as bad as 2016 when [Burhan] Wani was killed,” Tahil tells me. “This time it happened because they scrapped Article 370. If it did not happen then we wouldn’t be suffering like this.” 

Amit Kumar and Irfan Bhatti, who run cabs between Srinagar and Jammu.

Ehsan Masood, who coordinates with drivers at this taxi stand, is vehement in pinning the blame for the grim situation both in the Valley and at his stand on the Indian government and the “Indian media”. He delivers a spirited lecture on the evils of the Indian media and then asks this correspondent to leave as soon as possible. He agrees to speak only after I falsely claim to be from an outlet he considers friendly.

“Sab khatam ho gaya hai. Everything is finished. Only He will take care of us now,” he begins like most others, pointing towards the Sky. “There is nothing to sustain myself and those who work under me. There are almost 400 cabs in this stand, and hardly any of them has had customers since the curfew began.”

Masood says that the only hope for his family is his community. “We’re Muslims. We have a bond. If I don’t have food on my plate, then ten of my neighbours will come and offer me something. That’s how we’ve been living and hope to live in the days to come.”

As I prepare to depart, Masood says that he has an “appeal” to convey to the people in India. It’s terse: “I appeal to those Indians whose hearts beat for humanity, that they liberate us from this injustice. Ye zulm band karein. (Stop this torture)” 

Those sitting around nod in agreement.

Also read: Pendrives & gumption: How journalists in Kashmir are dealing with communications blockade.