Every morning, just after the sun rises over the Zabarwan hills, a group of young men and women gather quietly by the banks of Dal Lake. Some bring bicycles and mats, while others arrive with nothing at all. They do not speak much. Instead, they sit facing the water, listening to the gentle sound of paddles cutting through the lake’s surface. This is not a formal class, and there is no teacher. It is simply a shared moment of presence with the lake and sky.
Kashmir, long celebrated for its natural beauty, is becoming more than a scenic destination. It is turning into a natural space for healing. Though not everyone calls it ecotherapy, many say simply, “Let’s go to the hills.” The idea is the same: being in nature helps. And here, nature is abundant.
Mental health issues are now more openly discussed. According to India’s 2015–16 National Mental Health Survey, nearly 14 out of every 100 people suffer from some form of mental disorder. This data predates the pandemic, lockdowns, and the rise of digital devices as both comfort and trap.
Today, there are more mobile phones than toilets in India. Children might spend five to six hours a day on screens and still feel lonely. Adults scroll through their breaks and still feel restless by evening. Despite this, fewer than one in ten Indians who need mental health care actually receive it. In Kashmir, where access to professional help is even scarcer, many are turning to what has always been around them: the mountains, lakes, and trees.
This is not a new idea. Centuries ago, the Mughals built gardens here not just for power or beauty, but for peace. Shalimar Bagh, with its flowing water channels and symmetrical flowerbeds, was designed to inspire stillness. People would walk through Nishat Bagh after prayers and float on Dal Lake during sunset. They understood a truth that we are now rediscovering.
Modern science supports this. Researchers in Japan call it shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing.” Studies show that spending just 20 minutes in nature can lower cortisol, the body’s stress hormone. It can improve mood, slow heart rate, and increase serotonin, which helps us feel calm and happy. A study published in Biological Psychiatry found that walking in green spaces can even change brain activity related to depression.
Yet numbers cannot fully capture the feeling of walking through the meadows of Bangus, where horses graze and clouds touch the grass. Or hiking to Tarsar Lake, where snowmelt gathers like a sapphire in a stone bowl. Or sitting quietly under a Chinar tree in Dachigam National Park and watching a rare hangul deer vanish into the forest.
Suhail Ahmad, 27, once spent his nights glued to his phone, doomscrolling in the dark. “I felt tired all the time,” he said. “I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” A friend invited him on a trek to Warwan Valley, where there was no phone signal and no noise—just five days of walking, talking, and watching stars. “I cried on the third night,” he recalled. “Not from sadness. Just from feeling something again.”
For many, it’s not dramatic. It is a quiet feeling. A woman in Srinagar wakes early to walk in the Botanical Garden among blooming rhododendrons. She calls it her “morning check-in,” not therapy. A shopkeeper in Baramulla closes his shop early once a week to visit Manasbal Lake with his father. They fish, speak little, and return feeling lighter.
Doctors have begun to notice this too. Some cautiously recommend spending time in nature alongside medicine. A few therapists are trying group walks with teenagers. “They open up more under trees than under ceilings,” one counselor said.
Of course, not everyone can reach lakes or mountains. Some don’t feel safe, and others have work that cannot wait. To help, some ecotherapy advocates are working to make green spaces more accessible. The Srinagar Municipal Corporation recently opened parts of Nishat Bagh to early morning walkers with fewer restrictions and no entry fees during certain hours. It is a small step, but an important one.
Questions remain. Can nature truly help those with deep trauma? Is it a treatment or a privilege? And what about the people living in these areas—are they healing or merely hosting?
There is no single answer. But a pattern emerges. People who spend time outdoors report better sleep, fewer headaches, and more energy. Their screen time drops—not because they are forced to disconnect, but because they reconnect—with the earth, with others, and with themselves.
In a region marked by conflict and curfews, Kashmir’s landscape offers a soft place to land. Here, the silence of a phone does not feel like loss. Healing begins not with a diagnosis, but with a step outside.
Near the banks of Nigeen Lake, as evening falls and the willows sway in the breeze, a man stands still with his eyes closed. He is not praying or posing. He is simply breathing. And for now, that is enough.
Related Topics
