"A Melodic Heritage at Risk: The Last Custodian of Kashmir's Santoor"

"In a small workshop in Srinagar, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, the last artisan of the santoor, grapples with the decline of traditional craftsmanship amid changing musical tastes. Despite his recognition and years of dedication, preserving the legacy of the santoor highlights the urgent need for cultural continuity in the face of modernity."

In the narrow, winding streets of Srinagar, a dimly lit workshop stands as a testament to a fading craft; it is here that Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, believed to be Kashmir's last traditional santoor maker, dedicates himself to this melodic legacy. The santoor, a trapezoidal stringed instrument similar to a dulcimer, is known for its ethereal, bell-like sound, and has been an integral part of Kashmir's musical identity for centuries.

A member of a family steeped in craftsmanship, Mr. Zaz represents the culmination of seven generations of artisans known for creating string instruments like the santoor, rabab, sarangi, and sehtar. However, recent years have seen a significant decline in demand for handcrafted instruments, as cheaper, machine-made versions have emerged in the marketplace. Shabir Ahmad Mir, a music instructor, highlights that shifting musical preferences towards hip hop and electronic genres have further eroded the connection of younger generations to traditional music forms.

In this workshop permeated by the scent of aged walnut wood, Mr. Zaz expresses the solitude of his craft with poignant clarity: "There is no one left [to continue the craft]. I am the last." Yet it wasn't always so solitary; his instruments have graced the hands of renowned Sufi and folk musicians over the years, including maestros like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma. The santoor, originating in Persia and arriving in India during the 13th century, has evolved in Kashmir to play an essential role in Sufi poetry and regional folk traditions.

Despite his mastery, Mr. Zaz laments the rise of machine-made instruments as they lack the warmth and depth of handmade creations. Crafting a santoor is an inherently labor-intensive pursuit, beginning with sourcing wood that has matured for at least five years. The meticulous artistry involves carving and hollowing for resonance, fitting over 100 strings, and fine-tuning that can extend for weeks.

Recognition has come in the form of India's Padma Shri award for Mr. Zaz's craftsmanship, yet he feels a sense of urgency regarding the future of his craft. Although social media has brought attention to his workshop, he acknowledges that genuine efforts to preserve this musical heritage have not materialized. With no successor from within his family—his daughters pursuing different paths—he fears the art of santoor-making may vanish.

Now in his eighties and in a state of contemplation, Mr. Zaz spends hours with an unfinished instrument, lending it his patient ear. "This is not just woodwork," he reflects. "It is poetry—a silent language I give to the instrument." As the world accelerates toward modernity, Mr. Zaz's workshop stands as a serene reminder of a time-honored craft, waiting for someone who truly appreciates the artistry to carry it into the future. "Wood and music," he asserts, "both die if you don't give them time." His plea echoes the eternal nature of art, aspiring for its preservation not for mere fame, but for the sustenance of culture and sound.