5 min readFeb 19, 2026 03:40 PM IST
First published on: Feb 19, 2026 at 03:40 PM IST
When I first began playing cricket in the early 2000s, I remember persuading my father to buy me a cricket bat. At the sports shop, the shopkeeper showed us beautiful Kashmir willow bats. I was convinced that children in Kashmir must be the luckiest, growing up among willow trees, surrounded by ready-made cricket dreams. In my imagination, everyone there must have been playing cricket all the time. Of course, reality was more brutal.
On February 18, at the Kalyani ground in Kolkata, Jammu and Kashmir defeated hosts Bengal by six wickets to enter their first-ever Ranji Trophy final, where they will face Karnataka. Led by the experienced Paras Dogra and coached by Ajay Sharma, the team has displayed skill, discipline and tactical clarity. Aquib Nabi and Abdul Samad’s individual brilliance carried the side across the line after they had initially fallen behind.
However, the story of this triumph does not begin just with this team. It begins in a region marked by decades of conflict, broken schooling, prolonged curfews and uncertain futures.
Especially in the Kashmir Valley, everyday life has often been interrupted by violence and instability. Long, harsh winters restrict outdoor sports for months. Infrastructure has historically been abysmal compared to other cricketing centres in India. The cricket administration itself has faced repeated allegations of mismanagement. Under such conditions, reaching the final of India’s premier domestic tournament is not merely a sporting achievement; it is a structural anomaly.
But this larger structural backdrop is only one part of the picture. Alongside it runs another story, one which is being played in mohallas, villages, school grounds and uneven pitches. Cricket has gradually become more than just a pastime in Kashmir. For many young men facing unemployment and deferred aspirations, it brings modest income through local tournaments. It offers a routine where there is no institutional certainty. It creates neighbourhood reputations and local heroes.
In congested urban spaces and hilly rural fields alike, cricket becomes both theatre and apprenticeship. When broader life feels unpredictable, control over bat and ball acquires symbolic meaning. Mastering swing bowling and hitting big sixes becomes a form of agency. The game offers thrill, recognition and a sense of masculine assertion in a social landscape where other avenues of achievement seem difficult. The rise of players from the region, beginning with Parvez Rasool and followed by figures such as Umran Malik, Rasikh Salam and Abdul Samad in the IPL, has given this aspiration sharper edges.
Anyone who has played with players from Jammu and Kashmir will testify to the intensity of cricket there. It is hard, resilient and fiercely competitive. That character was evident in the semifinal against Bengal. The quality did not appear overnight. It reflects a deepening talent pool, built over years of local competitions and relentless practice on imperfect surfaces.
Recent administrative changes and better planning have certainly played a role in this journey. Leadership provides direction, and team selection and coaching methods matter. But institutions alone cannot explain a generational shift. The more profound transformation lies in cricket’s embedding in the everyday life of the region. Every available ground now echoes with the sound and rhythm of cricket. Social media is filled with cricketing reels. The IPL is followed with excitement when some players from the region showcase their talent. Young players now imagine professional trajectories despite systemic barriers.
This moment feels historic. However, difficult questions persist. There has been chatter about uneven representation between the Jammu and Kashmir regions within the team.
Infrastructure and access to high-quality facilities also remain uneven. Sport can generate inclusion, but it can also mirror existing divisions. A Ranji final appearance does not dissolve structural inequalities. That said, sporting moments carry symbolic power. They compress possibility into a single image, a team from a conflict-scarred region standing on the brink of a national title. Such moments do not solve problems. They do not erase memory. But they create temporary common ground. They offer narratives other than conflict and despair. They provide youth with alternative scripts of achievement.
When I look back at that childhood image of Kashmir willow bats, I realise how partial it was. The wood was real. The cricketing dream was not. The young men who have taken Jammu and Kashmir to the Ranji Trophy final have done so against climatic, infrastructural and political odds. It is a story of persistence. What this moment becomes will depend on what is built around it, whether infrastructure improves, whether opportunities widen, and whether support remains steady once the applause fades.
For now, the sight of Jammu and Kashmir in a Ranji final is a reminder that talent can take root even in the most difficult soil. Sometimes, from the coldest winters, a new cricketing spring emerges.
The writer teaches at Azim Premji University
Jammu and Kashmir's Vanshaj Sharma celebrates with teammates after winning the Ranji Trophy second semifinal cricket match between Bengal and Jammu and Kashmir, at the Bengal Cricket Academy Ground, in Kalyani, Nadia district, West Bengal, Wednesday, Feb. 18, 2026. (PTI Photo) 
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