How Simran Irshad is turning Dal Lake’s aquatic vegetation into a sustainable craft while opening new livelihood possibilities for Kashmiri women
Ifat Amin
Srinagar: Inside a dimly-lit workshop in Nowshera Zoonimar, Srinagar, 35-year-old Simran Irshad bends over a flower vase, carefully working on its surface. Around her, the remains of an unusual experiment are taking shape: decorative objects made from aquatic weeds gathered from Dal Lake, mixed with recycled paper pulp and transformed into a material sturdy enough to hold its form.
The process is painstaking. The vegetation must first be dried, prepared and beaten into fibres before it can be mixed with pulp, shaped and left to dry. Depending on the size of the object and the weather, a finished piece can take between 10 and 20 days to complete.
What makes these objects different is where their raw material comes from. The weeds that Simran collects from Dal Lake, often considered unwanted vegetation, are becoming the foundation of a new craft enterprise. She calls it Grass Mâché, an initiative that brings together environmental innovation, Kashmir’s papier-mâché tradition and the possibility of economic independence for women.
For Simran, the idea began with a question: could something removed from a struggling lake become a resource for a community that depends on it?
“I was initially working with paper pulp,” she says. “It kept going around in my mind that my craft would eventually end if paper availability became a problem. Paper comes from trees, trees are cut down to make paper. What I am removing from the lake is like a treasure given to me by God.”
Finding a resource in the lake
Dal Lake, spread across approximately 7.44 square kilometres, is among Kashmir’s most recognisable natural landmarks. Framed by the Zabarwan range, its waters sustain fishing, tourism, houseboat operators and other livelihoods, while its floating gardens and waterways remain closely connected to Srinagar’s cultural life.
But beneath its celebrated landscape lies an environmental crisis shaped by pollution, encroachment, wastewater discharge and climate change. Nutrient pollution and agricultural runoff can encourage excessive aquatic plant growth, while accumulated vegetation and sediment complicate the management of waterways.
A study published in the International Journal of Latest Technology in Engineering, Management & Applied Science (IJLTEMAS) estimates that around 73 per cent of Srinagar’s untreated sewage enters the Dal Lake and Jhelum River network. The figure requires verification against the study’s methodology before publication.
The Lake Conservation and Management Authority (LCMA) has undertaken conservation and de-weeding drives, alongside other restoration measures. Government efforts have also included dredging, reopening navigation channels, installing aerators and catchment plantation. The Jammu and Kashmir administration’s Economic Survey 2025–26 identifies sewerage infrastructure as a priority, including a proposed 30-million-litre-per-day sewage treatment plant at Gupt Ganga in Nishat and upgrades to existing facilities. An integrated Dal-Nigeen conservation project has also been planned.
Yet removing weeds alone cannot restore a lake under pressure from multiple sources of pollution. Aquatic vegetation is part of a functioning ecosystem; managing excessive growth must go hand in hand with addressing the conditions that encourage it.
Simran’s initiative does not claim to solve Dal Lake’s ecological problems. Instead, it explores what can be done with some of the vegetation already being removed.
Over two years, she has collected more than 36,000 kilograms of weeds from the lake. Rather than treating all of it as waste, she has worked to turn a portion into material for handmade products.
“This lake is our lifeline, and we have lived on it,” she says. “We can’t sit hand-in-hand and watch this lake die.”
Her work begins with the weeds but extends into a broader question about the relationship between environmental conservation and local livelihoods. If harvested vegetation can be used productively, it offers a possible way to connect lake management with small-scale manufacturing.
“If the Dal is clean, tourism will flourish,” Simran says.
Two years of learning through failure
Grass Mâché did not emerge from a single successful experiment. Before arriving at a workable mixture, Simran spent nearly two years testing different grasses and plant fibres, examining how they behaved when dried, processed, mixed and moulded.
Some fibres refused to bind. Others cracked as they dried or fell apart before they could become finished objects. Each failure meant returning to the process, adjusting the mixture and beginning again.
“I tried different kinds of grass, but not everything worked. Some fibres would not bind properly, while others would crack or fall apart once they dried,” she says as she decorates a flower vase. “I had to keep changing the process and trying again until I found a mixture that could hold its shape. It took a lot of patience, but I did not want to give up.”
Her persistence was informed by an existing skill. Simran had spent around five years learning and practising papier-mâché, particularly sakhtsazi, the process of preparing and shaping an object’s base before it is decorated.
Kashmir’s papier-mâché tradition, shaped by Persian artistic influences, is known for intricate patterns, floral designs and painted boxes, trays and ornaments. The craft carries cultural and artistic significance, but its production depends heavily on paper pulp. For Simran, rising material costs prompted a search for an alternative that could preserve the handmade character of the craft while reducing dependence on conventional raw materials.
By combining processed aquatic vegetation with recycled paper pulp and a binding agent, she began producing vases, hanging ornaments and other home accessories. As the pieces dry, they develop a firm, stone-like texture.
The approach offers a potential alternative material, although its long-term environmental benefits will depend on how it is produced, how much conventional pulp it replaces and whether the process remains economically viable.
For Simran, however, the experiment has already changed the way she looks at the material around her. What others might dismiss as weeds has become something she can work with, learn from and potentially share with other artisans.
A craft that could open doors for women
Simran’s journey into handicrafts was not straightforward. She left school after completing the tenth standard and entered a field where women pursuing independent livelihoods can encounter social expectations that limit their choices.
She has recalled being told that a woman’s place was at home, even as she tried to learn the craft. Her decision to continue required her to look beyond those expectations and develop a skill she could eventually turn into an enterprise.
Her path changed when she met Mohammad Yousuf Najar, who became her mentor and taught her papier-mâché. The training gave her the foundation to experiment independently, first with paper pulp and later with aquatic vegetation.
Today, she wants other women to have access to the same opportunity: to learn a craft, earn an income and participate more fully in Kashmir’s handicraft economy.
Simran has trained around 50 women in papercraft, 15 of whom are working with the weed-based technique. Women from villages have also contacted her about using the grass and weeds available in their own areas.
Their interest points to the possibility of extending the initiative beyond one workshop. With appropriate training and resources, the technique could offer women another route into home-based production or collective craft enterprises. It could also help women participate in a traditional industry in which access to skills, workspace and markets can determine whether an artisan’s work becomes a sustainable source of income.
For women who have limited opportunities to enter paid employment, such initiatives can be meaningful. But training alone does not guarantee financial independence. The value of the work ultimately depends on whether artisans receive fair compensation, have consistent access to materials and can sell their products in a reliable market.
Simran understands these limitations because she encounters them herself.
The work behind the finished product
Grass Mâché remains a small, developing enterprise, and scaling it up is not easy. Preparing the fibres requires considerable manual labour, while the drying process is vulnerable to rain and snowfall. Limited workspace restricts how many pieces can be produced at a time.
Simran says she has had to turn down orders because she could not guarantee timely delivery. Machinery that could process the fibres more quickly would help increase production and make it possible to involve more women. But equipment, financing, workspace and access to customers remain significant hurdles.
These constraints reveal the gap between an innovative idea and a viable livelihood. For a women-led enterprise to grow, the craft must be more than environmentally appealing: production needs to become manageable, product quality must remain consistent, and sales must generate enough income to compensate the women involved.
Support for equipment, skill development, shared workspaces and market access could help address these challenges. Equally important is ensuring that expansion does not depend on women absorbing the costs of unpaid labour or uncertain orders.
Simran wants to make more products, train more women and extend the technique to communities beyond Srinagar. She hopes to secure the resources needed to process vegetation efficiently and establish a more dependable production system.
The environmental promise of Grass Mâché also needs to be understood in context. Turning harvested weeds into craft material can make productive use of some biomass, but it is not a substitute for sewage treatment, pollution control or sustained ecological restoration. Its significance lies in demonstrating how local experimentation can create a practical connection between a conservation challenge and an economic opportunity.
For Simran, these ambitions are inseparable. She wants the lake to remain healthy, the craft to survive and more women to have the means to earn for themselves.
Inside her workshop, every finished vase represents hours of work that are not immediately visible: collecting vegetation, preparing fibres, testing mixtures, shaping objects and waiting for them to dry. The process has demanded patience, but it has also given her a technique she wants to pass on.
She knows how much time it can take to discover what works. The women who approach her with an interest in the craft should not have to repeat every failed experiment without guidance or support.
Her ambition is not simply to turn weeds into decorative objects. It is to make the knowledge she has gained useful to others, so that a resource gathered from the lake can become a source of skill, income and greater independence.
“I don’t want their two years to go the way my two years went. I want more women to learn this craft, earn for themselves and become independent. With the right support, we can turn what the lake discards into something that changes lives,” she says.
(Ifat Amin is a freelance multimedia journalist and photojournalist based in Srinagar, Kashmir. Her reporting covers the environment, education, politics and culture. Her work has been published in The Hindu, Kashmir Times and Greater Kashmir, among other publications.)
