Gilsar Lake: When the Lake of Moorhens Began to Forget Itself : Abid Ali Mir

Gilsar Lake: 

When the Lake of Moorhens Began to Forget Itself

Abid Ali Mir

Names often preserve what history forgets. Gilsar is a compound of two words: “Gil,” meaning moorhen—a water bird once abundant here—and “Sar,” meaning lake. Gilsar, quite literally, means the Lake of Moorhens. The name itself is a quiet archive of a time when birds thrived, waters were clean, and nature coexisted seamlessly with human life.

Located near Gil Kadal in Srinagar, Gilsar Lake was once an essential part of Kashmir’s ecological and cultural landscape. It was not merely a water body; it was a source of drinking water, livelihood, memory, and identity. Today, it stands at the edge of disappearance—polluted, neglected, and fading from public concern.

For decades, Gilsar’s waters were clear enough to drink. Residents fetched water in earthen pots, and children learned to swim along its banks. Elderly locals recall that if a coin was dropped into the lake, it could be seen resting clearly at the bottom. Moorhens, fish, and other wetland species flourished, making the lake a thriving ecosystem rather than a stagnant pool.

“This is a historical lake. Birds, fish, and aquatic life once thrived here. Now, it is in a very poor condition,” says one elder, summing up what generations of residents remember vividly. Gilsar also functioned as a social space—where conversations unfolded, traditions were lived, and generations formed an intimate relationship with water.

Ecologically, Gilsar Lake has never existed in isolation. It is hydrologically connected to Khushal Sar Lake, and together these water bodies form part of a larger wetland chain. Through Nallah Amir Khan, this system links to Anchar Lake, which ultimately feeds into the River Jhelum. This interconnected network once ensured natural water circulation, biodiversity movement, and ecological resilience.

“Some partial cleaning was done by government departments earlier, but the real problem remains—untreated drainage from nearby houses flows directly into the lake,” notes a long-time resident. The breakdown of one lake, therefore, impacts the entire chain. Pollution entering Gilsar does not stop at its banks—it travels, multiplies, and affects downstream ecosystems.

Today, the Lake of Moorhens tells a different story. Plastic waste, polythene bags, sewage discharge, and unchecked dumping have transformed Gilsar into a polluted and stagnant water body. Encroachments have narrowed its expanse, while administrative indifference has allowed degradation to continue unchecked.

“Drainage water, encroachments, and unplanned construction have polluted the lake so badly that it has lost its true identity as a lake,” says a local resident, emphasizing the ecological and cultural loss. The moorhen, the bird that gave the lake its name, is now rarely seen. Its absence is symbolic—an ecological indicator of a system pushed beyond balance.

Environmental neglect does not remain confined to nature. Polluted lakes pose serious health risks to nearby communities, contaminate groundwater, and increase the likelihood of waterborne diseases. “Today, people try to stay away from Gilsar Lake because of the foul smell. It can make you sick. The lake is badly devastated,” one elder warns. What was once a life-giving resource now threatens the well-being of those living closest to it.

Gilsar’s decline exposes a broader failure of governance, planning, and accountability—where wetlands are treated as wastelands rather than vital ecological assets. In recent years, local voices—filmmakers, storytellers, and residents—have begun documenting Gilsar’s condition through interviews, short documentaries, and visual narratives. These efforts are acts of resistance against forgetting.

Elderly residents serve as living archives, reminding us that Gilsar’s restoration is not a fantasy but a return to a lived reality. “During the COVID-19 period, we started crowdfunding and went door to door to clean Gilsar Lake ourselves. Later, government officials visited the site, but the work done was far less than what the lake truly deserved,” recounts another resident, highlighting both the community’s efforts and official shortcomings.

Restoring Gilsar Lake is critical for wetland biodiversity, including moorhens and migratory birds; groundwater recharge and flood moderation; climate resilience in an increasingly fragile Kashmir; and cultural memory and community identity. “You can still see birds here, but their numbers are declining every day. If we continue to neglect this lake, it will no longer be able to protect resident or migratory birds,” a local elder warns. Saving Gilsar is not about nostalgia—it is about survival.

If neglect continues, Gilsar may survive only as a name. Yet that name—the Lake of Moorhens—still carries a warning and a promise. With scientific restoration, strict pollution control, and genuine community participation, Gilsar can still be revived. “If this issue is taken seriously and given constant attention, Gilsar Lake can still be restored,” an elder concludes.

The question is not whether Gilsar can be saved.

The question is whether we will act before memory becomes obituary.

(The writer is an author of "A War Already Lost" and several micro fictions.

He is a columnist, occasional poet, and environmental advocate focusing on social issues and Islamic finance.

Padma Shree Nominated, 2023.)