by Faiqa Masoodi
RAFIABAD: In the quiet mourning that followed the death of Ghulam Nabi Bulbul, Kashmir’s respected folk singer and glass dancer, a forgotten name resurfaced, breathing new life into the memory of a place.
“Before being renamed after India’s first agriculture minister and freedom fighter Rafi Ahmed Kidwai by Bakhshi Ghulam Mohammad, the area was called Hamal,” recalled former government officer and now politician Naeem Akhter, in a poignant tribute. “That’s why he was called Hamli Bulbul.”
Hamal, the original name of what we now know as Rafiabad, slipped almost unnoticed from the pages of Kashmir’s recent history. But for those who grew up in its shadows, like Akhter, it is etched in memory, wrapped in music, laughter, and the echoes of a cultural past that singers like Bulbul personified.
Bulbul, who passed away at the age of 75 in his native Batsuma village in Dangiwacha, Rafiabad, was not just a performer but a bearer of this forgotten identity. His moniker, Hamli Bulbul, linked him as much to the land as to his craft. Famous for his rare fol glass dance, an intricate balancing act where he danced with a full glass of water on his head, he brought with him a living reminder of the days when Hamal thrived, not only as a name, but as a cradle of art and community.
“I started my career in the Information Department when Bulbul was posted in Baramulla,” Akhter wrote. “He, along with Abdurrahim Bhat, lived in a nearby village that fell in Rafiabad, then Hamal. Glass dance was his forte, something he had picked up from Abdul Ghani of Anantnag. They performed as male dancers. I have very fond memories of both.”
Those memories now carry a weight of loss, as one by one, the voices that once coloured the Department of Information’s corridors fall silent. “There comes a time in our lives when wickets start falling around us,” Akhter said, “and one feels running short of partners.”
For Khalid Bashir Ahmad, another former colleague, the grief is deep and cumulative. “One by one, dear friends and former coworkers from the Information Department, Feroz Jan, Nisar Rahi, Mohammad Sultan Bhat, Bashir Ahmad Bazaz, and now, Ghulam Nabi Bulbul, have left this fleeting world,” he wrote. The collective departure feels like “a relentless wave of grief,” eroding the very ground of shared history.
Bulbul’s legacy, however, reaches far beyond his government service. Born in 1949, he began performing at school events, eventually receiving training under legendary musician Khazir Mohammad Shah. He mastered traditional instruments like the sarangi and became a regular presence on Radio Kashmir from the early 1960s, earning an ‘A-Top’ grade for his exceptional artistry.
He was a long-time member of the Kashmir Singers’ Society and served as a music instructor in the Department of Information and Public Relations, recording numerous compositions that shaped Kashmir’s musical identity. His signature performances, especially the glass dance, became symbolic of a style rarely seen today. For this contribution, he was honoured with the Sher-e-Kashmir Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah Award in 2011.
Fayyaz Sheheryar, remembering him with reverence, called Bulbul “one of the most popular and original folk singers whose renderings adorn the archives of Radio Kashmir.” His was a voice that not only entertained but also preserved a cultural ethos.
That ethos, rooted in places like Hamal, finds few living carriers today. As modern place names and cultural shifts obscure the past, memories like Akhter’s stand as small acts of resistance, keeping the original stories alive. “The cycle of life is unending,” he concluded in his note. “Allah donoN ki maghfirat kare.”
Bulbul’s funeral took place in his ancestral village, Batsuma, this morning. His son, Sarwar Bulbul, continues the musical lineage, though the elder’s absence marks the end of an era.
In mourning Bulbul, Kashmir is not only grieving a singer. It is remembering a place, Hamal, and, in that remembrance, recovering a part of its soul.
