In the apple-scented village of Qazipora, nestled between orchard groves and rustling poplars in North Kashmir's Baramulla district, 19-year-old Hadiya Irshad hurries down a gravel path with a pink pouch of makeup brushes swinging at her side. Her slippers slap against the damp earth, her dupatta trailing behind her like a bridal train. The morning sun glints off her kurta, which, as always, is flecked with glitter.
She ducks into her family's modest wooden house — its porch blooming with marigolds and mirrors — and greets a tourist from Bangalore, who sits cross-legged in the living room, laughing nervously at the cracked vanity. Hadiya leans in and begins to drape a Kashmiri bridal veil over her guest's head. The air smells of rosewater and talcum powder. A kettle whistles in the kitchen. On the walls, photographs of past guests smile back like family portraits.
Here, beauty is not vanity. It's memory-making. It's hospitality. It's Hadiya's quiet way of reshaping how the world sees Kashmir.
"I don't charge for this," she says. "It's my gift — something joyful they can carry home. A new kind of story from Kashmir."
While Kashmir's tourism industry has traditionally revolved around houseboats in Srinagar, gondola rides in Gulmarg, and treks through Pahalgam, a quiet shift is taking place in its villages. Homestays, craft workshops, and immersive cultural exchanges are drawing travellers eager for more than sightseeing.
Hadiya's story is part of that evolution. A Kashmir University undergraduate and self-taught makeup artist, she has transformed a corner of her home into a tiny salon. There's one vanity, two plastic chairs, a ring light, and a shelf stacked with lipsticks and powders. But what she offers is more than makeovers. It's intimacy, trust, and cultural connection — one bridal look at a time.
"When guests arrive at our homestay, I wait a day or two before offering them a makeover," she says. "Most say yes. Some are shy, but by the end, we're laughing like sisters."
She helps them choose embroidered pherans, pins dupattas in intricate folds, and explains the symbolism of Kashmiri bridal accessories — the heavy dejhoor earrings, the tarang veil. Then, while applying highlighter and lipstick, the real exchange begins.
"We talk about everything," she says. "Love, jobs, loneliness. I've had women cry in front of my mirror. It's a sacred space. For a few hours, there are no headlines — just two women being human together."
This intimate practice started after April 22, 2025. That afternoon, as Hadiya studied in her university library, the murmur of hushed conversations grew louder. "At first, I didn't believe it," she recalls. "We thought the violence was behind us. Kashmir had felt peaceful for years."
But then came the news: a sudden, brutal attack in Pahalgam had claimed the lives of several tourists. Graphic videos flooded social media. Hadiya sat frozen in the library, unable to look away.
"My heart shattered," she says. "They weren't just tourists — they were people like the ones who stay with us, who eat at our table, who become part of our family."
That very week, a solo traveller from Delhi named Anushka was staying at her homestay. "We had already become close. My mother treated her like a daughter. We shared food, playlists, gossip. I was terrified she would pack up and leave."
Instead, Anushka hugged her.
"She said, 'I trust you. I'm not going anywhere.' And the next day, she let me do her makeup. That meant everything."
In that moment, Hadiya realised that her work was more than artistry or hospitality — it was a form of healing.
"After Pahalgam, I wasn't sure what to do. How do you show the world that we're not just a place of conflict?" she asks. "I thought: maybe I can offer beauty, softness, care. Maybe that's my resistance."
Hadiya's parents have run their small guesthouse for over a decade. It's not fancy — there are no concierge services or en suite bathrooms. But what it lacks in luxury, it makes up for in warmth. Her mother cooks generous Kashmiri meals — dum aloo, yakhni, and fresh girda — while her father offers village walks and drives to nearby lakes.
"People come here expecting quiet," Hadiya says. "But they leave with stories, friendships, even a new sense of family."
The makeovers have become a surprise highlight for guests. Many write back weeks later with thank-you notes. Some women have even returned just to spend time with her again.
"She's created something unforgettable," says Fatima, a marketing executive from Mumbai. "When I arrived, I was just another tourist. When I left, I felt like I had a sister in Kashmir."
Local girls have started taking notice, too. A few from neighbouring villages have asked to apprentice with her. Some come for casual beauty tips; others stay to observe her interactions with tourists, learning not just about makeup, but about storytelling, care, and confidence.
Still, the work is far from easy. There is no fixed income. The family's finances remain modest. And Hadiya's salon — charming though it is — lacks the infrastructure of a professional setup. Her dream? To one day open a full-fledged studio in Baramulla or even Srinagar, where she can train other young women and perhaps start a makeup tourism initiative.
"But I'll never stop doing it here in the village," she says. "This is where it started. This is where it means the most."
She imagines a future where village tourism is not just about scenery, but about people. "What if every homestay had something personal to offer?" she asks. "A story, a skill, a shared ritual? That's what makes travel meaningful."
As the sun begins to set in Qazipora, the sky turns shades of peach and lilac. A new guest, newly "bride-ified," steps onto the porch for a photograph. Hadiya adjusts the veil, fluffs a marigold garland, and asks her to smile. In the background, cowbells clink and children's laughter drifts across the orchard.
"When I was younger," she says, watching the shutter click, "I used to think that Kashmiris were only seen when we were hurting. Now I think joy is also a way to be seen — and to be remembered."
Through brushstrokes and quiet rituals, Hadiya Irshad is helping write a gentler story for her village — one in which laughter, glitter, and kindness are part of the welcome. One in which Kashmir is not just a place to survive, but a place to be transformed.
And as the guest twirls in her borrowed veil, her reflection glowing in the cracked vanity, that story begins anew.
