When Food Turns into Slow Poison

Credit By: TAHAJUD IMTIYAZ

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• 23 Apr 2026

Food adulteration has quietly become one of the gravest public health threats of our time, and Kashmir is no exception. What makes it more dangerous is that it hides in plain sight, in the very things we trust the most: milk, spices, oils, fruits, vegetables and bakery items. We worry about big, visible crises, but the slow poisoning of a society rarely makes headlines.

Across India, food safety studies have repeatedly revealed disturbing trends. Earlier nationwide surveys have found that a significant percentage of milk samples were either substandard or adulterated. Various reports by state food safety departments over the years have flagged contamination in everyday essentials like edible oils, spices and sweets.

While comprehensive, up-to-date public data specific to Jammu and Kashmir is limited, the occasional drives by local authorities tell their own story: routine seizures of unsafe meat, substandard milk products, synthetic drinks and unhygienic bakery goods. Each such raid is only the tip of a much larger iceberg.

In Kashmir, the risk is sharpened by certain ground realities. Our long, harsh winters and frequent disruptions in connectivity encourage stocking and storage – and wherever storage lengthens, the temptation to use preservatives, colours and other shortcuts grows. Add to this the pressure on small traders and manufacturers to keep prices low in an economy under stress, and food adulteration becomes an easy, if criminal, way to protect profit margins.

Adulteration comes in many forms. At the mildest, it may mean dilution – watering down milk, mixing cheaper oils into ghee or mustard oil, or adding low-quality flour to branded atta. More disturbing are the harmful additives: industrial dyes to make spices look richer, non-permitted colours in sweets and bakery items, artificial ripening agents for fruits, and chemicals to give vegetables a fresh sheen long after they should have wilted. Consumers rarely have the tools to detect these poisons, and routine kitchen tests can only go so far.

The health consequences are neither abstract nor distant. Chronic exposure to contaminated food is linked to digestive disorders, hormonal disruptions, kidney and liver problems, and in some cases, even cancer. Children, pregnant women and the elderly are especially vulnerable.

In a region like Kashmir, where access to specialised healthcare is uneven and expensive, every preventable illness adds to both human suffering and economic burden. Ironically, the poorest, who already struggle to afford quality food, are often the ones who end up consuming the most adulterated products.

Responsibility for this crisis does not rest on one side alone. The state does have a legal framework and enforcement machinery, but inspections remain sporadic and often reactive, triggered by complaints or festivals rather than being a constant, scientific routine. Food testing laboratories are few, under-resourced and overburdened. Penalties, though present on paper, are not always swift or exemplary enough to create real fear in the minds of habitual offenders.

At the same time, society cannot remain a passive victim. Our own buying habits encourage the grey market. We bargain aggressively for the cheapest rates, yet expect the highest quality. We rarely read labels, seldom question suspiciously low prices, and rarely demand to see licences or quality certifications. Street food, unlabelled spices, loose oil and unsealed milk continue to be purchased simply because “this is how it has always been done”. Tradition becomes the perfect cover for malpractice.

If we are serious about safeguarding the health of Kashmiris, we need a three-pronged response. First, there must be stronger, evidence-based enforcement. Regular surprise checks, transparent publication of test results, and time-bound prosecution of violators would send a clear message. The data collected should be made public so that citizens and the media can hold both businesses and authorities accountable.

We also need sustained public awareness, not just token campaigns around festivals. Simple information about common forms of adulteration, basic home tests, and the health risks of certain chemicals can empower families to make better choices. Schools, colleges, mosques and community organisations can become centres of food literacy.

Finally, honest businesses must be supported and celebrated. Local producers who follow standards, invest in hygiene and lab testing, and maintain transparency in labelling should not be forced to compete with those who cut corners. Incentives, recognition and perhaps even a region-specific quality mark could help build a culture where trust is rewarded.

Food is not just a commodity; in Kashmir, it is deeply tied to our hospitality, our rituals and our sense of community. Allowing adulteration to flourish is not merely a technical failure; it is a moral one. The choice before us is stark: either we continue to look the other way until illness and mistrust become our daily reality, or we confront this silent menace with the seriousness it deserves. The health of an entire generation may depend on what we decide today.

(The Author is a lecturer in HED)