Tucked away in the winding alleys of Srinagar’s old city, a modest workshop carries the weight of centuries of tradition. Inside, Ghulam Mohammed Zaz, now in his 80s, quietly crafts a sound that is slowly fading from Kashmir’s cultural landscape—the haunting, bell-like resonance of the santoor.

Zaz is believed to be the last traditional artisan in Indian-administered Kashmir still making this stringed instrument entirely by hand. Crafted with care, patience, and generations of knowledge, each santoor he creates is not just an instrument—but a piece of living heritage.

The Legacy of a Lineage

For over seven generations, the Zaz family has been renowned for their expertise in crafting classical Kashmiri instruments: the santoor, rabab, sarangi, and sehtar. From royal courts to revered Sufi gatherings, their creations once filled the valleys with music.

But times have changed. With newer generations drawn to genres like hip-hop, rap, and electronic music, interest in traditional instruments like the santoor has waned. Factory-made versions now dominate the market, pushing artisans like Zaz to the margins.

“There is no one left to carry this forward,” he says with quiet resignation. “I am the last.”

Crafting with Heart, Not Machines

His tools are old, his workshop dimly lit, and the air smells of aged walnut wood. No machines hum in the background—just the soft scratch of chisels on timber. For Zaz, every santoor begins with the right wood, aged for at least five years. The process, from carving the body to stringing over 100 wires, can take months.

“It’s not just about making an instrument,” he says. “It’s about listening—to the wood, the silence, and the hands that will eventually play it.”

Zaz’s instruments have been played by legends like Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma and Bhajan Sopori, both of whom helped bring the santoor to the forefront of Indian classical music. Photos of them adorn the workshop walls, alongside one of Zaz receiving the Padma Shri, India’s fourth-highest civilian honor, in 2022.

An Artist Without a Heir

Born in the 1940s in Zaina Kadal—a historic part of Srinagar—Zaz grew up surrounded by music and craftsmanship. He left school early due to health problems and began learning the family trade under the watchful eyes of his father and grandfather.

Now, despite official recognition and online appreciation from social media visitors, the workshop stands eerily silent. His daughters have pursued careers of their own. Government promises and grants have come and gone, but no committed apprentice has stepped forward.

“I don’t need applause or charity,” Zaz says. “What I need is someone who loves this craft enough to carry it into the future.”

The Santoor: A Soulful Symbol of Kashmir

Believed to have originated in Persia, the santoor traveled through Central Asia before settling into the musical fabric of Kashmir. Its gentle, celestial tones were once central to Sufi performances, weaving sound into spiritual expression.

“It’s not just woodwork—it’s poetry,” says Zaz. “You must hear the santoor before it even plays. That’s the soul of the craft.”

Despite its deep roots, the santoor’s future hangs in the balance. A century-old tradition now depends on one aging pair of hands and the hope that someone will answer its call.

A Dying Art or a Sleeping Tune?

Though his body is frail, Zaz still spends long hours beside unfinished santoors. Sometimes he just sits, listening—not to silence, but to the echoes of a craft that refuses to die quietly.

“Wood and music, both die if you don’t give them time,” he says softly.

In a world rushing forward, his workshop stands still—a sanctuary of sound, memory, and a legacy that longs to be continued.

“I only want someone who will love this—not for fame, not for fortune, but for the music. That is what keeps it alive.”