With degrees in one hand, despair in the other, Kashmir’s lost generation speaks
BLURB: Today, I am 37 years old — just three years away from the age limit for most government jobs. I hold multiple degrees, including a postgraduate MPhil, PhD and BEd, but I find myself at a dead end — not due to a lack of capability, but because of continuous interruptions inflicted by a decades-long conflict.
I was born in the early 1990s, a time filled with hope and promise. Like any other child, I dreamt of a bright future — one built on education, hard work, and opportunity. My father enrolled me in school with high aspirations, and there I joined many other children, each with their own dreams of becoming doctors, engineers, teachers, or officers. I, too, envisioned myself one day serving the nation in an administrative role — a goal I pursued with determination.
I completed my schooling at Government Higher Secondary School Pulwama, choosing the non-medical stream. To strengthen my preparation, I attended Newton’s Coaching Centre in Pulwama. After passing my 12th grade, I secured admission to the Government Degree College (GDC) Pulwama. It was during this period that my academic journey began to intersect with the harsh realities of life in a conflict zone.
In 2008, the Amarnath land row erupted, triggering widespread unrest across Jammu and Kashmir. Colleges were closed for months, and students like myself were left in limbo. Our academic calendar was thrown into disarray, and precious months were lost — time that we could never recover. Nevertheless, I managed to complete my undergraduate studies and was admitted to a university for postgraduate education.
But in 2010, fresh unrest swept across the region, once again shutting down educational institutions. The cycle of disruption repeated itself: hopes paused, futures postponed. Despite the repeated setbacks, I persevered, completed my post-graduation, and secured admission to a PhD programme, holding on to the belief that education was the way forward.
However, the challenges did not end there. In 2016, the killing of Burhan Wani led to another prolonged shutdown. Schools, colleges, and universities remained closed for months. Our academic lives were routinely interrupted by events beyond our control. We endured, adapted, and kept going — even when everything around us seemed uncertain.
Then came August 5, 2019. The abrogation of Articles 370 and 35A marked a historic political shift, but for students like me, it brought yet another chapter of darkness. Communication blackouts, internet shutdowns, and closure of all institutions left us cut off from the world and our studies. It was a critical time for many of us who were preparing for competitive examinations, but the opportunity to compete was taken away by circumstances we could not control.
Today, I am 37 years old — just three years away from the age limit for most government jobs. I hold multiple degrees, including a postgraduate MPhil, PhD and BEd, but I find myself at a dead end — not due to a lack of capability, but because of continuous interruptions inflicted by a decades-long conflict.
My story is not unique. It reflects the pain and struggle of an entire generation of Kashmiri youth — bright, educated, and full of potential, yet systematically denied the chance to fulfil their dreams. We are victims of a cycle where politics takes precedence over people, and promises of progress often disappear behind barbed wire and curfews.
With folded hands, I appeal to the leadership of both India and Pakistan: please, do not let the educated youth of this region be collateral damage in your political disputes. We are not statistics. We are individuals with dreams, aspirations, and the ability to build a better future if only given a fair chance.
It is time to prioritise peace, education, and opportunity. Let our voices be heard, our potential recognised, and our futures restored.
Vaseem Bashir
av********@***il.com