With nearly 5,000 accidents in 2024, Kashmir struggles to curb youth-led reckless driving amid weak enforcement and societal indifference. Urgent collective action is needed to protect future generations.
By Aayat Aijaz Qureshi
In Kashmir, the growing scourge of road accidents has become a silent killer—claiming lives, maiming futures, and leaving families shattered. With nearly 5,000 road accidents reported in Jammu and Kashmir in 2024 alone, resulting in over 700 deaths, the valley is witnessing an alarming public safety crisis that demands urgent and coordinated action.
There is hardly a day when one doesn’t read about a tragic crash in the morning newspaper or hear about a fatal mishap in the neighbourhood. And increasingly, it’s not just any driver behind the wheel—it’s a teenager.
One of the most disturbing trends is the rise of reckless driving among youth, often facilitated by overly indulgent parenting. In urban areas, it’s not uncommon to see parents gifting cars or bikes to their underage children—some even before they turn 18—as tokens of love or reward for academic achievements. In their pursuit of social status and material gratification, many parents ignore the very real dangers of putting inexperience and immaturity on the road. The consequences are often devastating.
On the other end of the social spectrum, families from economically weaker sections may not be handing out shiny new vehicles, but some of their teenagers—driving without licenses or proper training—are also seen navigating public roads illegally, risking not only their lives but others’ too. What unites both groups is the absence of effective oversight and the crumbling of road discipline.
The contrast with countries like Dubai is stark. There, strict enforcement, heavy penalties, and a graduated licensing system leave little room for such recklessness. In India’s own metropolitan cities—Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru—driving is largely treated as a privilege, not an entitlement. There are systems, consequences, and most importantly, cultural restraints.
In Kashmir, however, things are different. Everyone in a household seems to be a driver, regardless of age or license status. Out of five family members, four might be riding a two-wheeler or driving a car. Teenagers—particularly boys between 14 and 18—are increasingly spotted speeding, performing stunts, and blatantly violating traffic norms, often without helmets or licences. Girls, too, are joining this trend, sometimes under the banner of newfound freedom or peer influence, but without adequate training or legal documentation.
It’s not just statistics that speak. As a schoolgirl myself, I have witnessed numerous accidents firsthand. In Sopore, where I study, deadly crashes have become frighteningly common—each one leaving behind families in grief and trauma. And yet, many parents continue to look the other way, either unaware or unwilling to accept that their encouragement—or indifference—is fueling a culture of danger.
Traffic police have made several attempts to clamp down on teenage drivers, but enforcement alone hasn’t been enough. Rules are only effective when families take responsibility. Without the active cooperation of parents, no amount of fines or crackdowns can prevent what is fast becoming an epidemic.
The teenage driving dilemma in Kashmir is not just about traffic—it’s a mirror to our society’s failures. It reflects a toxic mix of parental negligence, weak regulation, and misplaced pride. The solution requires a joint effort: Parents must say no. Schools must raise awareness. Authorities must strictly enforce age and safety laws.
Teenagers deserve their freedom—but not at the cost of their lives, or others’. Every road deserves respect. Every life matters.
And driving? That can wait until 18.
The writer is a student at SRM Welkin HSS, Sopore
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