As a father of four daughters, I spend sleepless nights after Budgam tragedy. We are losing our future generations. We are partners in creating this ethical vacuum.
Muntashir Kifayat Hussain
Being an educator for the last nineteen years at the secondary level, I often remain in touch with these beautiful princesses, queens, shrapnels of fragrances—the daughters. I have four mini-mees at home. “Mini-mee” is a beautifully used slang in honour of a daughter.
On the occasion of Eid-ul-Adha, I visited Noora Hospital for a check-up after noticing some complications. I silently spoke to my brother with the intention of not disturbing the Eid celebration of my daughters. My mini-mee quickly noticed—testifying to the fact of an unseen heavenly bond between a father and his daughter—and accompanied me to the hospital, leaving behind her celebration.
At my turn, she stood beside me as a mother stands beside a toddler.
“Do you smoke?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” my daughter replied to the question I had tried to avoid. She spoke with anger and authority.
Then came the next question: “Do you eat spicy food?”
I looked at my daughter like a baby looks at its mother when confused. I tried to stop my daughter with my eye gestures from answering affirmatively to every question that qualified as a bad habit. She rebuked me back with her eye gestures—a special language between a father and daughter.
At some point, children begin to care for their parents. Daughters seem to reach there early. It reminds me of a poem:
“They say when God created you, the sun got jealous.
Ashamed of its presence, it no longer felt precious.
A beauty on earth that pierced through the heavens,
A gift in the present, a ray of hope to be left with.”
Being a writer, I am left with sobs and tears by feeling the continuous moral and ethical degradation of our society in Kashmir. The thorns of hell that pierce our heart—the episode at Galwan Pora, Budgam, is the fresh one, following the previous cascade of events, which sank to the lowest level of human degradation.
The other day, on the occasion of Eid-ul-Adha, I was shocked to see how boys aged ten to twelve were following girls aged nine to eleven on the road in the market, without caring about anybody. Our society is at its lowest moral values. As a father of four daughters, I spend sleepless nights fearing this moral degradation. As a writer, I can feel and understand how the moral connecting fibres have become disconnected.
About ninety per cent of children aged three years and above use mobile phones with unlimited access to social media platforms, directly exposing them to Western, European, and other cultures. This exposure will take them into its grip, either intentionally or unintentionally. That is how personality develops. Even mothers feed their children by taking the support of phones.
The other day, I was shocked to see a child aged about three years giving a voice command to an app and saying, “Ladkiyon ka dance” (play the dance of girls). The family members around were clapping, offering big praises—some even kissing his forehead. This is how our society has turned out to be. In our childhood days, we heard beautiful rhymes from mothers: “My son helps the poor… my son helps the needy… recites religious books… goes on pilgrimage.”
Do we, as parents, stop them? The answer is a big no. This exposure slowly poisons our children, and in the near future, we will see the mushroom growth of old age centres, live-in relationships, boyfriend-girlfriend culture, and so on. Most of these have already begun to develop.
The industrial, scientific, and technological advancements are worthy of acknowledgement, but they should not operate in an ethical vacuum. Turning our children into robots will erase morality, ethics, empathy, and respect, leading to an ethical vacuum where episodes like the one at Galwanpora, Budgam, are bound to happen.
In our society, religious scholars and preachers are heard a great deal. The greater responsibility lies on their shoulders. Instead of diving deep into sectarian conflicts, they should speak more about the social fabric. Very few talk about the fibres that connect us as human beings: bringing up children, respecting women, and recognising the importance of girls in shaping a strong future generation.
Multiple self-defence programmes have been launched across Jammu and Kashmir to promote physical safety for girls. But unfortunately, they are not being taken seriously. These programmes must be accelerated as soon as possible. Initiatives like the Rani Lakshmibai Atma Raksha Prashikshan need to be implemented in schools seriously. Serious thought should be given to arranging professional trainers.
The Jammu and Kashmir Police are doing commendable work in curbing these social, unethical, and immoral practices, but intellectuals, preachers, teachers, and parents need to rise. We are losing our future generations. We are partners in creating this ethical vacuum. Otherwise, very soon, moral uprightness and Kashmiriyat will become history.
The writer is a teacher at Boys High School, Narbal
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