Let us bring parenting back home

In Kashmir, whenever society feels unsettled, the first target is always the present generation. We complain about falling morals, about children not respecting elders, about youngsters being disconnected from culture and values. Almost every drawing-room discussion ends with the same sigh: “Our times were better.”

As a teacher, I listen to these conversations carefully. And quietly, I ask myself a question that is rarely asked aloud: Who raised this generation? Children do not emerge from nowhere. They are shaped—slowly, silently—inside homes, long before they step into classrooms or society.

Our parents were simple people. Most of them were not highly educated. Many had never travelled beyond their districts. They did not speak the language of psychology or modern pedagogy. Yet they knew something precious—the fibre of parenting.

Home mattered to them. Time mattered. After long and tiring days, they still sat with us. Sometimes on a floor mat, sometimes near a hearth, sometimes under a dim bulb. They asked us where we had been, what we had done, how we had behaved. These were not interrogations; they were moments of connection.

They taught us values without calling them values. Respect was not explained—it was practised. We watched how elders were spoken to, how neighbours were treated, how guests were welcomed. When we made mistakes, we were corrected. Sometimes strictly, sometimes softly—but never indifferently. Punishment existed, yes, but it was accompanied by concern. We feared disappointing our parents more than facing punishment, because their presence mattered.

Culture was not taught; it was lived. Kashmiri language flowed naturally at home. Stories were told without books. Traditions were followed without explanation, yet their meanings stayed with us. Our identity was not something we had to search for; it surrounded us.

Today, parenting looks very different. Parents are more educated, more informed, more exposed. Yet many children feel unseen. Homes are fuller of things, but emptier of conversations. Parents and children live together, yet drift emotionally apart.

Modern parenting often feels hurried. Parents are busy—not only with work, but with stress, phones, expectations, and comparisons. Children are provided with good schools, tuition classes, and gadgets. Everything is arranged—except time.

Slowly, parenting has been replaced by management. Questions have become instructions. Listening has become lecturing. Many parents do not really know what their children are thinking, fearing, or struggling with. Silence fills the gaps.

One of the most troubling shifts I have observed is the belief that schools are responsible for everything. Parents trust schools with academics—and then with discipline, morals, behaviour, and even emotional wellbeing. When something goes wrong, teachers are questioned. But education was never meant to be a one-way road.

The teaching-learning process loses its meaning when parents step away. Teachers meet children for a few hours. Parents shape them every day. Schools can teach lessons, but homes teach life. Values are not memorised; they are absorbed. And children absorb what they see, not what they are told.

Another change is hesitation. Parents hesitate to question their children. They fear being called strict or old-fashioned. In the name of freedom, guidance is withdrawn. But freedom without direction does not create confidence; it creates confusion. Children need boundaries—not walls, but guiding lines.

Culture, too, is slowly slipping away from homes. Many parents feel that speaking Kashmiri may hold their children back. Traditions are treated as burdens. In trying to prepare children for the future, parents often disconnect them from their roots. But a child without roots may grow tall, yet remain fragile.

Ironically, the same parents who worry about neglect of elders often forget that children learn by watching. They observe how grandparents are spoken to, how their opinions are valued—or ignored. Respect cannot be demanded later if it is not practised daily.

This reflection is not written to blame parents. Parenting today is genuinely difficult. Economic pressures, competition, and constant change weigh heavily. But responsibility cannot be avoided. Awareness is not accusation; it is a beginning.

Children do not need perfect parents. They need present ones. They need someone who listens, questions, corrects, and cares. Schools and teachers can support, guide, and nurture—but they cannot replace parents.

If we truly wish to heal society, we must stop blaming children and start rethinking parenting. The moral fibre of a society is woven quietly, inside homes. When parents slow down, reconnect, and reclaim their role, children will follow—naturally, not forcefully.

Change does not begin with complaints. It begins with reflection. And reflection, as always, must begin at home.

Khursheed Dar writes about Kashmiri Sufism, Culture and Society.