Life Without Direction
In the snow carved valleys of Jammu and Kashmir, where rivers run deep and poplars sway, a quiet crisis brews not of storms, but of stifled hopes and unheard voices. From the rugged heights of Gurez to the plains beyond Poonch a generation walks burdened by silent despair. Degrees in hand, ambition in heart but no clear path ahead.
A young man in Baramulla dreams of a stable job, an honest living. Yet each morning greets him with the same uncertainty. His degrees lies unread, his aspirations slowly fading. His parents encourage him gently urging one more try. But dreams like the autumn Chinar continue to fall. The internet is full of knowledge, his skills are sharp but job opportunities remain scarce. Whether in law, science, arts, technology or trades, the doors seem closed. Academic accolades mean little in a system that offers no outlet. Reports reduce them to numbers, cold statistics in impersonal files. But behind each figure is a son waiting, a daughter hoping. Year after year, promises echo only to fade into bureaucratic silence. Government schemes come with fanfare and slogans, yet the youth still stand in lines, hands empty, spirits worn. In a land so rich in heritage, the irony is stark even the birds seem freer than its young minds.
Leadership remains distant: ribbons are cut, photos taken but the real roads remain un-walked. The narrative of “self-reliance” rings hollow when self-sufficiency meets an empty plate. Startups and skilling are often touted, but persistent power cuts and inaccessible loans leave those dreams cold. Policies exist only on paper, while trust and execution are absent.
Time moves forward, yet progress stalls. Traditional crafts are vanishing, artisans left without buyers. Saffron fields lie uncultivated, the markets indifferent. Engineers graduate in droves, but employment evaporates. Tourism gives brief hope, but where is tourism development? The biggest battle today isn’t on borders—it’s in every home, where joblessness kills our dignity.
A girl in Shopian pours her frustration into poetry, her words sharp and haunting. A boy in Kupwara paints with talent, yet hunger overshadows his creativity. A child in Bandipora whispers, “I’ll leave someday.” But who stays to rebuild if all the hopeful leave? A job isn’t just an income—it’s self-worth, purpose, and peace of mind.
To those in power: awaken. The burdens you don’t bear are crushing the youth. What we need are not just announcements, but real change—visible, sustainable, and sincere. Build institutions that offer more than structure. Nurture creativity, revive local industries, make markets accessible. Trust the old, train the young not every problem is solved with funding alone. We don’t ask for charity or applause. We demand action that lasts.
Let this message be heard—in offices, on screens, in homes. The valley sings, yes, but it also questions. Until every voice is heard, until every talent has a place, this land will ache. Beneath every falling Chinar leaf lies a buried potential. Jammu and Kashmir doesn’t just need hope it needs opportunity. Let us rise not with false promises, but with real progress. Let the slumber end. Let the state awaken.A job isn’t just an income—it’s self-worth, purpose, and peace of mind.
