Midlife Squeeze Theory and Kashmiri Elders
In Kashmir, the middle years of a man’s life — usually between 30 and 45 — are a quiet battlefield. This is the stage where most fathers find themselves caught in an emotional and economic vise grip. We call it the Midlife Squeeze Theory — a phase when life’s responsibilities tighten around a man so intensely that his own identity often disappears in the process.
Unlike the classic stereotype of a midlife crisis — luxury cars, travel, or sudden escapes — the Kashmiri father in midlife rarely has the luxury of indulgence. His crisis is not flamboyant, but grinding, invisible, and largely unspoken.
For a Kashmiri man in his mid-30s to mid-40s, the squeeze comes from at least five distinct fronts.
Aging Parents: In our society, where joint families are still the norm in many households, caring for elderly parents is both a moral and cultural obligation. Healthcare challenges, emotional care, and financial dependency all rest heavily on the son’s shoulders. Many fathers, while tending to their children, also nurse their aging parents back from hospital beds, or accompany them to endless appointments.
Young Children: This is the phase when children are in school or college — needing the most support, guidance, and resources. Whether it’s school fees, private tuition, coaching classes, or emotional nurturing, the expectations from fathers are high and continuous.
Spousal Partnership: While women in Kashmir increasingly contribute to household incomes and decision-making, many family dynamics still place emotional and logistical burdens on men to be the “pillar.” The wife seeks partnership, attention, shared parenting, and emotional availability — all valid, yet often unmet needs as the father himself runs dry.- 4.
Job and Earnings: Most Kashmiri fathers face deep uncertainty in employment. Whether it’s a private sector job with meagre pay, a government position with rising demands, or the instability of entrepreneurship, the pressure to earn and “settle” peaks in these years. With inflation, EMI culture, and societal expectations of economic success, even stable jobs feel unstable.
Societal Pressures: Of all the squeezes, this is the most cruel and constant. The Kashmiri father is expected to be stoic, uncomplaining, emotionally composed, and financially capable — always. Society rarely allows space for his fears, mental health struggles, or fatigue. Vulnerability is seen as weakness. Seeking help is seen as failure.
The outcomes of this pressure vary. Some fathers crumble under the load — emotionally breaking down, turning to silence, depression, or sometimes destructive coping mechanisms like anger or substance abuse. These are not bad men. These are men whose systems shut down because no one noticed they were bleeding inside.
Some survive mechanically — going through the motions, emotionally absent but functionally present. They pay the bills, drive the car, attend weddings, and ensure school fees are paid — but the soul is distant, the spirit dry.
And then there are a few who endure — not because they are superhuman, but because they embrace pain with purpose. These fathers become examples of quiet resilience. They balance their roles, protect their inner peace, and adapt with humility. They may not have time for themselves, but they never lose sight of what matters.
In Kashmir, we’ve seen this quiet endurance in fathers who lost jobs but didn’t lose hope. In those who walked kilometres in snow to get medicine for their parents. In those who skipped meals silently so their children could get better coaching or better clothes.
Unlike earlier generations, today’s Kashmiri fathers face a new wave of modern challenges. The rise of social media comparison, unrealistic standards of parenting, economic competition, and the societal obsession with “success” have added fresh layers of anxiety.
You’re not just expected to be a good father anymore — you must be a modern father. Involved, present, ambitious, earning well, emotionally expressive, socially active, health-conscious, and above all, constantly performing.
This relentless performance culture, fuelled by Instagram-perfect families and peer comparison, makes it harder for men to admit they are tired, confused, or scared.
The Midlife Squeeze is not a clinical diagnosis. It’s a lived reality. And yet, there is no counselling, no conversations, no public campaigns in Kashmir to speak about this reality.
Men are expected to “just deal with it.” But they are not steel. We must create spaces — in homes, workplaces, and social conversations — where fathers can speak, pause, ask for help, or even just feel without fear of judgement.
What Can Be Done.? Let’s begin talking about fatherhood not just as a provider’s role but as an emotional journey with its own struggles. Let fathers be heard too. Kashmir needs strong workplace policies around parental leave, mental health support, and flexible work hours — especially for those balancing caregiving at both ends. Schools, mosques, and community centres can play a role in encouraging men to understand and express emotions — not as weakness but as wisdom.
The midlife squeeze doesn’t have to crush just one person. Spouses, siblings, even children (in age-appropriate ways) can share tasks, listen better, and reduce the load. Let’s appreciate the Kashmiri father not just when he dies or retires, but while he’s still quietly holding the fort, uncelebrated.
The Midlife Squeeze Theory is not just about pressure — it’s about potential. It’s a phase where men can break or build, withdraw or evolve. And those who endure it with grace, care, and resilience — they are the true backbones of Kashmiri families. Let us begin to see them. Let us begin to hear them. And above all, let us begin to thank them while they’re still here.
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi is a teacher and researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora J&K
