Peerzada Masrat Shah
A debate has started across Kashmir. It is about young girls dancing at public functions, school events, and gatherings tied to religious places. Videos travel fast on social media. They provoke strong reactions. But the real question is not whether girls should dance. The real question is bigger. What are we teaching our children? Who is responsible for the space they perform in? Where do we draw the line between a child taking part and a child being put on display?
Former actress Zara Wasim has spoken about this too. She flagged a similar incident. Her words reopened a conversation Kashmir cannot avoid.
This issue needs neither outrage nor easy acceptance. It needs responsibility.
The organisers come first.
Before any child steps on stage, organisers should ask one plain question. Would we feel the same way if this were our own daughter? If yes, they still need to check the rest. Is the setting right? Is the clothing right? Is the choreography right for a child’s age? Is the audience right?
A child is not a prop. A child should never be used just to pull a crowd or add sparkle to an event.
There is a difference between two things. One is a child taking part in a supervised, educational programme. The other is a child put in front of a large audience purely to entertain. That difference matters even more when the child is very young.
Parents share the responsibility too.
Consent matters. But consent from a parent should not be the end of the conversation. A parent may believe, in good faith, that performing builds confidence. That belief is fair. But parents also need to think ahead. What happens once a video goes online? In the age of smartphones, a video does not stay in one room. It travels. Parents lose control over who sees it, where it goes, and how it gets used.
So the real question is not just “did the parents agree?” The real question is whether they understood the full picture. The audience. The setting. The performance. What could come after.
Teachers and schools carry a third layer.
A teacher’s job is not only to spot talent. It is also to protect the child while that talent grows. Dance, music, and theatre can teach real skills. There is nothing wrong with a child learning them.
But context is everything.
A school can build a safe space. A space where children learn discipline and confidence, without being pushed into the spotlight in ways that don’t suit their age. The same activity turns risky the moment a child stands in front of a crowd with no safeguards, or with clothing and choreography that don’t fit a child.
Kashmir has a deep cultural history. Music, poetry, theatre, craft: all of it lives here. This conversation is not against art. It is about how art gets presented, and why.
There is a wider anxiety at play too.
Kashmir has long carried a certain idea of modesty and restraint. The pheran is part of that image. It stands far apart from what we see on stages today.
But no culture stays frozen. Culture moves.
Young Kashmiris grow up with television, Instagram, YouTube, and global pop culture all around them. New forms of expression will keep arriving. Trying to block every change is neither realistic nor wise.
What we can ask for is change with care.
If a child wants to dance, let her learn. If she has talent, let it grow. But adults must make sure she is never exploited, never sexualised, never turned into an object, and never placed somewhere unsafe.
This is where the conversation needs to grow up.
Instead of staring at a young girl and judging what she wears, we should ask why she was put in that spot in the first place. A child should never carry the weight of scrutiny that belongs to the adults around her.
Criticism must never turn into shaming a girl. She is not responsible for choices made by organisers, teachers, or parents. If something about an event feels wrong, the responsibility sits with the adults who planned it, approved it, and watched over it.
One more hard question remains.
How many young girls are placed on a stage mainly to be seen, rather than to grow?
We need care with our words here too. A child performing is not automatically being displayed. Dance is not automatically exploitation. But whenever a child becomes the visual centre of an event, the adults involved owe her a real answer to a few honest questions.
Was this genuinely educational or cultural?
Was it right for her age?
Was the choreography suitable?
Was the clothing suitable for a child, in that setting?
Were there proper safeguards in place?
Was she comfortable? Did she want to be there?
Were her parents properly informed?
Were photos and videos handled with care?
These are the questions any responsible organiser should be able to answer.
Religious institutions carry an extra duty.
People connect these spaces with certain moral values. When an event happens under a religious institution’s name or roof, the organisers owe extra care to what is performed and what message it sends.
This does not mean religion and art cannot sit together. It means institutions owe people honesty about what they host, and why.
The same duty applies to weddings, community events, and school functions.
Kashmir is changing. Pretending otherwise will not stop it. The internet has already reshaped how young people dress, dream, and express themselves. We cannot label every new trend as foreign or wrong. We also cannot accept every trend simply because it is popular.
The answer sits between those two extremes. It looks like responsible parenting. Responsible teaching. Responsible cultural leadership.
Parents need to teach their children that talent matters, but dignity matters just as much. Organisers need to remember that an audience is not owed every part of a child, just because she stepped on a stage. Teachers need to make sure a child’s performance serves her, not the institution’s image.
And all of us need to learn the difference between protecting a child and judging one. That difference matters more than anything else here.
If we truly care about where Kashmir is headed, our concern cannot stop at a viral clip. We need to ask what kind of childhood we are building. What kind of public spaces we are creating. What standards we expect from the adults we trust with children.
The question was never whether Kashmir should dance.
The question is who decides the dance, who is watching, why the child is standing there, and whether someone is truly protecting her while she performs.
Kashmir does not need panic. It needs responsibility.
We do not have to romanticise the past. We do not have to accept every new trend without question. We can hold on to what is good in our heritage, while letting our children grow their talents in ways that are safe, respectful, and right for their age.
So before another young girl steps under the lights, every organiser, every parent, every teacher should pause. Ask one honest question.
If this were my daughter on that stage, would I still call this performance appropriate?
Answer that honestly, and the bigger question starts to answer itself.
Where is Kashmir heading? And who is really deciding that direction?
