The heart-wrenching news of yet another young life lost in Kota, an 18-year-old NEET aspirant from Jammu and Kashmir, hangs heavy in the air. Zeeshan, a girl with dreams, a girl with potential, a girl who should have been allowed to let her bachpan—her childhood—blossom, instead became the 15th casualty of an unrelenting pressure cooker this year alone. Her story is not just a statistic; it is a piercing cry from a generation suffocating under the weight of expectations we, as a society, have placed upon their fragile shoulders. Why do we, in our pursuit of success, rob our children of their right to breathe, to dream, to simply be?
Zeeshan’s tragedy, like those before her, forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth: we are failing our children. In our obsession with academic excellence, with coveted seats in medical or engineering colleges, we have forgotten the sacred essence of childhood. We have turned their lives into a race they did not choose, a race that demands they sacrifice their joy, their curiosity, their very spirit, to meet benchmarks that often have little to do with their God-given talents. Why do we insist on molding them into versions of success that may not even align with their hearts? Why do we burden them with dreams that are ours, not theirs?
Every child is born with a spark, a unique light bestowed upon them by the divine. Some are poets, some are artists, some are thinkers, and some are healers—not just of bodies, but of souls and communities. Yet, in our rigid pursuit of societal validation, we stifle that spark. We tell them their worth lies in marks, ranks, and entrance exams, not in the beauty of their individuality. Zeeshan, like countless others, was caught in this relentless cycle, studying in a room without even the basic safety of an anti-hanging device, a stark symbol of how little we prioritize their well-being. Her final moments, filled with despair, should shake us to our core. How many more young lives must we lose before we rethink the pressure we heap upon them?
Let us pause and remember what bachpan truly means. It is the season of wonder, of chasing butterflies, of dreaming without fear. It is the time to explore, to fail, to grow, and to discover the unique gifts God has woven into each child’s being. When we force our children into molds they were not meant to fit, we dim their light. We rob them of the chance to contribute to the world in the way only they can. Imagine a world where Zeeshan could have painted her dreams, written her stories, or simply lived to find her purpose. Instead, we pushed her toward a path that led to a ceiling fan in a lonely room.
As parents, educators, and a society, we must ask ourselves: what legacy are we leaving for our children? Are we nurturing their souls or breaking their spirits? Let us vow to let their bachpan flourish. Let us listen to their hearts, encourage their passions, and celebrate their unique journeys. Let us teach them that success is not a single destination but a tapestry woven from their courage, creativity, and joy. Let us ensure that no child feels so cornered by our expectations that they see no way out but to end their own story.
Zeeshan’s loss is a wound we all bear. Let it be a turning point. Let us commit to creating a world where our children are free to become what God created them to be—not what we demand they become. Let their *bachpan* bloom, wild and free, so they can grow into adults who light up the world with their unique gifts. For Zeeshan, for every child we’ve lost, and for those still fighting under the weight of our expectations, let us change. Let us love them enough to let them be themselves.
