A Simple Look at Gen Z, Millennials, and the Values We Are Losing
Peerzada Masarat Shah
A few days back, a friend called me. She said, “My doll brand is launching. There is an event at a Nigeen club. It will be a big thing in Kashmir. You must come, bring your friends, and give us some publicity.” I felt happy. Not because of the club or the glamour. I felt happy because I thought, finally, Kashmiri women are building something of their own.
That morning, I got the kids ready for school and left with a light heart. I expected to see women celebrating their skills and their independence. And yes, women were everywhere. One had a food stall. Another was selling perfumes. Someone was showing off jewellery. One woman spoke confidently about her products. Coffee was served. People laughed, clicked photos, and moved from stall to stall.
In the crowd, I met a young girl, Irtiqa. She is doing MBBS in Iran. She was full of dreams and confidence. For a moment, I felt hopeful. I thought, this is the new Kashmir — educated, ambitious young women building their own lives.
On the surface, everything looked like progress. Women were entrepreneurs. Women were building brands. Women were standing on their own feet.
But then I looked closer.
The Other Side of the Event
Every event in Kashmir today has two sides. One side is bright and full of progress. Everyone sees this side. But there is another, darker side, where boundaries blur. Under the glitter of these gatherings — at places like Buzz Kashmir and similar pop-up venues — there is a hidden space. Genders mix freely. Decorum is forgotten. Simple socialising slips into something vulgar.
So the real question is this: Are these events actually good for our society? Or are they slowly pushing our youth down a wrong path? What is the real purpose here — to support genuine talent, or to make indiscipline and loose values look normal, just because they come wrapped in “modern entertainment”?
Instead of giving young people a real, productive platform, these events create unwatched spaces. Boys and girls sit together in quiet corners and hidden parks, with no one checking on them. Does anyone ask these young people why they are really there? What are they actually taking home from these events?
A Shocking Incident
Recently, I was talking with my daughter. She told me something that shook me. During a routine check at a local school, a condom was found in the bag of a girl. She was only in the 8th standard.
This one incident makes us stop and think. What kind of atmosphere are we building at home and in our schools? We proudly send our children to top schools. We believe good education will secure their future. But where have we actually reached?
Too much freedom, and too much comfort, is quietly weakening parental control. Many parents are simply not paying attention — not asking where their children go, who they meet, or what they carry in their bags. As long as they can give their children a comfortable life, they feel their job is done.
We keep blaming the government for liquor shops and drug abuse. These are real problems, yes. But who is questioning the moral decline growing inside our own homes? Who is holding these unregulated youth gatherings responsible, where wrong relationships are becoming normal — so normal that our children don’t even realise they are doing something wrong?
Where are our community leaders, our teachers, our religious scholars? Our Moulvi Saabs speak with passion every Friday. But are they also failing to address what is actually happening on the ground? Why is there silence about the problems burning right outside the mosque?
There is a data point worth remembering here. According to the ASER 2024 survey, nearly 90% of children aged 14 to 16 in India have a smartphone at home. Of these, 76% used their phone for social media in the past week — but only 57% used it for studies. This tells us clearly: the phone is in the child’s hand, but real learning is not always happening.
Millennials: Standing Between Two Kashmirs
Millennials in Kashmir stand in a strange middle place. Many of us grew up before smartphones took over our lives. We remember a childhood when a photograph was a physical thing. We remember visiting people without announcing it online first. Back then, reputation was built over years of good behaviour, not through a well-edited social media feed.
But we also saw the change happen. We moved from handwritten letters to landlines, then to Facebook, Instagram, and constant online exposure. We watched private life slowly turn into public performance.
This makes millennials different. We remember the old values, but we also learned the new digital language. Gen Z, however, was born straight into this visibility. For many young people today, the phone is not just a device. It is a mirror, a shop, a stage — sometimes even a measure of their own self-worth. If it is not posted online, did it even really happen?
From Modesty to Hashtags
There is nothing wrong with fashion, business, beauty, coffee shops, or women becoming financially independent. A woman who builds a business, gives jobs to others, and earns through honest means deserves full respect. But when our whole culture starts measuring success only through looks, brands, and online visibility — we need to pause and think.
As one old saying goes, “Not everything that shines is gold.” True success asks a deeper question than “Can I do this?” It asks, “Should I do this? And what will it do to my heart, and to my society?”
Freedom without responsibility turns into indulgence. Fashion without modesty turns into vanity. Business without ethics turns into exploitation. And popularity without character turns into emptiness.
What Happened to Our Teachers?
Our Ustaads taught us that knowledge without good character is incomplete. They taught us about halal and haram, about respecting our parents, protecting our dignity, and remembering Allah even when no one is watching. These lessons were never meant to make us backward. They were meant to keep us balanced.
A society can have educated women and still hold on to its values. It can have successful entrepreneurs and still respect modesty. The real question for Kashmir is not whether we should move forward. The question is — forward, towards what?
Mouj Kashir, In the Dark
Mouj Kashir — Mother Kashmir — has always carried contradictions inside her. Today, she stands between two voices. One shouts, “Show yourself to the world.” The other quietly asks, “Who are you, when nobody is watching?”
As they say, “Character is what you do when no one is looking.”
Our children are watching us closely. They don’t learn from what we preach. They learn from what we celebrate. If we celebrate only looks and money, they will chase vanity. But if we celebrate knowledge, character, modesty, and responsibility, they will learn that a human being is worth far more than a social media profile.
What kind of Kashmir are we building for our children? A Kashmir where everything is visible, but nothing is sacred? Or a Kashmir where progress walks hand in hand with good character?
The choice is still ours. But the darkness has already arrived. Before we blame Gen Z, or point fingers at outside forces, we must ask ourselves one honest question: why did we let go of the reins in the first place?
The pain is not that Kashmir is changing. The pain is that we are changing too — but perhaps, without carrying our soul along with us.
