Jammu and Kashmir (J&K), a region long celebrated for its natural splendor, a silent crisis festers. On April 13, 2025, a stark revelation shook the Union Territory: over 1.14 lakh children were identified as malnourished, a figure that casts a long shadow over the newly elected government’s ambitious welfare promises. After seven years without an elected assembly, the J&K government passed its first budget in 2024, raising hopes of a reinvigorated welfare state. Yet, as the dust settles on budgetary debates and policy pronouncements, the question looms large: where does the Social Welfare Department stand, and why are children still going hungry?
A Sobering Statistic
The numbers are grim. According to Sanjeev Verma, Commissioner Secretary of the Social Welfare Department, 1,14,416 children suffer from malnutrition across J&K. Of these, 24,261 grapple with severe acute malnutrition (SAM), 69,177 with moderate acute malnutrition (MAM), and 20,978 are anaemic. These figures emerged from home visits covering 22.76 lakh individuals, a near-complete sweep of the targeted 23.64 lakh. The department’s supplementary nutrition scheme reaches 9.14 lakh beneficiaries, with 99% Aadhaar verification to curb leakages. On paper, the system appears robust—data-driven, transparent, and well-funded. For 2024–25, Rs 2,496.25 crore was allocated for welfare schemes, with an 86% utilization rate (Rs 2,147.24 crore spent). For 2025–26, the budget has swelled to Rs 4,361.14 crore, a 68% increase, signaling intent to scale up interventions.
Yet, these statistics tell only half the story. Behind the numbers lies a deeper malaise: a disconnect between policy and practice, between budgets and bellies.
The Anganwadi Promise: A Fading Memory
Growing up in a quiet village in J&K, I recall the Anganwadi center as a hub of hope. At 1 p.m., children would swarm in, drawn by the aroma of khichdi—a humble mix of rice and lentils that nourished both body and community. For impoverished families, it was a lifeline. Today, my village has seven Anganwadi centers, but the stoves are cold. Workers diligently record data—names, ages, weights—but the children leave empty-handed, their hunger reduced to entries on a clipboard.
This is not an isolated tale. Across J&K, voices from the ground paint a troubling picture. Shabir Ahmad from Ganderbal laments, “The days are gone when they used to nourish our kids. Now they distribute whatever comes to them. From supervisor to sarpanch to Anganwadi worker, everyone takes their share, and children remain malnourished.” Zarefa from Kulgam echoes this frustration: “They just collect data, write attendance, then protest for low salaries. Who’s asking what they’re doing on the ground?” Gulshana from Qazigund adds, “They have budgets, they spend, but not for our children—for their own families.”
These sentiments find resonance on social media. A post on X by @KIMSKashmir on April 13, 2025, flagged the malnutrition crisis, noting, “Over 1.14 lakh children suffering from malnutrition identified in J&K,” with a link to a news report. Another user, @ConcernedJKMom, tweeted, “Anganwadi workers are more interested in protests than feeding kids. Where’s the khichdi my parents talk about? #JKMnutritionCrisis.” On Facebook, a group called “J&K Parents for Change” shared a viral post: “Our kids are starving while officials boast about budgets. Why are Anganwadi centers just data collection points now?”
A Systemic Failure?
The Social Welfare Department, with its “full-fledged workforce” and substantial funding, was meant to be a bulwark against such crises. Under Mission Vatsalya, 116 homes and child care institutions have been established to protect vulnerable children. Anganwadi centers, numbering over 28,000, are tasked with delivering supplementary nutrition and early education. Yet, the results are underwhelming.
Anganwadi workers, often the face of this system, are caught in a bind. Underpaid and overworked, they face mounting pressure to meet data-driven targets while grappling with allegations of corruption. One worker, speaking anonymously, deflected blame: “It’s not just us. Look at the Education Department’s mid-day meal scheme—where’s the accountability? They’re supposed to feed kids in schools, but the meals are irregular, and quality is poor. We’re blamed because we’re visible, but the system is broken.”
The mid-day meal scheme, designed to boost school attendance and nutrition, has indeed faced scrutiny. A 2023 audit by the Comptroller and Auditor General flagged irregularities in J&K’s implementation, including inflated enrollment figures and substandard food quality. Parents report sporadic meals, often limited to rice or biscuits, far from the balanced diet promised. A schoolteacher from Anantnag remarked, “Kids come expecting food, but half the time, there’s nothing. How do we teach hungry children?”
Corruption and Misdirection
Allegations of corruption pervade both schemes. Supervisors, sarpanches, and even workers are accused of siphoning off supplies meant for children. A 2024 sting operation by a local news outlet exposed Anganwadi workers in Baramulla selling subsidized nutrition packets in black markets. Meanwhile, protests by Anganwadi workers—demanding better pay and conditions—have disrupted services. In March 2025, over 5,000 workers marched in Srinagar, leaving centers shuttered for days.
The Social Welfare Department’s high fund utilization rate (86%) is touted as a success, but questions linger about where the money goes. A senior official, requesting anonymity, admitted, “Budgets are spent on infrastructure, salaries, and data systems, but last-mile delivery—actual food reaching kids—is where we falter. Leakages and inefficiencies eat into impact.”
A Path Forward
The government’s response to the malnutrition crisis is promising but incomplete. Targeted interventions for the 1.14 lakh malnourished children include specialized nutrition kits and medical follow-ups. Yet, without addressing systemic flaws, these measures risk becoming bandages on a deeper wound.
First, transparency must be prioritized. Real-time tracking of supplies, from procurement to distribution, could curb pilferage. Blockchain-based systems, piloted in other states, offer a model. Second, Anganwadi workers need better support—higher wages, training, and accountability mechanisms to restore trust. Third, the mid-day meal scheme requires an overhaul: stricter audits, community oversight, and partnerships with local NGOs to ensure quality and consistency.
Finally, the government must listen to the ground. Voices like Shabir, Zarefa, and Gulshana are not just anecdotes—they are indictments of a system that has lost sight of its purpose. The welfare state envisioned in J&K’s first budget cannot thrive on numbers alone. It demands action that fills plates, not just clipboards.
As J&K stands at this crossroads, the malnutrition crisis is a litmus test. Will the government rise to the challenge, or will the promise of khichdi remain a distant memory for another generation?
