The sun rises over the jagged peaks of Kashmir, casting light on a valley where life unfolds at a measured pace. For the youth here, each day begins like anywhere else in India—prayers, school, the hum of routine. But beneath this familiar rhythm, a silent crisis is brewing. Mental health, a topic rarely broached in the open, festers in the shadows of societal norms and towering expectations.
In Kashmir, the mental health of young people is under siege. A 2022 study by Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) in collaboration with the University of Kashmir found that 45% of the region’s population exhibits significant symptoms of depression, with adolescents and young adults disproportionately affected. Anxiety disorders afflict 26%, and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) touches 19%—figures far higher than the national average. The Indian Journal of Psychiatry, in a 2021 report, pegs the prevalence of mental health disorders among Indian youth at 13.9%, but in Kashmir, decades of conflict, economic instability, and cultural pressures amplify the strain.
Take Rafiq, a 17-year-old from Sopore in north Kashmir. Each morning, his mother’s call to prayer pulls him from restless sleep. By the time he’s dressed, the weight of his father’s words—“Be something, make us proud”—has already settled on his shoulders. Rafiq dreams of studying literature, but his family insists on engineering, a “secure” path. The pressure isn’t unique to him; it’s a refrain echoed across households in the valley. A 2023 survey by the Jammu and Kashmir Health Department revealed that 68% of adolescents feel “overwhelmed” by academic demands, a statistic that resonates with Rafiq’s slumped posture as he trudges to school.
Mental health professionals point to a constellation of causes. Kashmir’s youth navigate a landscape shaped by conflict—curfews, pellet injuries, and loss have left scars, both visible and unseen. Add to this the relentless push for academic excellence, social media’s curated perfection, and rigid familial roles, and the burden becomes crushing. Yet, resources to cope are scarce. The National Mental Health Survey of India (2015-16) reported just 0.3 psychiatrists per 100,000 people nationwide; in Kashmir, the ratio is even bleaker, with fewer than 50 practicing psychiatrists for a population of over 7 million, according to the Directorate of Health Services Kashmir (2023). For rural youth like Rafiq, professional help is a distant mirage.
The cost of this neglect is stark. Suicide rates among Kashmiri adolescents have climbed steadily. A 2022 report from the Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS) in Srinagar documented over 200 suicide attempts by youth under 20 in a single year, a number experts call “the tip of the iceberg.” One such tragedy struck Anantnag in south Kashmir in 2024, when 16-year-old Sameer, a bright student, took his life after failing to secure a top rank in his board exams. His peers later revealed he’d spoken of feeling trapped, unable to meet his family’s expectations.
The crisis wears a gendered face too. Ayesha, an 18-year-old from Budgam, embodies this reality. Beyond excelling in school, she’s expected to master domestic duties and uphold an impeccable image. “Girls don’t get to mess up,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. A 2023 study in the *International Journal of Social Psychiatry* found that young women in Kashmir face higher rates of depression (52%) compared to their male peers (38%), driven by restrictive gender norms and limited autonomy. For Ayesha, the pressure to conform stifles her ambition to become a journalist—a dream her family dismisses as impractical.
Stigma compounds the isolation. Mental health is often branded as a personal failing, not a societal issue. “People think you’re weak or possessed,” says Dr. Arif, a Srinagar-based psychiatrist. “Parents bring kids to me only when they stop eating or speaking.” This reluctance to seek help leaves many languishing in silence, their struggles invisible until they erupt.
Yet, glimmers of change are emerging. In Baramulla, 19-year-old Zainab launched a peer support group in 2024 after losing a friend to suicide. Meeting weekly in a small community hall, the group offers a safe space for teens to share their fears. “We just listen,” Zainab says. “Sometimes that’s enough.” Meanwhile, organizations like the Kashmir Mental Health Foundation (KMHF) are chipping away at the silence, running awareness drives and free counseling sessions. In 2023, KMHF reached over 5,000 students across 20 schools, though funding shortages limit their reach.
The numbers paint a national picture too. The Indian Psychiatric Society estimates that 10-15% of India’s adolescents grapple with mental health disorders annually, a figure mirrored in Kashmir’s rising tide. Globally, the World Health Organization (WHO) notes that 1 in 7 young people aged 10-19 experience a mental health condition, underscoring that Kashmir’s youth are not alone in their struggle—though their context is uniquely acute.
Breaking this cycle demands more than awareness. It requires investment: more psychiatrists trained (India’s current output is just 700 annually, per the Medical Council of India), rural clinics established, and mental health woven into school curriculums. Policy must shift too—Kashmir’s six government mental health centers, mostly urban, fall woefully short for a dispersed population.
For Rafiq, Ayesha, Zainab, and countless others, the hope is modest but profound: a world where they can chase their dreams without dread, where vulnerability isn’t a sin. It begins with listening—really listening—to voices long unheard. The mental health crisis in Kashmir’s next generation is real, urgent, and actionable. The time to talk, and to act, is now.
(Gowher Bhat is a published author, creative writer, freelance journalist, and experienced English instructor with a passion for storytelling and education.)
