“Terrible things are happening outside. Poor helpless people are being dragged out of their homes. Families are torn apart. Men, women, and children are separated. Children come home from school to find that their parents have disappeared.” These words were written by Anne Frank in January 1943 during the Second World War. Decades later, they continue to describe the lives of millions of children in places such as Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, Syria, and Myanmar. The settings have changed, but the emotional burden placed on children has not.

While armed conflict leaves visible scars on cities and communities, its emotional impact on children often remains unseen and unaddressed. These effects are not temporary. Emotional distress experienced during childhood can shape development and continue to influence mental health, relationships, and self-perception well into adulthood.

Childhood is generally associated with protection, stability, and growth. Conflict breaks these basic conditions. Children in war zones are exposed to bombings, forced displacement, separation from family members, the loss of loved ones, and the destruction of homes and schools. According to UNICEF, millions of children worldwide grow up in environments where violence and insecurity are a daily reality rather than an exception. In such circumstances, children rarely have the space or support to process grief as it occurs. Fear and loss are often internalised, remaining unresolved and resurfacing later in life in different emotional and psychological forms.

Judith Herman’s work on trauma helps explain this process. She argues that trauma damages a person’s fundamental sense of safety and trust in the world. For children, whose emotional and social understanding is still developing, this rupture can be especially deep. When violence becomes routine, adults and institutions no longer appear as reliable sources of protection. Safety begins to feel uncertain and temporary. Over time, this alters how children relate to others and how they imagine their future.

One of the most common psychological consequences of prolonged conflict is toxic stress. This refers to long-term exposure to fear and instability without adequate emotional support. Research shows that children exposed to war frequently experience anxiety, depression, sleep disturbances, and difficulty concentrating. Some develop symptoms associated with post-traumatic stress disorder. As Bessel van der Kolk has shown, trauma is not experienced only through memory or thought. It is also carried in the body, shaping stress responses, emotional regulation, and behaviour. These reactions are not signs of weakness but normal responses to deeply abnormal conditions.

Children do not all respond to trauma in the same way. Early research by Anna Freud and Dorothy Burlingham during the Second World War demonstrated that younger children often regress under stress. They may become unusually dependent on caregivers, lose language or social skills they had already acquired, or experience bed-wetting. Older children and adolescents may withdraw emotionally, express anger, or engage in risky behaviour. Many children also experience guilt, believing they are responsible for their family’s suffering, even when this is not true. Such beliefs can quietly undermine emotional wellbeing and self-esteem.

Emotional harm is not caused only by direct exposure to violence. Ongoing uncertainty, repeated displacement, and the constant fear of losing loved ones place children in a state of continuous alertness. Life in refugee camps or temporary shelters often involves overcrowding, lack of privacy, and disrupted routines. Education is frequently interrupted. UNHCR reports show that displacement often lasts for years, transforming emergency situations into long-term childhood environments. The absence of stability deepens emotional insecurity and stress.

Loss is another defining feature of childhood in conflict zones. Children may lose parents, siblings, friends, homes, and entire communities. Yet children often lack the language, emotional vocabulary, and social permission to express grief openly. When loss is not acknowledged or supported, grief does not disappear. As Veena Das has shown in her work on everyday violence, suffering often becomes woven into ordinary life rather than resolved. For children, unresolved grief can shape emotional health, relationships, and self-esteem well into adulthood.

In long-running conflicts, some children grow up knowing nothing but war. Research from conflict-affected regions shows that constant exposure to violence can normalise fear. Hope, imagination, and long-term planning may give way to survival, mistrust, and emotional numbing. When violence becomes ordinary, it reshapes children’s understanding of relationships, society, and the future.

Education plays a crucial role in supporting children’s emotional wellbeing. Schools provide routine, structure, and a sense of normal life. Even temporary learning spaces in refugee settings can help children feel connected and supported. However, when schools are damaged, occupied, or attacked, education itself becomes a source of trauma. Attacks on schools and teachers send a powerful message that even spaces meant for safety are not protected. The loss of education also limits future opportunities, increasing long-term emotional stress.

Despite these conditions, children in conflict zones are not only victims. Many demonstrate remarkable resilience. Research by Catherine Panter-Brick and Michael Wessells shows that supportive relationships play a central role in helping children cope with trauma. Care from parents, caregivers, teachers, and peers can reduce emotional harm. Cultural practices, storytelling, play, and community support help children make sense of their experiences and restore a sense of belonging.

Psychologists emphasise that resilience does not arise from individual strength alone. It depends on social and emotional support systems. Children cope better when they have at least one stable and caring adult and when their emotions are recognised and taken seriously. Trauma-sensitive education, play therapy, art-based activities, and group discussions have been shown to help children process fear and loss in constructive ways.

There is growing recognition of the need for mental health and psychosocial support in conflict settings. However, such services remain limited and underfunded. Emotional wellbeing is often treated as secondary to food, shelter, and medical aid. This neglect is short-sighted. Emotional harm can persist long after physical danger has ended and may affect not only individuals but entire societies across generations.

Anne Frank’s diary reminds us that the emotional suffering of children during war is not new. What has changed is the scale of conflict and the number of children affected. Protecting children in conflict zones requires attention not only to their physical survival but also to their emotional lives. If emotional wounds are ignored, societies risk raising generations shaped by fear and unresolved trauma. Supporting children’s emotional wellbeing is essential for recovery, peace, and a more stable future.

Vaishali Sharma is a Master’s student in History at the University of Delhi, passionate about inclusive and holistic education. Her research interests include education, public policy, and international relations, with published works on curriculum.

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Familiarity blindness is the inability to recognise the detail, or miss the value, in objects or environments one is very familiar with. When there are hand-knotted carpets in every Kashmiri home and crewel-embroidered curtains in everyone’s bedroom, they can start to feel like part of the ordinary background, rather than cultural works of art. This daily exposure often makes people overlook the time, skill, and precision that goes into handcrafted products. As a result, they start to prefer machine-made, mass-produced versions of them. Some may even disregard their value entirely and opt for more ‘modern’ alternatives. This trend is evident in the adoption of minimalistic architecture in Kashmiri homes. While traditional craftsmanship is considered outdated locally, it continues to draw international acclaim. This is clear in exports that have crossed ₹1,100 crore in 2023–2024, a sharp increase compared to almost ₹900 crore in 2013–2014. Local demand has diminished, creating severe consequences for artisans and the future of Kashmiri handicrafts.

As the global market for these products expands, a decline in an artisan’s earnings may initially seem counterintuitive. However, Kashmiri craftsmen lack direct access to international markets where the value of their craftsmanship is truly recognised. Instead, products reach these markets through a chain of intermediaries, reducing an artisan’s share of the profit to an amount barely enough to eke out a living. According to multiple studies, even skilled artisans, on an average, earn below ₹10,000 per month. This leaves them with two choices: either to accept these unfair wages, or try selling in local markets. In these markets, they need to compete with cheap, mass-produced products. Forced to lower their prices, many resort to using low-grade materials, affecting the quality of the finished product.

The economic struggles of artisans portray Kashmiri craftsmanship as an unstable career for the youth. Moreover, the growing acceptance of machine-made products has caused declines in artisan dignity. These developments are indicators pointing toward the extinction of traditional techniques like Sozni, Kani weaving, and high-knot carpets, which are already endangered. This could ultimately risk erosion of the Kashmiri collective identity.

Traditionally handmade items are more than mere accessories. They carry cultural significance in the pashmina shawls gifted in weddings and passed down as family heirlooms. Ancestral knowledge is preserved in how Sozni techniques and the Kani Talim script are inherited orally through apprenticeship and not documented in books. In the embroidery patterns resides the historical journey of Kashmir and the Mughal, Persian, and local artistic influences. Symbolic meanings of endurance are contained within carved chinar leaves and royal heritage in papier-mâché designs. Like Japan is known by its kimono and China by its silk, Kashmir’s cultural identity lies in the weaves of its shawls and the grooves of its woodwork. Losing these items threatens not only our global identity, but also a tangible expression of who we are.

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The end of year 2025 did not mark the end of 365 days on the calendar; it was a capsule of the history that J&K has undergone in the first quarter of 21st century. The year 2001 was a seminal moment for the history of the place. Soon after 9/11, Kashmir saw a devastating attack at the Assembly complex on October 1. The outrage was lacking. There were no calls for punishment to the perpetrators. The whole concept of coercive diplomacy failed when mobilization of armed forces to the border in the wake of December 13 terror assault on the Indian Parliament did not yield any results.

Something has changed. Now the plotters of terror attacks across the border know the consequences that will follow. Operation Sindoor launched after Pahalgam massacre of April 22, 2025, has set new norm of counter-terrorism. The crude reality is that we are still grappling with the conditions set by the terror attack, and we continue to remind the world that there was murderous brutality in the serene Valley, avenged through Operation Sindoor.

At a time when we had understood that Pahalgam is fading, the origins of the conspiracy of November 10, 2025, served a chilling reminder that a lot of work remains to be done. Those who have seen the troubles in Kashmir since 1989 – isolated bomb blasts hit and run shootouts, blackouts and general strikes – can tell that there were occasions of lull. Toward the closure of 1993 – the success in clearing Hazratbal shrine off militants, and rolling of tanks on the streets of Sopore, known as “liberated zone”, it was presumed that the deed was done. That was not to be. 1994 saw release of Shabir Shah, and JKLF chief Yasin Malik, now facing trial in Rubiya Sayeed kidnapping case; and many more developments that saw peace returning to the Valley.

Neither 1994 nor any other year in the past 35 years can be compared to what happened in 2025 and the challenges that are in store in 2026. It is time to wake up to the reality of enormity of the task. The clock needs to be reset. While it is very important to trace and neutralize the forces of disruption, there also is need that fresh fault lines are not created, and the old ones are addressed with innovative approach.

Today, Kashmir’s story has definitive hope and promise in it. Before reflecting on the history and the task to be accomplished, it is important for all of us to view the reality as it exists. Despite some fears lurking in the backdrop, there is a definitive change in the situation. We had not seen such a spell of normalcy in Kashmir over the decades. Did we see such regular life in 1990s, early 2000s, or even for that matter in 2008, 2010, 2016. No one was able to predict that the situation would ever be as normal as we are seeing today. There may be political apprehension in crediting the change to the current Central government, but it all happened on the watch of Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

There are several issues that remain unresolved. Some opportunities have been missed, but then that should also lead to the question – did we rise to the occasion. We shifted our stands and promises time and again. Dialogue between Delhi and J&K is needed, but that also has certain imperatives. We have not been able to sort out our own differences on our narrative. There is a lot of confusion and chaos in the political class, which believes in berating one another rather than holding strategy sessions, how to approach centre with our case, and what exactly is our case. Centre has obviously taken advantage of it.

Let it be understood in all fairness that our future should be driven by the idea of a state that backs entrepreneurial spirit and addresses the historical issues in the light of the new realities of the second quarter of the 21st century. Before seeking dialogue with Delhi, it is important that the verdict of the 2024 elections should be honoured in letter and spirit. National Conference was voted to power to govern, a majority of its seats came from the Valley, while BJP did extraordinarily well in Jammu region. BJP should accord due respect to the government, instead of looking for alternate ways to undermine the elected government.

Recognising and respecting the elected representatives is to honour all the BJP MLAs. And the Omar Abdullah government should respect Jammu mandate. Jammu is not a mere geographical unit, it has its history and role. Mutual respect doesn’t come with power-sharing arrangements only, it comes with understanding each other’s view point. Unfortunately, extremes are reflected more than the common ground.

There is need to understand and acknowledge that the youth is gripped with a sense of disappointment, and frustration is touching unprecedented levels. It is driving them to drugs and other crimes. Society is getting hollowed out. Corrective measures are needed. They should be heard. They are not interested in the political battles, they are simply interested in their future, and security.

Centre, after having done so much for Jammu and Kashmir in the past few years cannot should not allow the frustration to fester in youth. There are extremists on either side of the fence, projecting the disappointment of the youth through their extremist views. These elements are furthering their politics of fragmentation. It needs to be checked.

The entrepreneurial skill, creativity and tenacity is needed. Is someone going to take this call. The real change in the narrative based on the reality and the future needs, is the only way out.

The post As we move ahead appeared first on Greater Kashmir.

The sight of religious leaders meeting the officials of the Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS) is symbolically powerful. It shows an understanding that addressing addiction needs a collective responsibility from all sections of society, more so, imams whose word carries weight and trust.

The numbers underline the urgency for such an action. According to data, since 2018, over 1.12 lakh kilograms of narcotics have been seized and more than 10,000 people arrested under the NDPS Act. Yet seizures and arrests tell only part of the story. Addiction has seeped into homes, schools, and neighbourhoods, often hidden by shame and fear. With over 83,000 people seeking treatment at de-addiction centres since 2020, and thousands more likely suffering in silence, Kashmir is staring at a public health emergency.

Law enforcement has intensified its crackdown, destroying illegal poppy and cannabis cultivation and dismantling trafficking networks. These efforts are necessary, but they are not sufficient. Addiction requires prevention, early intervention, and sustained rehabilitation. This is where community institutions, particularly religious ones, become indispensable.

Friday sermons, counselling sessions, and informal conversations within mosques have the potential to break stigma and encourage early help-seeking. When Imams speak of addiction as a disease rather than a sin, they open doors to recovery. The emphasis on confidentiality and compassion, highlighted during the IMHANS interaction, is crucial in a society where fear of social ostracism often delays treatment.

Kashmir, long scarred by conflict, cannot afford to lose another generation, this time to a slow, silent epidemic. The war against drugs will not be won by enforcement alone. It will be won when society chooses collective action over denial. The Imams’ step forward is a hopeful beginning. Now, it must be matched by sustained commitment from all.

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Behind them, in the houses they continue to sweat for, lies a troubling reality: grown men in their late twenties and thirties, physically capable and mentally sharp, remain fast asleep or glued to digital screens. This is the silent epidemic of generational inertia, a social crisis that is eroding the foundation of the Kashmiri family structure and leaving an aging generation in a state of perpetual, silent suffering.

The inversion of the social contract

Culturally, the Himalayan valley has always functioned on a simple, unwritten pact: parents sacrifice their youth to nurture and educate their children, and in return, as the parents enter their twilight years, the children take over the mantle of financial responsibility. This transition is supposed to be the “golden period” for elders—a time for spiritual reflection and community engagement. However, this cycle has been violently disrupted. We are witnessing a phase where the “ultimate onus” of survival never shifts. The octogenarian father remains the primary breadwinner, while the thirty-year-old son remains a perpetual dependent. This isn’t just an economic failure; it is a profound psychological burden. These parents suffer in a “double bind”—they are physically exhausted by labor their bodies can no longer sustain.

The Culture of the Culvert and the Digital Screen

Walk through any Kashmiri village or urban colony during peak working hours, and the symptoms of this malaise are visible. You will find groups of able-bodied youth huddled on road culverts or perched on shop pickets. The air is thick not with talk of enterprise or labor, but with aimless gossip and the blue light of smart phones. The digital revolution, while a boon for many, has become a sanctuary for the idle. For a significant portion of our youth, the virtual world has become a replacement for the physical hustle. This “gossip culture” at shop fronts acts as a social sedative; when everyone around you is equally unproductive, the individual shame of unemployment or idleness is diluted.

The looming sustainability crisis

The question that keeps these elderly parents awake at night is simple yet haunting: How will this family sustain in the long run? The current model is built on “depleting assets.” The elderly are spending their final reserves of health and savings to keep the kitchen fires burning. When these “grey-haired pillars” inevitably fall, there is no foundation left. The lack of financial activity among the youth means there are no savings, no investments, and, more importantly, no work ethic being developed. We are heading toward a future where a significant portion of our population will reach middle age without ever having held a steady job, leaving them utterly ill-equipped to handle the complexities of a modern economy.

The tragedy of inherited poverty

The crisis reaches its most heart-wrenching peak when these idle men get married. Under social pressure or the hope that “marriage will make him responsible,” families enter into alliances they cannot afford. The result is often catastrophic. When a man in his thirties cannot provide the basic necessities—food, medicine, or hygiene—for his spouse and offspring, the domestic environment turns toxic. It leads to depression, domestic friction, and a sense of hopelessness that is passed down to the next generation.

Breaking the Silence

The “silent suffering” must end, and that begins with a difficult conversation within our society. We must address several factors:

1. The dignity of labor: somewhere along the way, we developed a disdain for “small” jobs. Many youth wait for a government “order” that may never come, refusing to engage in agriculture, craftsmanship, or local trade. We must re-instill the idea that any honest work is better than idle dependency.
2. Parental tough love: while the empathy for parents is paramount, there is also a need for a shift in parenting. Shielding a thirty-year-old from the realities of the market is not an act of love; it is an act of long-term sabotage.
3. Community intervention: religious leaders and village elders must use their influence to discourage the “culvert culture.” The platforms of our mosques and community centers should be used to talk about the religious and social obligation of a man to provide for his family.

Dr. Mushtaq Rather is an educator

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Scientists suggest that our perception of time is changing as the brain is continuously bombarded with information. Notifications, updates, and digital noise push us into constant multitasking. Psychologists describe this as ( time compression)  when experiences come too quickly and without depth, the brain fails to store them properly, making time feel shorter in retrospect.

We scroll, click, consume, and move on, yet little truly stays with us. In contrast, childhood felt expansive. A single afternoon could seem endless because attention was undivided. We noticed sunlight, sounds, pauses between moments. That attention stretched time, giving life texture and meaning.

Neuroscience now confirms that time perception is closely linked to focus. When attention is scattered, time collapses. When we are fully present, time expands. This is why mindfulness (being deeply engaged in the moment) is no longer just a wellness trend, but a neurological need.

In a region where life has often been shaped by uncertainty and waiting, the feeling of time slipping away carries particular weight. Perhaps reclaiming time does not require slowing the clock, but slowing ourselves. choosing presence is an act of resistance. When we learn to pay attention again, time does not disappear it quietly returns.

Saniyari Magray, participant GKSC Bootcamp, Batch 4.

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It is also said:

सोमलिङ्गं नरो दृष्ट्वा सर्वपापैः प्रमुच्यते।

लभते फलं मनोवाञ्छितं मृतः स्वर्गं समाश्रयेत्॥

It means: Just the sight of Somnath Shivling ensures that a person is freed of sins, achieves their righteous desires and attains heaven after death.

Tragically, this very Somnath, which drew the reverence and prayers of millions, was attacked by foreign invaders, whose agenda was demolition, not devotion.

The year 2026 is significant for the Somnath Temple. It has been 1,000 years since the first attack on this great shrine. It was in January of 1026 that Mahmud of Ghazni attacked this Temple, seeking to destroy a great symbol of faith and civilisation, through a violent and barbaric invasion.

Yet, one thousand years later, the Temple stands as glorious as ever because of numerous efforts to restore Somnath to its grandeur. One such milestone completes 75 years in 2026. It was during a ceremony on May 11^th  1951, in the presence of the then President of India, Dr. Rajendra Prasad, that the restored Temple opened its doors to devotees.

The first invasion of Somnath a thousand years ago in 1026, the cruelty that was unleashed upon the people of the town and the devastation that was inflicted upon the shrine have been documented in great detail in various historical accounts. When you read them, the heart trembles. Each line carries the weight of grief, cruelty and a sorrow that refuses to fade with time.

Imagine the impact it had on Bharat and the morale of the people. After all, Somnath had great spiritual significance. It was also on the coast, giving strength to a society with great economic prowess, whose sea traders and seafarers carried tales of its grandeur far and wide.

Yet, I am proud to state unequivocally that the story of Somnath, a thousand years after the first attack, is not defined by destruction. It is defined by the unbreakable courage of crores of children of Bharat Mata.

The medieval barbarism that began a thousand years ago in 1026 went on to ‘inspire’ others to repeatedly attack Somnath. It was the start of an attempt to enslave our people and culture. But, each time the Temple was attacked, we also had great men and women who stood up to defend it and even made the ultimate sacrifice. And every single time, generation after generation, the people of our great civilisation picked themselves up, rebuilt and rejuvenated the Temple. It is our privilege to have been nurtured by the same soil that has nurtured greats like Ahilyabai Holkar, who made a noble attempt to ensure devotees can pray at Somnath.

In the 1890s, Swami Vivekananda visited Somnath and that experience moved him. He expressed his feelings during a lecture in Chennai in 1897 when he said, “Some of these old temples of Southern India and those like Somnath of Gujarat will teach you volumes of wisdom, will give you a keener insight into the history of the race than any amount of books. Mark how these temples bear the marks of a hundred attacks and a hundred regenerations, continually destroyed and continually springing up out of the ruins, rejuvenated and strong as ever! That is the national mind, that is the national life-current. Follow it and it leads to glory. Give it up and you die; death will be the only result, annihilation, the only effect, the moment you step beyond that life current.”

The sacred duty of rebuilding the Somnath Temple after independence came to the able hands of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. A visit during Diwali time in 1947 moved him so much that he announced that the Temple will be rebuilt there. Finally, on May 11th 1951, a grand Temple in Somnath opened its doors to devotees and Dr. Rajendra Prasad was present there. The great Sardar Sahib was not alive to see this historic day, but the fulfilment of his dream stood tall before the nation. The then Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, was not too enthused with this development. He did not want the Honourable President as well as Ministers to associate with this special event. He said that this event created a bad impression of India. But Dr. Rajendra Prasad stood firm and the rest is history. No mention of Somnath is complete without recalling the efforts of KM Munshi, who supported Sardar Patel very effectively. His works on Somnath, including the book, ‘Somanatha: The Shrine Eternal’, are extremely informative and educative.

Indeed, as the title of Munshi Ji’s book conveys, we are a civilisation that carries a sense of conviction about the eternity of spirit and of ideas. We firmly believe that that which is eternal is indestructible, as outlined in the famous Gita verse “नैनं छिन्दन्ति शस्त्राणि…”. There can be no better example of our civilisation’s indomitable spirit than Somnath, which stands gloriously, overcoming odds and struggles.

It is this same spirit that is visible in our nation, one of the brightest spots of global growth, having overcome centuries of invasions and colonial loot. It is our value systems and the determination of our people that have made India the centre of global attention today. The world is seeing India with hope and optimism. They want to invest in our innovative youngsters. Our art, culture, music and several festivals are going global. Yoga and Ayurveda are making a worldwide impact, boosting healthy living. Solutions to some of the most pressing global challenges are coming from India.

Since time immemorial, Somnath has brought together people from different walks of life. Centuries ago, Kalikal Sarvagna Hemchandracharya, a respected Jain monk, came to Somnath. It is said that after praying there, he recited a verse, “भवबीजाङ्कुरजनना रागाद्याः क्षयमुपगता यस्य।”. It means – Salutations to That One in whom the seeds of worldly becoming are destroyed, in whom passion and all afflictions have withered away.” Today, Somnath holds the same ability to awaken something profound within the mind and soul.

A thousand years after the first attack in 1026, the sea at Somnath still roars with the same intensity as it did back then. The waves that wash the shores of Somnath tell a story. No matter what, just like the waves, it kept rising again and again.

The aggressors of the past are now dust in the wind, their names synonymous with destruction. They are footnotes in the annals of history, while Somnath stands bright, radiating far beyond the horizon, reminding us of the eternal spirit that remained undiminished by the attack of 1026. Somnath is a song of hope that tells us that while hate and fanaticism may have the power to destroy for a moment, faith and conviction in the power of goodness have the power to create for eternity.

If the Somnath Temple, which was attacked a thousand years ago and faced continuous attacks thereon, could rise again and again, then we can surely restore our great nation to the glory it embodied a thousand years ago before the invasions. With the blessings of Shree Somnath Mahadev, we move forward with a renewed resolve to build a Viksit Bharat, where civilisational wisdom guides us to work for the welfare of the whole world.

Jai Somnath!

(The author is the Prime Minister of India and is also the Chairman of the Shree Somnath Trust)

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Maduro is no symbol of democratic virtue. His elections have been widely questioned, his rule has hollowed out Venezuela’s economy, and millions have fled the country under his watch. But none of that answers the larger question now hanging over global politics: who gets to decide when sovereignty no longer applies?

For decades, the United States insisted that no country had the right to invade another, topple governments, or seize leaders at will. It made that argument forcefully in Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, in Russia’s actions in Crimea, and most recently in Ukraine. Again and again, Washington has said that borders matter and that force cannot replace law.

Yet in Caracas, the United States did exactly what it condemns elsewhere: crossed borders with bombs and helicopters, snatched the head of state, and openly spoke of “running” another country.

The damage is not limited to Venezuela, as precedents travel fast. China, Russia, and others will not struggle to cite this moment when they next act unilaterally. Smaller states will take note too, learning that international rules offer protection only until a major power decides otherwise.

Perhaps most striking is how casually the old language has been discarded. There was no attempt to cloak the operation in multilateral approval or legal process. There was no pretense of collective action. Power spoke plainly.

The United States did not build the international order in a single moment; it assembled it brick by brick, through institutions, norms, and a belief, sometimes sincere, sometimes self-serving that rules mattered. When the architect begins pulling those bricks out so openly, the structure does not partially collapse. It eventually gives way entirely. And when that happens, it will not be Venezuela alone that pays the price.

The post Might is right appeared first on Greater Kashmir.

In everyday practice, many teachers with post-graduation and NET/SET qualification are addressed as “Professor.” Sometimes this happens out of courtesy. Sometimes it becomes routine. Over time, the prefix finds its way into seminar banners, invitation cards, social media posts, and even public discussions. This may appear harmless, but academically and officially it is incorrect.

Under India’s higher education rules governed by university grants commission (UGC), which also apply to Jammu and Kashmir, the word “Professor” has a very specific meaning. It is not a general term for a teacher. It is not a reward for experience. It is not a title earned by clearing NET. Professor is an academic rank. A person becomes a Professor only through a formal appointment or promotion approved by a university or the government, following the rules laid down by the UGC. Without such an appointment, the prefix “Prof.” has no official standing.

NET qualification is often misunderstood. NET only makes a candidate eligible to apply for the post of Assistant Professor. It does not confer any rank. Even a PhD, which is a major academic achievement, does not by itself make one a Professor. A person may hold a PhD for many years and still remain an Assistant Professor or Associate Professor. Rank comes through institutional process, not personal achievement alone.

The prefix “Dr.” follows a different logic. It is linked to an earned doctoral degree. Anyone who has completed a recognised PhD has the right to use “Dr.” regardless of whether they are permanent, contractual, or even currently unemployed. Dr. is a personal academic qualification. Professor is an institutional position. Confusing the two collapses the basic structure of academia.

Mr. and Ms. are simple social honorifics. They are respectful and neutral. There is nothing degrading about them. In many well-known universities across the world, teachers without doctoral degrees are addressed as Mr. or Ms. without any sense of insult. Academic dignity does not come from prefixes. It comes from knowledge, teaching, and conduct.

In Kashmir, this confusion is not always driven by bad intention. Much of it grows from habit. Students call all teachers Professor as a sign of respect. Over time, courtesy turns into convention. Convention turns into entitlement. Institutional silence allows this to continue. No clear circulars are issued. No guidance is displayed. In this vacuum, everyone follows what everyone else is doing.

There is also a deeper reality that cannot be ignored. Many teachers in Kashmir work under contractual and uncertain conditions. Promotions are delayed. Career paths are unclear. In such an environment, titles become emotional compensation. Being called Professor feels like recognition in a system that often withholds real recognition. But emotional comfort cannot replace academic accuracy.

This confusion has consequences. Students grow up believing that clearing NET makes one a Professor. They fail to understand the difference between eligibility, qualification, and rank. Genuine Professors, who have reached the position after decades of work, find their role diluted. Institutions lose credibility when titles do not match official records. Academia, which depends on trust, begins to look careless.

This is not a call to police the language in daily conversation. People will continue to speak as they wish. But in official, academic, and public contexts, clarity is essential. Universities and the Directorate of Higher Education in Jammu and Kashmir should issue a simple, written guideline. Not a long regulation. Just a clear statement. Dr. for those with doctoral degrees. Professor only for those formally appointed or promoted to that rank. Others may use Mr. or Ms., as prefix to their name. Clarity is not elitism. It is fairness. Titles should reflect reality, not aspiration. Academia cannot be built on symbolic shortcuts.

Tailpiece

Dr. is earned. Professor is promotion or appointment. Respecting this difference is not pedantry. It is professionalism.

Dr. Ashraf Zainabi is a teacher and researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora Budgam J&K.

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We are trained to believe that writing begins with ideas. It does not. It begins with observing. With noticing. With discomfort. With a pause that feels unproductive but is not. We live in times obsessed with pace. Opinions are expected instantly. Reactions faster than thought. Ironically, silence is treated as absence, not reflection. But silence is often full. We just lack patience to listen.

Yes, there is pressure to always comment. On politics. On disparity. On climate. On crises that refresh every hour. The world demands commentary even when the mind asks for rest. This constant demand has consequences. Thought becomes repetitive. Language becomes borrowed. Conviction becomes performance.

Sometimes, the real honest response is to accept that you don’t know what to say. To sit with that unease. To let uncertainty breathe. Because not every day produces clarity. Not every moment demands a stance. Some moments ask for restraint. For self-effacement. For humility.

We forget that thinking is also labour. Invisible. Unpaid. Uncelebrated. Yet essential. The mind needs idle time. Like land. Overused soil stops yielding. It needs seasons. Gaps. Stillness. But stillness scares us. It feels like falling behind. Like irrelevance. Like silence will erase us. So, we fill space. With words that sound right. With arguments we have already made. With positions we are expected to hold. Over time, this repetition hollows meaning.

Words lose weight. Ideas lose urgency. Writing becomes noise. Real intelligence is not constant output. It is discernment. Knowing when to speak. And when to stop. There is also courage in saying nothing new. In refusing to manufacture outrage. In choosing depth over visibility.

Today, the public sphere rarely rewards this. Algorithms prefer certainty. Extremes. Sharp edges. Nuance performs poorly. Yet nuance is where truth lives. Between slogans. Between binaries. Between hashtags. We are told to simplify. To reduce complexity. To fit thought into captions. But life resists compression.

Human experiences are layered. Contradictory. Unresolved. Writing that respects it, feels slower. Quieter. More human. Today feels like one of those days when language should walk, not run. When sentences should breathe. So, this piece is not about an issue. It is about the absence of one. About the discomfort of not having a plan.

This discomfort is important. It reminds us that we are not machines. That creativity is not a tap to be turned on. Sometimes the mind is fatigued not because it is empty; but because it has carried too much. Too many stories. Too much suffering. Too much absurdity. Too many explanations. Rest is not disengagement. It is repair.

In a world addicted to opinion, reflection becomes a form of resistance. Choosing to slow down is a political act. A humane one. We need spaces where thought can arrive late. Where answers are allowed to be unfinished. Where questions matter more than conclusions.

Writing, at its best, is not about proving intelligence. It is about honesty. About showing the process, not just the product.

Today’s frankness is simple. I did not know what to write. So, I wrote about that. About the effort to always know. Always react. Always deliver. Perhaps many feel the same. Noiselessly overwhelmed. Publicly articulate. Internally exhausted. I felt acknowledging this shared fatigue may be more meaningful than another sharp argument.

Indeed, some days do not need commentary. They need acknowledgement—that thinking is hard; that clarity is rare; that silence can be ethical. And that stepping back, does not mean stepping away. It means returning with sharper sight and good judgement. And fewer words. But truer ones.

Bottomline: Writing should allow room for doubt, for pauses, for breaths between lines. It should permit writers to be human before being persuasive. When language stops pretending to have answers, it becomes listening. And listening changes tone. It softens certainty. It restores proportion. Perhaps this is enough for today. No resolution. No declaration. Just the willingness to remain thoughtful in a loud, impatient world, the one that rarely values slowness, care, restraint, tolerance or intellectual honesty above all.

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