What Are We Passing to Our Generations?

By : Javid Amin | October 6, 2025 | Srinagar

From Lullabies to Likes: How Kashmir’s Digital Childhood Is Rewriting Parenting and Faith

The Silent Exchange

There was a time when evenings in Kashmir were lit by the hum of human voices. Children played hopscotch on narrow lanes, grandparents told stories of saints, and parents measured time not by screens but by shadows on the wall. Today, silence feels different. It glows blue. It scrolls endlessly. It hums with Wi-Fi.

Across living rooms in Srinagar, Anantnag, and Baramulla, a quiet shift has taken place — one phone at a time. A toddler cries, and instead of a lullaby, he’s handed a phone. A child finishes homework, and as reward, she’s given YouTube. Parents, caught in the race of survival, are outsourcing peace to pixels.

“We wanted peace,” says a schoolteacher in Sopore. “So we gave them phones. But in that peace, we lost our presence.”

This is the paradox of modern Kashmiri parenting — born out of love, but sustained by absence. What was once a valley of storytellers is now a valley of screens.

From Lullabies to Livestreams

When conflict consumed Kashmir through the 1990s, parents protected their children from bullets and curfews. Today, they must protect them from something quieter — algorithms.

In 2025, a joint study by two private schools in Srinagar found that over 78% of students aged 8–15 use smartphones for non-educational purposes for more than three hours a day. Another startling figure: nearly 40% of primary school children own personal devices, mostly given “for online classes” but later left unmonitored.

Teachers say attention spans have collapsed. Conversations have shrunk. Empathy has thinned.

“In my classroom, I see children who can’t sit still for five minutes without fidgeting for a screen,” says a government school teacher in Ganderbal. “They are bright, but their minds are scattered.”

The valley’s younger generation — born into curfews and connectivity — has grown up between conflict and content. Phones were introduced as tools of survival, but they’ve evolved into instruments of escape.

Digital Parenting: The Shortcut We Took

Parenting in Kashmir has always been an act of resilience — of raising children in uncertainty, often without stable power, connectivity, or opportunities. But as digital access widened post-2019, a new parenting style emerged: “quiet parenting through screens.”

Busy parents — both working or emotionally exhausted — began using devices to manage their children’s moods. The phone became the modern pacifier, the digital nanny, the convenient silence.

But the silence has a cost.

The psychological price:
Experts at the Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS) in Srinagar note a 40% rise in reported cases of childhood attention disorders and emotional withdrawal since 2021.

The social price:
Children are growing up isolated — connected globally, yet detached locally. The neighborhood friendships that once built social empathy are vanishing behind closed gates and glowing screens.

The moral price:
Parents who once taught children adab (respect), sabr (patience), and iman (faith) through everyday practice now compete with online influencers shaping their children’s values in 15-second bursts.

“We are feeding our children distraction and calling it development,” says psychologist Dr. Shazia Qadri. “The human connection — the emotional eye contact, the moral mentoring — is fading.”

The Algorithmic Upbringing

A five-year-old in Downtown Srinagar can swipe faster than his grandmother can type a number. He knows cartoon themes in English, trends from Dubai, and dances from Mumbai — but can’t name the local wazwan dishes or tell who Lal Ded was.

This isn’t innocence. It’s algorithmic upbringing.

Social media doesn’t just entertain — it engineers. Each video watched trains the mind toward instant gratification, shortening attention, deepening addiction. The more a child swipes, the less they sit, think, or pray.

In Islamic tradition, tarbiyat (upbringing) is a sacred act — a gradual shaping of the child’s soul through love, guidance, and example. But today’s tarbiyat is outsourced to TikTok and YouTube.

Parents have lost the role of being the first storytellers. The screen has replaced the storyteller — and stories now come filtered, commercialized, and detached from values.

“Children no longer dream in their mother tongue,” laments educationist Prof. Hameeda Bashir. “They dream in the language of algorithms.”

When Faith Fades into Filters

In many Kashmiri homes, children are learning filters before faith.

Where once mornings began with the adhan and recitation, they now begin with notifications.
Where once fathers told stories of the Prophets, children now imitate vloggers.
Where once mothers hummed naats, they now scroll through reels of wedding glamour.

The erosion isn’t deliberate — it’s gradual, invisible, and seductive.

Faith, once transmitted through lived example, is now struggling for space amid digital noise. The rhythm of the Quran is being replaced by the rhythm of trending audio.

Sociologist Dr. Altaf Mir calls it “spiritual displacement.” “The home used to be a moral institution,” he says. “Now, it’s a media center. The transmission of iman (faith) and akhlaq (character) is being replaced by digital mimicry.”

The Digital Divide Inside Homes

It’s not just the children. The entire family ecosystem is shifting.

Fathers lost in WhatsApp groups, mothers trapped in Instagram comparisons, grandparents sidelined by Netflix. Families share Wi-Fi more than they share meals.

In joint families across the valley, one sees a new kind of loneliness — collective isolation. Everyone is together, yet alone.

In the past, elders were the source of wisdom. Today, Google is.
In the past, mealtime was a space for reflection. Today, it’s for scrolling.

A 2024 local NGO survey found that 69% of parents in Kashmir spend less than one hour a day in direct conversation with their children. Most of that time involves school discussions or discipline — not emotional connection.

“The phone has become a wall,” says sociologist Ruqaya Khan. “We built it to connect, but it disconnected us.”

The Cultural Cost: From Mehmaan-nawazi to Materialism

The digital shift hasn’t just changed behavior — it’s transforming Kashmiri culture itself.

Hospitality (mehmaan-nawazi), humility, and modesty — pillars of Kashmiri identity — are being overshadowed by a globalized obsession with display and validation.

Wedding culture is the starkest example.

Social media has turned nikah — once a sacred, private act — into a public spectacle. Drone cameras, bridal reels, designer shoots, hashtags like #KashmirWedding — all part of the new performative ritual.

Young couples compete not for blessings but for followers.

This isn’t harmless fun — it’s shaping aspirations, distorting values, and normalizing debt-driven marriages.

In villages, where simplicity once defined marriage, families now take loans to match online trends. In cities, middle-class parents spend years repaying wedding bills.

As one bride from Pulwama confessed after her viral wedding reel: “We spent more on lighting than on love.”

The Psychological Spiral

Behind every glowing screen is a quiet erosion — of patience, purpose, and perspective.

Children raised on fast content expect fast life results. They struggle with boredom, fear silence, and measure self-worth in followers.

A 2025 counseling report from Srinagar’s Crescent Mental Health Centre notes a sharp rise in teen anxiety linked to “social comparison and online exposure.”

“Children feel invisible if they aren’t online,” says counselor Mariya Mushtaq. “They crave validation — not from parents, but from strangers.”

Addiction follows attention. Dopamine spikes from likes and comments mimic the effects of narcotics. The result: emotional dependency on virtual applause.

Faith, discipline, and empathy — once taught through slow living — cannot survive this pace.

When Privacy Dies Young

The most alarming dimension of this crisis is the death of privacy.

Parents themselves — seeking pride or popularity — post every milestone: birthdays, recitations, dances, grades. Children’s lives become public property before they even consent.

This “digital exhibitionism,” experts warn, erodes both dignity and safety.

Cybercrime units in Kashmir report increasing misuse of minors’ photos from social media. Meanwhile, identity theft, trolling, and AI deepfakes are new frontiers of harm.

“In Islam, haya (modesty) is not just about clothing — it’s about conduct and privacy,” says Islamic scholar Mufti Firdous Ahmad. “Today, parents are exposing their children’s private lives to the world and calling it pride.”

The line between love and showmanship is vanishing — and with it, the innocence of our children.

The School Mirror

Schools, once sanctuaries of discipline and discovery, are now mirrors of this digital confusion.

Teachers report students distracted by games, lacking reading habits, and reluctant to engage in critical thought.

In elite schools, digital literacy is encouraged but rarely balanced with moral literacy. In government schools, lack of counseling resources worsens emotional neglect.

“There’s a silent competition between students over gadgets,” says a principal in Srinagar. “Those without iPhones feel inferior. This is not education — it’s digital status anxiety.”

The education system — already fragile from disruptions — is now tasked with a new responsibility: digital de-addiction and value restoration.

The Generation Without Silence

Silence once defined Kashmiri spirituality — the pause before dawn prayers, the hush of snowfall, the quiet of the Dal Lake at dusk.

But the new generation doesn’t know silence.

Every pause is filled — with a ringtone, a reel, a message. The absence of noise feels like loneliness.

Without silence, reflection dies. Without reflection, faith fades. Without faith, identity weakens.

That’s the chain we’re watching break in real time.

The Way Forward: Reclaiming Presence

It’s not too late — but time is short. The solutions lie not in banning devices, but in balancing life.

01. Redefine Presence

Parents must lead by example. Keep “no-phone zones” — during meals, prayers, and family talks. Presence is the new love language.

02. Revive Storytelling

Tell your children the stories of prophets, saints, poets, and grandparents. Let them hear Lal Ded before they meet Logan Paul.

03. Faith Before Filters

Reintroduce daily dua, family prayer, and moral reflection. Faith must not compete with digital noise — it must center life again.

04. Teach Digital Ethics

Schools should teach responsible tech use, online safety, and the value of privacy.

05. Reclaim Silence

Encourage solitude, reading, and nature. Silence is not emptiness — it’s the space where souls grow.

06. Build Emotional Literacy

Help children express emotions offline. Listen without judgment. Hug before handing a phone.

07. Model Simplicity

From weddings to wardrobes, live the message of moderation. Children learn not from what we say — but what we show.

The Closing Reflection

Dear parents, teachers, elders — what are we passing on?

We wanted peace, so we gave them phones.
We wanted comfort, so we gave them screens.
We wanted silence, so we muted their souls.

Now we must reclaim what was lost — not just for our children, but for our culture, our faith, our collective sanity.

Upbringing (tarbiyat) is not about keeping them quiet — it’s about helping them grow.
Faith is not a fallback — it’s a foundation.
And childhood is not a content library — it’s a divine trust.

Let us not raise children who know every trend but forget every truth.
Let us not pass down devices when we could pass down wisdom.
Let us not outsource our love to the internet.

The next generation of Kashmir deserves more than pixels.
They deserve presence.
They deserve peace.
They deserve us.