She wanted to be a doctor.
Her father lifts bricks all day, his back bent under other people’s buildings while he struggles to build his own daughter’s future. Then diabetes struck both parents, and the dream that once felt difficult suddenly became impossible. Nursing seemed cheaper, more “realistic”. Twenty thousand rupees were borrowed, semester after semester, as the family quietly went deeper into debt.
Two years passed. The degree came. The job did not.
When the offer finally came in 2026, it sounded like an insult more than an opportunity:
“We can pay six thousand rupees. Take it or leave it.”
This is not just one girl’s tragedy. This is the price tag we have placed on the education, dignity, and future of an entire generation of Kashmiri youth.
The numbers that expose our silence
Behind every framed degree on a wall in Kashmir there is a story of sacrifice. Parents who skipped meals, sold land, or took loans so their children could sit in crowded classrooms and believe that tomorrow would be kinder than today. Yet, when that tomorrow arrives, it often looks like this:
An average starting salary of barely ₹6,000 for fresh graduates, not even enough to cover rent and basic transport.
Families forced to borrow ₹20,000 or more each year just to keep a child in college, hoping that a job will eventually appear and repay the pain.
Thousands of young Kashmiris waiting, year after year, for the job call that never comes—overqualified, underpaid, and emotionally drained.
These are not abstract statistics.
This is the quiet humiliation playing out in living rooms across our valley, where degrees are carefully kept in plastic folders while hope slowly evaporates.
How Kashmir bleeds when dreams are discounted
Kashmir bleeds when a girl’s ambition to study medicine is folded up and replaced with a cheaper, poorly paid course that the family can “manage”. Kashmir bleeds when a grandmother sits at home, watching the front door, waiting for a job letter that never arrives.
Kashmir bleeds when colleges run full classes, collect full fees, and still cannot offer honest guidance about employability. It bleeds when parents push their children into “safe” careers without understanding the market, driven by fear instead of information. It bleeds when employers casually offer exploitative wages because they know there are hundreds desperate enough to accept anything.
Most of all, Kashmir bleeds when society shrugs and says, “That is just how things are,” as if our children’s futures were disposable, as if our brightest minds were meant to be cheap labour in their own homeland.
What parents, colleges, employers and all of us must do
If we keep doing what we have always done—blindly chasing degrees, hiding the truth about jobs, accepting any salary offered—nothing will change. Each of us has a role in breaking this cycle.
Parents:
Talk openly with your children about money, careers and realistic opportunities. Spend time understanding new fields, not just traditional professions. Ask hard questions before paying fees: What jobs does this course truly lead to? What is the earning potential?
Colleges and institutes:
Stop selling dreams you cannot support. Be honest about placement records, average salaries and industry demand. Build strong career cells, invite real employers, and teach students financial literacy, communication, and workplace skills—not just theory for exams.
Employers and businesses:
A living wage is not charity; it is justice. If a graduate has spent years and lakhs on education, offering ₹6,000 is exploitation, not employment. Honour skills, pay fairly, provide training, and build growth paths instead of using desperation to cut costs.
Successful Kashmiris and professionals:
Mentor at least one student. Share your journey, your mistakes, and your learnings. Offer internships, guidance on courses, and exposure to real-world work. One hour of your time can save a young person from a lifetime of wrong decisions.
Every one of us:
When we hear of such offers—six thousand rupees for qualified youth—we must speak out instead of looking away. Support initiatives that promote financial literacy, career counselling, and fair wages. Use our voices, our platforms, and our networks to push for dignity in work.
Conclusion: Her dreams are paused, not dead
The story of that young Kashmiri girl offered six thousand rupees is not the end of her dream; it is an indictment of ours. A valley that once produced poets, thinkers and leaders now exports frustration and disappointment. But it does not have to remain this way.
If parents demand information, colleges embrace honesty, employers commit to fair pay, and society refuses silence, we can rewrite the fate of an entire generation. Her dreams—and the dreams of thousands like her—are paused, not dead.
Kashmir is crying. It is time we listened.
About the author:
Irshad Mushtaq is the founder of M I Securities, Munawar abad, Srinagar, and an AMFI‑registered mutual fund distributor (ARN‑47504) since 2004. He works as a personal finance columnist and financial educator, focusing on bringing simple, disciplined investing and market awareness to investors in Kashmir and beyond. He can be reached at [email protected], Contact No : 9906518342
