by Kaisar Ahmad Malla
Addiction has blurred the boundary between medical necessity and presumed abuse. The outcome is that those in genuine need are increasingly being denied care, trapped in a system where compassion has been replaced by caution.
Kashmir hides a festering crisis. In a silent home, a mother lies awake, listening for footsteps that never arrive. A father, his dignity eroded, sells his land to afford his son’s rehabilitation. A daughter hides her shame, while her family recedes into helpless silence. The drug epidemic in Kashmir is no longer an emerging threat. It has rooted itself deeply, spreading from alleyways into the very core of homes, schools and hospitals.
What once lingered in the margins has now settled in the mainstream. The occasional murmurs of drug use have transformed into a daily barrage of arrests, seizures and deaths. Heroin is no longer hidden. It is found in lunchboxes, coat pockets and even within hospital walls. The menace no longer exists in isolation. It is entwined with the social fabric, ripping through the lives of young men and women who once carried schoolbags and dreams.
During my posting at a drug de-addiction facility, I confronted this grim reality face to face. Young boys, some barely in their teens, were brought in by families who could no longer cope. Some parents wept quietly in corridors, while others struggled to speak, silenced by shame. There were patients whose veins had collapsed, their bodies scarred by repeated injections. Families stood paralysed, torn between hope and despair.
Amid this darkness, there were still moments that offered light. The Psychiatry and De-addiction Department, led by Dr Tajamul Hussain, provided a rare semblance of stability. Syed Sameer and Farooq Ahmad, both Psychiatric Social Counsellors, worked with diligence and calm. Kifayat, stationed at the de-addiction counter, administered care with patience and empathy. Their work was quiet, largely unrecognised, but it brought many young people back from the edge.
The scale of the crisis is staggering. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), more than 60,000 individuals in Jammu and Kashmir struggle with drug addiction. Government estimates from 2023 push that number closer to one million, accounting for nearly 10 per cent of the region’s population.
The most abused substances are opioids, with heroin leading the list. The Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS) reports that 33,000 syringes are used daily across the Valley. This rampant use of injectable drugs has serious public health consequences. Nearly 72 per cent of intravenous drug users test positive for Hepatitis C, a clear indication of widespread needle sharing.
The legal framework is overwhelmed. The National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) confirms that more than 9,400 individuals have been arrested under the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (NDPS) Act in the last four years. In 2023 alone, authorities registered 3,190 such cases, more than twice the number recorded just a few years ago.
The damage extends beyond addiction and law enforcement. It now touches routine healthcare. Due to the widespread use of syringes for drug abuse, even legitimate patients face suspicion. In hospitals across the Valley, medical shopkeepers often refuse to sell insulin syringes to attendants of critically ill patients, fearing they might be misused.
This suspicion has had dire consequences. There have been incidents where patients in need of emergency injections were denied life-saving medication simply because their requests appeared unusual or suspect. Such refusals have, on occasion, led to critical delays and, in some cases, near-death episodes. It is here that the human cost becomes painfully visible.
Addiction has blurred the boundary between medical necessity and presumed abuse. The outcome is that those in genuine need are increasingly being denied care, trapped in a system where compassion has been replaced by caution.
This is not just a health emergency. It is a societal collapse. The response must go beyond criminal enforcement. De-addiction services need urgent expansion. Medical personnel and the general public must be educated to distinguish between misuse and necessity. Families need support structures. Most of all, the addicts themselves need to be seen not as criminals but as patients in need of healing.
If left unaddressed, this epidemic will not simply destroy individual lives. It will corrode families, destabilise communities and erase the promise of an entire generation. What is at stake is not just health or security. It is the very future of Kashmir.
(The writer is a Government Health Worker and Observer at Ground Zero. Views are personal.)
