by Aamir Altaf
This is a crisis that demands action. Authorities must stop evading responsibility. There must be a concrete plan to address unemployment. Policies that impose unequal burdens on segments of the youth require urgent review.
I am 25 years old, a graduate from a reputable university, and like countless others in Jammu and Kashmir, I enrolled in a Master’s programme at IGNOU. It was not solely for academic pursuit, but a calculated decision, a pause meant for focused preparation for government examinations. We, the youth of this region, clung to a fragile hope, particularly after 2019, when Article 370 was revoked and our state became a Union Territory governed directly from the Centre.
We were promised a new beginning: development, opportunities, and above all, transparent and timely recruitment. We envisioned a system where merit would triumph, where effort would be rewarded, and where the cycle of unemployment that had consumed previous generations would finally be broken.
That future remains out of reach. Instead, we are caught in a cycle of unfulfilled promises and persistent delays. Whenever a recruitment notification is issued, which itself occurs infrequently and after prolonged intervals, it is often clouded by allegations of irregularities or caught in lengthy administrative and legal delays. The Jammu and Kashmir Public Service Commission has announced the Combined Competitive Examinations only four times since 2019. While this is a welcome measure, the erratic timing and slow pace have deprived us of crucial opportunities and years that cannot be recovered.
Each deferral or cancellation is not merely a procedural setback. It erodes our financial resources, already stretched by coaching fees and application costs, and drains our mental resilience. We are repeatedly told to wait, to prepare, to persist. Yet the institutional machinery we are asked to trust has failed to deliver.
Another deep wound has been inflicted by the reservation system. With 67 per cent of posts now reserved across various categories, those of us in the Unreserved category find ourselves increasingly sidelined. We are not opposed to affirmative measures. However, when the overwhelming majority of positions are pre-allocated, those of us who have studied, worked, and sacrificed are left in an uncertain space. Our age eligibility is running out, our options are narrowing, and the sense of being excluded grows stronger with each passing year.
There was a brief resurgence of hope when, after a long interval, elections were conducted in the new Union Territory. We believed that democratic representation would bring attention to our concerns. We expected recruitment to become predictable, transparent, and just. Instead, the dysfunction remains.
The recent Naib Tehsildar recruitment in the Revenue Department offered another sliver of hope. It was quickly overshadowed by controversy over a mandatory Urdu qualification. The matter reached the Central Administrative Tribunal. The process now stands suspended. Once again, progress is arrested, and it is the youth who bear the cost.
The psychological burden is severe. Young people are sinking into depression. They are worn down by sleepless nights, financial pressures, and uncertainty. The unemployment rate continues to climb. Many feel trapped in a state of helplessness. When we question the government we elected, we are told that their hands are tied. When we approach the Lieutenant Governor’s administration, we are dismissed as irrelevant.
No one accepts responsibility for the time we are losing. This administrative deflection has reduced us to mere spectators in decisions that shape our lives. Our futures are being consumed in a maze of delays, mismanagement, and official silence.
I do not want this trauma any longer. I am drained by the constant uncertainty, the broken promises, and the feeling of being entirely discarded. Government initiatives aimed at youth empowerment have offered little beyond superficial programmes that fail to tackle the core problems of employment and equitable access. Corruption remains deeply entrenched, eroding the very institutions that claim to serve us.
I remain confined to my home, unable to study, unable to concentrate. My mind is consumed by persistent anxiety. The bright aspirations I once carried have dulled into a persistent ache. As an unreserved category candidate, I live under the unrelenting pressure of age limits for competitive examinations. Every day feels like a countdown to exclusion.
My health has deteriorated. Stress and helplessness have left me weak and dependent. I feel like a parasite, surviving on the sacrifices of my parents, unable to support them, unable to succeed. The guilt is unbearable. Despite our efforts, we are made to feel like failures.
This is not an isolated account. It is the shared anguish of an entire generation in Jammu and Kashmir. We are not seeking favours. We ask only for fairness, for a system that is open and just, and for a future that is not defined by illusion. We are losing our most vital years. Our mental well-being is collapsing. Our confidence in institutions is vanishing.
Those in power respond with silence. Their indifference is devastating. The cost of their inaction is being paid by a generation whose hopes are steadily replaced with fear and resignation.
This is a crisis that demands action. Authorities must stop evading responsibility. There must be a concrete plan to address unemployment. Policies that impose unequal burdens on segments of the youth require urgent review. Every recruitment process must be subjected to genuine scrutiny and accountability. The future of this region depends on such measures.
We ask those who govern to look beyond statistics. We ask them to recognise the individuals behind the numbers. We are not asking for favours. We are asking for the right to work, to build, and to live with dignity in our own homes.
(The author is a graduate from Aligarh Muslim University. Views are personal.)
