By: Danish Ashraf Khan
Kashmir has always been known for its beauty, its patience, its poetry, and its pain. But today, behind the calm faces and silent streets, another tragedy is unfolding quietly inside homes. It is not announced on loudspeakers, nor does it arrive with warning signs. Drugs enter slowly, like an uninvited guest, and before a family realizes it, one of their own is already slipping away.
Drug addiction in Kashmir is not just a personal weakness or a sudden mistake. It is the final result of many unattended wounds. When a young boy or girl picks up drugs, it is rarely for pleasure alone. Most of the time, it begins with loneliness, confusion, emotional neglect, or a search for belonging that they never found at home.
In many Kashmiri families, parents are struggling themselves. Poverty, unemployment, stress, trauma, and social pressure often leave little room for emotional connection. Fathers are busy surviving, mothers are exhausted managing households, and children grow up learning how to stay quiet rather than how to express pain. When a child’s emotions are ignored repeatedly, they do not disappear. They only look for another place to live.
Drugs become that place.
The first encounter often happens through the wrong friend circle. A boy who feels unheard at home feels understood among friends who offer him escape. A girl who feels controlled and judged finds freedom in someone who pretends to care. These relationships feel like relief at first. No questions. No lectures. Just momentary comfort. But that comfort has a cost.
Once drugs enter a life, they do not remain limited to the body. They slowly poison relationships. The addict becomes distant, angry, dishonest, and unpredictable. Trust breaks inside the family. Parents shout, siblings feel ashamed, and the home turns into a battlefield of blame instead of a space for healing. Sadly, many parents realize the seriousness only when the damage has already gone deep.
Parental care is not only about providing food and clothes. It is about presence. It is about listening without judging, correcting without humiliating, and guiding without controlling. Many Kashmiri parents love their children deeply but lack awareness of emotional nurturing. Silence is mistaken for obedience, and obedience is mistaken for strength. But children need conversation more than commands.
Wrong relationships also play a dangerous role. Emotional manipulation, toxic friendships, and false love stories push many young people towards drugs as a coping mechanism. When a heart is broken and there is no safe space to cry, drugs promise numbness. They lie. They never heal pain. They only delay it while multiplying the damage.
Islam does not remain silent on this issue. The Qur’an clearly warns against anything that harms the body, the mind, and the soul. Allah says that intoxicants are among the works of Shaytan, meant to create hatred, distraction, and loss of remembrance. Drugs steal a person away from prayer, from family, from purpose, and from their own self. Addiction is not only a physical trap; it is a spiritual distance.
Yet, Islam also teaches mercy. An addict is not a lost cause. They are not beyond forgiveness. They are human beings drowning, not criminals to be abandoned. The Prophet ﷺ never humiliated sinners. He guided them with compassion. Families must remember this. Shaming does not cure addiction. Understanding does.
Parents must educate themselves before educating their children. Awareness programs, open discussions, and community involvement are essential. Mosques, schools, and media must speak honestly, not fearfully, about drugs. Silence protects no one. Early guidance can save lives.
As a writer, as a Kashmiri, and as a witness to these broken stories, I believe the real fight against drugs does not start in police stations. It starts in living rooms. It starts when parents ask their children how they feel, not only how they perform. It starts when society stops labeling addicts as failures and starts seeing them as wounded souls.
Kashmir has suffered enough funerals. We do not need silent ones happening inside homes while people pretend nothing is wrong. Drugs are not just destroying individuals; they are stealing futures, weakening families, and hollowing our society from within.
If we want change, we must act before addiction begins, not after it destroys. We must replace neglect with care, silence with conversation, and judgment with guidance. Only then can Kashmir protect its youth from disappearing into smoke, needles, and forgotten dreams.
