In Kashmir, existence is often a pause. Not a pause of rest or reflection, but a pause of waiting—waiting for clarity, waiting for continuity, and waiting for the assurance that the day will pass as planned. Before venturing out into the day, one pauses. One checks the weather, the news, the mobile signal, and sometimes just the atmosphere. It is only after this that one chooses to proceed or to wait. This pause has silently become a lifestyle.
For the average Kashmiri, uncertainty is not something that happens from time to time—it’s always there. It informs how families think about their future, how students think about education, how businesses are conducted, and how people think about hope. While the headlines are about what’s happening and what’s being said, this is the pace of waiting and adjustment that never gets a mention.
A shopkeeper in a small town opens his shutter with caution, wondering if customers will turn up or if he will have to close down early due to circumstances. A daily wage labour waits for the call that may or may not come. A student studies with dedication but with no guarantee, knowing that plans can shift overnight. Such instances are hardly news-worthy, but they are what make up the rhythm of life.
The economic life in Kashmir is especially affected by this pause. Many livelihoods are seasonal—tourism, gardening, handicrafts, and construction. Just a pause in the environment or situation can cause all income to stop instantly. The family has to learn to make do with less, to delay spending, and to live with economic worry that never goes away. It becomes hard to save when income itself is uncertain.
This uncertainty has a profound effect on the youth. They are educated but unemployed. They are caught between preparation and opportunity. They wait for notifications of job opportunities, examination schedules, and interview invitations. This wait can be for years. It is not only a pause in their career but also in their emotional development. Confidence is shaken, frustration sets in, and dreams seem far-off. This is a shared experience for parents as well, as they see the potential of their children unrealized.
The experience of this pause is different for women but no less intense. They are managing homes under conditions of instability, juggling scarce resources with growing needs. They put off their own goals—education, employment, even health—to ensure the stability of their families. Widowhood, single parenthood, and membership in households with lower economic status add layers of uncertainty, but their strength is unseen.
Decisions regarding healthcare are also influenced by this culture of waiting. Patients delay their check-ups, surgeries, or opt for temporary solutions because of financial limitations, distance, or unpredictability. Patients with chronic conditions live their lives in a calculation—when to travel, when to access healthcare, and how to afford it. Healthcare, like everything else, is treated with caution.
Mental health is one of the most invisible costs of living in a state of uncertainty. To live in pause is to always be preparing for the interruption. Stress, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion become the norm. Many do not assign a name to their pain, thinking it is just the way life is. The stigma of mental health and the lack of access to mental health care mean that many people suffer in silence.
Children learn patience before they learn certainty. Disruptions in education, lack of recreational areas, and early exposure to uncertainty are factors that influence their early years. Playtime is often cut short, and questions about the future begin to arise when they shouldn’t. While many children exhibit incredible adaptability, the long-term emotional effects of growing up in such an environment are a grave concern.
This is reflected in social life. Parties are subdued, meetings are formal, and long-term relationships are entered into with caution. Not always by choice, but by necessity. Social engagements, once spontaneous, are now measured. This gradual contraction of social space changes the way people interact, from ease to calculation.
However, despite the pause in life, life does not pause. Kashmiris remain resilient in their quiet way. Teachers continue to teach in uncertain circumstances. Shopkeepers reopen their shutters after every setback. Neighbour’s look out for each other in harsh winters. Families share what little they have in times of hardship. These are the ways in which society is held together, far more effectively than any statement of normalcy.
The experience of living in pause has inculcated patience, flexibility, and resilience in Kashmiris. However, resilience should not be equated with acceptance. What lies beneath the surface of this acceptance is the need for stability—a life where plans are not pending and the future is not constantly deferred. Common people do not demand extraordinary assurances; they demand continuity, dignity, and the ability to move ahead without a second thought.
It is imperative to acknowledge this reality of everyday life. To know Kashmir only through its events is to overlook the lives that are lived in between the events—in the waiting, the adjusting, and the silent resolve to carry on. A future where life is lived fully, instead of in pause, begins with this acknowledgment of the human experiences that are not often reported in the headlines but are far more representative of Kashmir than any breaking news story ever could be.

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