I am 25 years old, a graduate from a reputable university, and like countless others in Jammu and Kashmir, I embarked on a Master's degree from IGNOU – not just for higher education, but as a strategic pause, a dedicated period to prepare for the elusive government exams. We, the youth of this region, held onto a fragile hope, especially after 2019, when Article 370 was abrogated and our state transitioned into a Union Territory under Governor's rule. We were told of a new dawn, of development, of opportunities, and most importantly, of transparent and timely recruitments. We envisioned a future where merit would prevail, where our hard work would be rewarded, and where the chronic unemployment that plagued our parents' generation would finally be a thing of the past.

But look at us now. The promised dawn has yet to break. Instead, we find ourselves trapped in a relentless cycle of disappointment, our aspirations crumbling under the weight of broken promises. Whenever a recruitment notification appears – a rare event in itself, often after years of anticipation – it's either marred by allegations of scams, forcing us to witness the brazen theft of our futures, or indefinitely delayed, caught in a bureaucratic labyrinth or legal quagmire. The Jammu and Kashmir Public Service Commission (JKPSC) has managed to notify the Combined Competitive Exams only four times since 2019 – a positive step, yes, but the glacial pace and unpredictable timing cost us invaluable opportunities, years of our prime youth that can never be reclaimed. Each postponement, each cancelled exam, feels like a punch to the gut, draining not just our savings spent on coaching and forms, but our very will to persevere.
Adding insult to injury, the very system designed to offer a fair chance has turned its back on a significant section of us. With a staggering 67% of seats now reserved for various categories, candidates from the Unreserved category, like myself, find ourselves in an agonizing limbo – "na ghar ke na ghat ke," neither here nor there. We are not against affirmative action, but when such a vast majority of opportunities are reserved, it leaves us, who have also toiled and sacrificed, feeling utterly marginalized. We bear the disproportionate burden, watching as our age limits tick down, our chances dwindle, and our future becomes increasingly uncertain. It's a cruel irony: we are told to compete, to excel, only to find the goalposts constantly shifting, leaving us with a sense of profound injustice.
We had a flicker of renewed hope when, after a decade, we finally elected a new government in this new era of Jammu and Kashmir as a UT. We believed they would listen, that they would understand our plight, and that they would usher in an era of transparency and timely recruitments. We thought our voices, finally, would matter. Yet, the malice persists. The recent notification for Naib Tehsildar posts in the Revenue Department, a beacon of hope for many, was met with protests over a qualifying Urdu language requirement. The case went to the Central Administrative Tribunal (CAT), and once again, the entire recruitment process has been put on hold. Nothing, it seems, is going right. Every single step forward is met with two steps back, and it's the youth who pay the price.
The emotional toll is immense. Students are sinking into depression, their eyes hollowed by sleepless nights and endless anxiety. Unemployment figures continue their relentless climb, and a pervasive sense of helplessness grips our generation. When we question the elected government, they claim a lack of powers, citing the UT status as a shield. When we turn to the Lieutenant Governor's administration, we are met with indifference, told they are "not concerned." Who, then, is concerned about our future? Who is accountable for the years we are losing? This bureaucratic ping-pong leaves us feeling like pawns in a game we never signed up for, our futures sacrificed at the altar of political and administrative inertia.
I don't want this trauma anymore. I am exhausted by the constant uncertainty, the dashed hopes, and the feeling of being utterly abandoned. The government's efforts to empower youth with skills have been negligible, offering little more than tokenistic programs that fail to address the core issue of job creation and fair access. Corruption, it seems, remains at its peak, a cancerous growth on the very system meant to uplift us. I find myself confined to my home, unable to study, unable to focus, consumed by a gnawing anxiety. The vibrant dreams I once held have faded into a dull ache. Being an unreserved category candidate, the ticking clock of age limits on competitive exams is a constant, suffocating reminder of my diminishing prospects. My health is deteriorating, plagued by stress and despair, and I feel like a leech, unwillingly sucking the blood of my parents, unable to contribute, unable to thrive. The guilt is immense, the feeling of being a burden, a failure, despite our best efforts.
This is not just my story; it is the collective agony of a generation in Jammu and Kashmir. We are not asking for handouts, but for a fair chance, for a transparent system, and for a future that doesn't feel like a mirage. We are losing our youth, our mental peace, and our faith in the system. The silence from those in power is deafening, and the cost of their inaction is the slow, heartbreaking erosion of our dreams, replaced by a chilling sense of hopelessness.
It is time for the authorities to stop passing the buck. It is time for concrete action, for a clear roadmap to address the unemployment crisis, for a review of policies that disproportionately burden sections of the youth, and for accountability in every recruitment process. Our future, and the stability of this region, depends on it. We implore those in power to look beyond the statistics and see the faces of a generation on the brink – a generation that simply wants the opportunity to build a life, to contribute, and to live with dignity in their own.

Email:---------------------aamiraltaf16@gmail.com