In a world overwhelmed by materialism, moral decay, and ruthless ambitions, the poignant verse of the legendary Kashmiri poet Mahjoor strikes with chilling truth: “Shaklih chuss insaan, magar insaniyat chuss baikhabar.” (In appearance, I am a human, but I am unaware of humanity.)
This single line unveils the most tragic paradox of our times. We still look like humans—we dress well, speak eloquently, and carry the illusion of civility—but in our hearts and actions, the core essence of humanity seems to have withered away. Compassion, empathy, dignity, and righteousness have been traded for cruelty, lust, greed, and self-centeredness.
Each day, social media and news portals are flooded with heartbreaking stories that shake the soul. Heinous crimes like rape, child abuse, and murder are no longer shocking; they are becoming disturbingly routine. Our society, once known for its moral strength and familial values, is now grappling with a wave of inhumanity that threatens the very fabric of civilization.
Take for instance the recent gut-wrenching incident reported from Srinagar, where a man not only raped a woman but went further to slaughter her—a gruesome act that forces us to question whether we are still part of a sane and sensible society. What has led to this horrifying descent into savagery? Have we lost our sense of right and wrong? Or are we simply evolving into monsters wearing the mask of humans?
It is heart-breaking to reflect on the plight of the female gender in this hostile environment. Parents, especially those blessed with daughters, live in constant fear. Whether their daughters are at school, in a market, or even within the community, the cloud of insecurity never disappears. A minor stepping out of her home is now a matter of deep anxiety for her parents—will she return safely?
While researchers and government agencies release data showing a dangerously low female-to-male ratio in Kashmir, what often goes unnoticed is the emotional and moral trauma behind these numbers. Female feticide, a punishable and grave sin, still exists—because some families refuse to accept the birth of a girl child. But even more alarming is this: if women are neither safe in the womb nor outside it, how do we as a society justify our so-called progress?
Mahjoor's verse is not just poetry. It is a mirror. A haunting reminder that though we are draped in the outer form of humanity, we have forgotten its meaning.
As a father to a daughter, I find myself wrestling with complex emotions. I want to teach her about courage, dignity, and strength. I want to raise her in a world that respects her identity and cherishes her voice. But how do I prepare her for a world that often punishes innocence and preys upon vulnerability?
Every parent wants to instill moral and ethical values in their children. We tell our daughters to be modest, to be wise, to be good. But when the world outside is filled with predators who disregard every rule of decency, how do we ensure their safety?
This is not merely a cry of anguish. This is a call for reflection, reform, and resistance.
We need a cultural revolution—where humanity is not just preached in schools but practiced in homes, offices, streets, and courts. We need stronger laws, yes. But above all, we need better humans. We need men who protect, not prey. We need societies that uplift, not suppress. And we need a collective conscience that awakens from this long, shameful slumber.
Let us remember Mehjoor’s lines not as a passive observation, but as a powerful warning.
Let us strive so that the day may come when we can truly say:
“Shaklih chuss insaan — aem insaniyat chu andar andar.”
(I appear human — and I hold humanity deep within.)
Only then can we claim to be worthy of our name — Insaan.

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