“I felt a strong wave of grief but not a single tear rolled down my eyes” how young Kashmiris process global conflicts

Representative image of a young woman watching news online (Image Credit: magnific.com)

By Sadaf Shabir and Fahim Mattoo

Constant exposure to global conflicts is turning a generation of Kashmiris, who have witnessed trauma and violence, numb.

At dawn, on 1 March 2026, Ayat Zehra was doomscrolling as she always did when crippled by anxiety and unable to sleep. Suddenly, she stopped after seeing a headline: Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Syed Ali Khamenei killed. “I felt a strong wave of grief,” she said, “but not a single tear rolled down my eyes.” Instead, she said, there was numbness.

24-year-old Zehra is a Shia Muslim, a minority community who make up not more than 10% of Kashmir’s population.

Shias have long-standing historical, cultural, and religious ties with Iran, and some look to Khamenei as an important spiritual authority for guidance on religious matters. Moreover, many considered Khamenei a symbol of resistance against imperial powers, thanks to his unequivocal support of the Palestinians.

While Zehra sat stuck to her bed, later in the day, many gathered in Srinagar’s Lal Chowk holding Khamenei’s portrait. The authorities were quick to impose restrictions and no major protest was allowed in the Kashmir valley.

For Zehra, the loss felt deeply personal: it was something she could feel in her bones but not express with words.

Such a reaction is increasingly common among younger people, said Dr Burhan Lone, Resident Psychiatrist, Institute of Mental Health and Neurosciences (IMHANS), Srinagar. “Young people today see war and violence unfold directly on their phones, often in graphic ways,” he said. “Even if they are physically safe, their minds begin to feel that the world is unsafe and unpredictable.” This, he said, is reshaping how the brain processes emotions. More and more young people want to “escape” the harsh realities they see on their phones. Emotional numbing is a way of coping, he added.

Zehra said she immediately felt like looking at something else that wouldn’t hurt. “I wanted to scroll it away,” she added.

Violence in Kashmir

Jammu and Kashmir has witnessed violence since the 1980s. For Zehra’s generation, witnessing violence has become normal, and young people have little sense of how the region was four decades ago. “Whenever people talk about war or politics, I tell them to stop,” she said. “I don’t have the energy anymore.”

Kashmiris born in the 1990s not only grew up in the backdrop of uncertainty and violence, but they witnessed daily protests, violence, school shut downs, curfews and bans by the time they were teenagers.

The internet is full of wars—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Ukraine—said 26-year-old Ansar Hussain, a Srinagar-based freelance journalist. “We have been seeing it all since childhood.”
All of this has pushed Kashmir into a deep mental health crisis, with about one in two adults suffering from mental health issues like depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder, according to a paper in the International Journal of Indian Psychology.

In recent years, young Kashmiris have begun seeking opportunities outside the region. Students have moved to countries like Iran to pursue MBBS degrees, while some have begun building careers in places like Dubai. This shift reflects a growing hope for stability for families back home.

However, the recent war in West Asia has merely increased their sense of uncertainty and frustration. Many feel as though they are being pulled back into the same cycle of instability they had tried to move beyond.
 

 

“Even if a person is not directly experiencing trauma, they begin to re-experience emotions linked to what they have seen,” said Dr Mariya Zahoor, a consultant psychiatrist and former registrar at IMHANS. “This can lead to symptoms similar to post-traumatic stress irritability, avoidance, and emotional numbness.”

In 2025, Mentality reported that the fragile mental health system in Kashmir is struggling to keep up with the patient influx.

Empathy and overexposure to violence

Aabroo Hussain (no relation to Ansar), 26, said she is personally not affected by violence. “I honestly don’t care,” she said but took a beat to say that her sympathies are with the victims. “I do wish the war ends soon,” she said.

To cope with the surge of violence and trauma, the brain reduces its emotional response, said Dr Zahoor. “Scrolling past becomes a way of protecting oneself from being overwhelmed,” she said.

“It is painful to see uncertainty becoming normal,” said Ansar Hussain. “You start questioning whether the kind of life you want is even possible. You begin to forget what peace is supposed to feel like.”

Dr Lone said prolonged exposure to global crises can reshape how young people think about long-term life decisions. “When young people constantly see instability, it can create anxiety about the future,” he said. “They may struggle to plan ahead or feel hopeful about what lies ahead.”

Ridhi Verma, 25, who requested her profession not be revealed, said that she constantly battles fears about the abstract and concrete aspects of her future. “I can’t imagine bringing a child into a world like this,” she said.

Step back to take control

Dr Lone said it is important to limit exposure to distressing content. “Stepping back does not mean you don’t care. It means you are protecting your ability to care in a healthy way.”
Exercising, sleeping well, and interacting with people offline are what will save a generation overexposed to screens, said Dr Zahoor.

“I just want a life that feels normal,” said Zehra, emphasising that younger people today can no longer merely picture their future. The “future” is something they constantly negotiate with.