The Pride Problem In Kashmir No One Wants To Talk About

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational photo

By Peerzada Mohsin Shafi

In Kashmir, status changes people. A uniform, a government job, and a medical degree once meant service. Now, too often, they signal separation. A young man who walked the same lanes as everyone else begins to act as if he belongs elsewhere. With power comes distance. With distance, a quiet disdain.

This isn't a new story, but it has become a bigger one. What once stayed private is now part of daily public life. Officers hold handkerchiefs to their noses while passing the streets they once played in. Doctors mock patients online. Engineers speak to labourers as if speaking down a well. These shifts are subtle, but their weight is real. The Valley is seeing a slow erosion. Not of wealth or infrastructure, but of humility.

Pride, in faith traditions, was the first sin. In Islamic belief, when Allah asked the angels to bow to Adam, all obeyed-except Iblis.“I am better than him,” he said,“You created me from fire and him from clay.”

That line, in Surah Al-A'raf, marked the beginning of his downfall. His refusal wasn't about belief. It was about ego.

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In Christian thought, Lucifer too falls. Not for denying God, but for trying to be like Him. Pride crosses boundaries faster than reason.

In Kashmir, the effects aren't just spiritual. They are social. Public servants, once among the people, begin to operate above them. They speak less, listen even less, and act as if their presence is a favour.

This arrogance often grows slowly. It starts with a new desk or title, and spreads quietly. Over time, they stop greeting elders. They avoid old friends. They expect deference, not dialogue.

Social media has made this visible. Some doctors now post stories where patients become punchlines. One post stood out recently. An elderly woman asked for“Shaalkaak”-her version of a calcium tablet called Shelcal. The doctor turned her mispronunciation into an online joke. The post got laughs. But what it really revealed was how easy it has become to mock people.

Doctors are not alone. Similar attitudes exist across professions. The pride of knowing more, or having more, often leads to a kind of social blindness. People forget that their skills are tools, not trophies. And they forget that education without empathy is just noise.

In Kashmiri, we say:“Harre chu Khuda, te Bonne chus Bie.” God is above, and I am below. The phrase is used sarcastically, to point out those who act as if they are divine. Power, even in small doses, seems to create this illusion. But the soil waits for us all.

A poet once wrote:“Yatte te mae cxee, ta tte te mae cxee, mae cxee karxem gulzar.” Here is soil, there is soil-so turn this soil into a garden for me. It is both a prayer and a truth. We come from dust, and to dust we return. Titles will fade. Degrees will decay. The only thing that might remain is how we made others feel.

The Prophet Muhammad صلى الله عليه وسلم said,“Whoever has an atom's weight of pride in his heart will not enter Paradise.” (Sahih Muslim). That's not just a religious warning. It's a reminder of scale. Ego weighs more than we think. And it keeps us from the things that matter most.

Kashmir doesn't need louder voices or higher chairs. It needs people who remember their roots, who carry their success with grace, not arrogance. In the end, we are all part of the same soil. The only question is: what will we leave behind-dust, or a garden?

• Peerzada Mohsin Shafi, from Anantnag, J&K, holds an M.Tech in Infrastructure Development & Management.

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