(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer) What was your childhood like in Kashmir?
I had an eventful childhood, shaped by two places and a thousand silences. We're originally from a village called Badroo in Kulgam, but political unrest forced us to leave when I was still a child. My family moved to Jammu, and after some years, we returned to Anantnag. Those early years were full of movement, but also full of meaning.
The person who left the deepest mark on me was my grandfather. He was a lawyer, full of questions and always reading. I grew up sitting beside him, flipping through newspapers and books.
At school, I was outgoing, always speaking up in debates, signing up for games and cultural events. But at home, I was more inward, more reticent. I found comfort in reading, skating, cycling. Our home gave education the highest priority, and in that atmosphere, it felt natural to grow with books and questions for company.
Your journey from an MBA to a Ph.D. and now a post-doc sounds incredible. How did these experiences shape your thinking?
I always knew I wanted to pursue an MBA. That clarity came to me in eleventh grade. What I didn't know was that the road would take me much further.
During and after my MBA, I started two small ventures. They weren't headline stories. They didn't go viral or make it big. But they kept me afloat. They paid for my education and gave me something more lasting – a deep curiosity about how people interact with technology.
I started noticing how users reacted to even simple AI tools, how they placed trust in things that didn't breathe but could talk.
That curiosity became a fire. I didn't want to stop learning, so I moved into research. My Ph.D. at Central University of Jammu was a turning point. Unlike my MBA, which was filled with familiar faces and local voices, the university was a world of its own. There were students from all corners of the country, each carrying their own questions, accents, and dreams.
That diversity changed me. It taught me that real education starts when you're no longer surrounded by people just like you.
At IIM Amritsar, where I'm doing my post-doc now, I've found a space that encourages both thought and transformation. It's not just about publications or academic rigour. It's about becoming someone who can contribute to the world with clarity and purpose.
I always tell my students, don't chase degrees, chase experiences that make you grow.
You study how people interact with technology, especially AI voice assistants. What sparked your interest in this field?
It started during my startup phase. I saw how people used technology not just to get things done, but to feel understood. There was something strange and fascinating about how people spoke to machines with emotion. They asked questions, made requests, and often sounded like they were speaking to a friend.
That puzzled me. I kept wondering what it meant to place trust in something that can't feel. During my Ph.D., I began to explore these patterns more seriously. I looked at how voice assistants shape user behaviour, how they tap into emotions, how we start to lean on them psychologically.
There was no single moment. Just a growing pattern of interest. And along with that came worry. Because once you begin to see how deeply these tools are influencing thought and behaviour, you can't help but ask: where are the limits? Who sets the rules? And who protects the user?
But as a Kashmiri woman, what kind of obstacles did you face while pursuing higher education?
Honestly, I've been lucky. My parents have always stood by me. I never had to fight for their support. But that doesn't mean the road was smooth.
Being from Kashmir came with its own weight. I belong to the generation that grew up during the years of frequent shutdowns and long curfews.
In 2019, we had to shut down our startup because of the internet blackout. That was also when I was applying for Ph.D. programs. With no internet or phone service, I had no way of checking emails or calls. My father and I used to go to the local police station to make phone calls. One of those calls led me to an interview slot at Central University. We left that same evening, and I gave the interview the next morning.
When the internet returned months later, I saw I had offers from five or six other universities. But by then, it was already too late.
Outside my home, people had their opinions. Some told my parents not to let me study too much. Others said a woman's salary is haram. I've heard all kinds of things, but I've learned to stay focused.
I believe education is not just about jobs. It's about building a life with purpose. And I believe every woman should be financially independent. Not just for herself, but for the power it gives her to make choices.
With social media and smartphones everywhere, how do you think today's tech is shaping young minds?
It's changing everything, from how we read to how we think. Today, learning is often chopped into thirty-second clips. Students scroll through reels, headlines, tweets. They get fragments, not the full picture. And that has consequences. It becomes harder to focus, harder to reflect.
But I also see the possibilities. AI can help students learn at their own pace. It can open doors to ideas they might never encounter otherwise. The key is balance. We need to teach students not just how to use technology, but how to think while using it. Otherwise, we risk raising a generation that knows how to search, but not how to understand.
In Kashmir, we've seen both sides of this. We've known what it means to live without access. And we've known what it feels like when tech becomes a lifeline. The lesson is clear: let tech help you think better. Don't let it think for you.
Can today's tech, which is so focused on quick fixes and likes, still be used for real learning and growth?
Yes, but it depends on how we build the environment around it. I've seen students in Kashmir use technology to access libraries, lectures, mentors from around the world. I've also seen them use it to waste hours on distraction.
Technology itself is neutral. It becomes meaningful only when paired with intention. When we create spaces that encourage deep questions, thoughtful conversations, and patient learning, technology becomes a tool for growth. But when we use it only for speed and attention, it becomes noise.
You've done work on how people interact emotionally with AI. What do you hope your research will do for people?
I don't think I've done anything big yet. But I'm asking questions that matter to me. Why are we forming emotional bonds with machines? What happens when people trust AI more than themselves? What are we losing when we let machines replace memory, judgment, even connection?
I want my research to make people pause. To think about how they relate to their phones, their apps, their digital habits. And I want developers to think harder about the tools they build. Who are they helping? Who are they hurting?
I may not change the world. But if I can spark awareness, if a few people begin to ask better questions, that would be a good start.
How has your Kashmiri upbringing shaped the way you think about technology and people?
Kashmir teaches you to feel more and speak less. You grow up surrounded by beauty and silence, by resilience and loss. That makes you watch things differently. You notice what others miss.
Here, technology isn't just comfort. It's access. It's voice. Sometimes, it's the only bridge between a person and the world. That makes me take tech seriously. Not as a convenience, but as a force that can shape lives.
My culture reminds me to slow down, to listen carefully, to act with care. It reminds me that research must serve people, not just impress professors.
What would you tell young students in Kashmir who want to pursue research or higher studies?
Do it only if it excites you. Research is slow. It's full of rejections and self-doubt. If you're not in love with it, it will feel like punishment.
What troubles me most is how many bright students waste their best years chasing government jobs. I understand the desire for security, but it's turning into a trap. I've seen Ph.D. scholars apply for Class IV jobs. Not because they want to, but because they feel they have no choice.
We need to shift how we think about success. It's not about cracking a government exam. It's about building something you care about. I had someone ask me why I didn't apply for a +2 lecturer job. I smiled. If that was my dream, I wouldn't have spent ten years in research. It's not about status. It's about knowing what you want.
As AI gets more powerful, what should researchers and companies be doing to keep it ethical and human-centered?
They need to ask better questions. Not just whether something works, but whether it helps. Whether it harms. Whether it respects the people who use it.
My own work constantly reminds me that technology is not passive. It shapes people's choices, behaviours, even their relationships.
So we have to stay aware, stay grounded. We need to design tools that are responsible, not just efficient.
I believe researchers have a duty to speak up. Not just about what's possible, but about what's right.
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