(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Representational Photo

By Syed Arsalan Abid

Walk through any Kashmiri bazaar in recent years, and you would see the same sight: a young man bent over his phone, building a fantasy cricket team.

You would see a shopkeeper tapping cards on a screen between customers, and a college student debating which batsman to select for a league that promised winnings at midnight.

What looked like play was, in fact, a wager.

The country has now drawn a line.

Read Also Parliament Passes Bill To Ban All Forms Of Online Money Games Online Gaming Bill: Cricket Industry's Revenue Could Be Hit

Parliament's new law bans all money-based online games, whether poker, rummy, or fantasy cricket, sweeping away the old argument that some were games of“skill” rather than“chance.”

If money is involved, it is gambling. And it is now illegal.

For Kashmir, the decision cuts into a habit that had grown fast.

Apps promising quick earnings had become magnets amid unemployment. They were marketed as opportunity, a way to turn a few rupees into thousands. The promise was seductive in a place where many households live on daily wages or remittances.

Yet the outcome was predictable: a handful of winners, countless losers.

The losses were not abstract. Families in Srinagar and Anantnag tell stories of sons who borrowed from friends, drained savings, even sold belongings to chase wins that never came.

Local psychiatrists speak of a rise in stress, anxiety, and depression linked to digital gambling. Some tragedies went further: suicides after debts became unbearable.

The games thrived on hope but profited on despair.

Supporters of these platforms argue that they offered employment, sponsorships, even a cultural connection to sport. In truth, they preyed on insecurity.

Kashmir's economy is fragile: tourism uncertain, agriculture under pressure, and private jobs scarce. Against that backdrop, apps promising“income through play” were less a pastime than a trap.

This is why the new law matters.

It does more than regulate technology. It reclaims the idea of play. Chess, quizzes, Sudoku remain untouched. Games without money are still games. What has been outlawed is the deception that gambling can be a career, that tapping a screen can replace hard work.

By giving enforcement agencies the power to fine, seize, and even arrest, the state is making a blunt argument: protecting families from financial ruin is worth a heavy hand.

Critics will take the law to court. Fantasy sports companies have invested millions and will argue that their platforms are legitimate contests, not casinos. Perhaps the Supreme Court will refine the definitions.

Yet in Kashmir, the principle feels less legal and more moral. A society already stretched by strife and joblessness cannot also absorb the damage of digital gambling.

The deeper lesson here is about our collective hunger for shortcuts. The lure of instant wealth was bound to find takers in a land where jobs are scarce.

The law strips away the illusion, forcing us to confront harder questions: How do we create real opportunity for young people? How do we channel the energy that once went into chasing luck into building skills that sustain families?

Gaming as leisure is harmless, even healthy. Gaming as gambling corrodes households.

Kashmir has seen the difference firsthand. The ban may frustrate those who believed in the dream of easy winnings. Yet for countless others, it feels like relief.

Play, after all, should not come at the cost of survival.

• - Syed Arsalan Abid is a Commercial Advocate and Corporate Advisor from Kashmir.

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