Degrees Don't Pay The Bills: Life After Graduation In Kashmir

By Afreen Manzoor

Burhan thought his future was set. The son of a retired government employee, he worked hard through school, scored 82 percent in his Class 12 exams, and earned a degree in electrical engineering. He dreamed of building grids and lighting homes across Kashmir.

For two years, he prepared for competitive exams, believing that the government jobs his parents had spoken of were within reach.

Then the recruitment process collapsed: delayed, disputed, tied up in court cases.

By the time his father retired, the weight of expectation shifted onto his shoulders.

Today, at 26, Burhan spends his days teaching children at home and recording lessons for YouTube.“I studied to be an engineer,” he said,“but I ended up an online tutor.”

Burhan's story is echoed in thousands of homes across the valley. Education, once celebrated as the key to opportunity, now feels like a door that leads nowhere.

Families pour money into private schools, coaching centers, and degrees abroad, only to watch their children come back with framed certificates but no work.

The scale of the problem is staggering.

As of March 2025, more than 370,000 educated youth in Jammu and Kashmir are listed as unemployed on the government's employment portal. Among urban job seekers aged 15 to 29, the unemployment rate is 32 percent, the highest in India.

Beyond economic problem, this is an emotional crisis for many families.

Parents who spent years saving for tuition now voice their frustration openly:“We spent so much money on your education. What do we have to show for it?”

A degree, stripped of its promise, becomes a source of tension at home and stigma in society.

Marriage prospects are also affected.

A government survey found that nearly 29 percent of Kashmiri youth under 29 remain unmarried, many of them dismissed by prospective in-laws as“liabilities.”

Degrees without income translate into rejection. For young men in particular, the burden is doubled: the breadwinner label follows them even before they can earn.

The crisis is fed by deeper structural flaws.

Public education in Kashmir, once the ladder of social mobility, has withered. Over 8,800 schools lack clean drinking water and 12,600 lack functional toilets, according to a March 2025 report.

Labs, libraries, and basic infrastructure remain absent. Even government school teachers confess to sending their own children to private schools, a tacit admission that the system no longer inspires trust.

The fallout reaches beyond classrooms. With degrees piling up, many young people take jobs unrelated to their training, settling for work that barely sustains them. Peer pressure, family expectations, and low wages drain their confidence and health.

In homes where parents never studied beyond primary school, a well-educated son or daughter can feel like an outsider: admired briefly, then resented when the degree fails to deliver.

Some, like 28-year-old Kamran, choose to rewrite their stories.

A civil engineer by training, he spent years searching for work in power development before giving up. Today, he runs a stationery shop in Kishtwar.

“I didn't want this,” he said,“but at least I can support myself.” For Kamran, entrepreneurship is survival, not a dream.

Still, there are voices calling for a broader idea of success.

A stationery shop is seen as enterprise, just like a YouTube channel is viewed as innovation.

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