Kashmir’s struggle with drugs is not a passing crisis; it is a generational wound, and the healing is only beginning. The real picture is layered: a valley once drowning in despair now pulses with the rhythm of follow-up visits, each one a fragile but powerful step toward recovery. These centres are not just medical facilities; they are lifelines, places where anguished parents cling to hope, where young men and women wrestle with their pasts, and where society itself is learning to confront its shadows.
The sheer scale of follow-ups; tens of thousands in a single year; tells us something profound. It tells us that relapse is not the end, that returning for therapy is itself an act of courage. It tells us that the young generation, despite the weight of peer pressure and the lure of opioids, is refusing to surrender. Every visit is a battle won against despair, every clean day a victory against the past. These numbers are not sterile; they are stories of spirit, of lives clawing their way back from the brink.
Yet the alarms remain loud, addiction still stalks Kashmir’s streets, fuelled by unemployment, social pressures, and the easy availability of narcotics. The past decade has shown how quickly drugs can hollow out communities, turning homes into battlegrounds and futures into ruins. The present moment, however, offers a chance to rewrite that narrative. With therapies that blend science and cultural sensitivity, with infrastructure that includes counselling chambers, vocational training, and recreational spaces, there is now a scaffolding of hope. But scaffolding alone is not enough; it must be strengthened by society’s will.
The government has played its part by decentralising treatment, opening centres and operationalising facilities in major hospitals. This has brought help closer to home, reducing stigma and logistical hurdles. But the fight cannot be left to the state alone. Private players must step in with resources, jobs, and rehabilitation programmes that extend beyond hospital walls. Civil society must dismantle stigma, replacing judgment with empathy. Parents must continue to stand firm, their presence in waiting rooms a silent but powerful therapy. Peers must transform from enablers into supporters, proving that community can be a shield against relapse.
The decline in new patient registrations is being hailed as a victory, but it is also a warning. It shows that awareness and decentralisation are working, but it reminds us that vigilance must not falter. Addiction is cunning; it thrives in silence and denial. Valley cannot afford complacency. The future of Kashmir’s youth depends on sustained commitment; on therapies that heal, infrastructure that supports, and a society that refuses to abandon its children.
This is not routine. This is a revolution of return visits, of second chances, of futures reclaimed. The real victory will not be measured in numbers but in lives rebuilt: in a boy who once counted hits and now counts clean days, in a mother who once feared losing her child and now watches him rebuild his life, in a community that once whispered about addiction and now speaks openly about recovery. Kashmir’s de-addiction centres are no longer places of despair; they are crucibles of hope, buzzing with the possibility that the valley can rise from the grip of drugs and carve out a tomorrow brighter than its past.