Opinion | From Stones to Start-ups: South Kashmir’s Quiet Revolution

In South Kashmir, a quiet transformation is unfolding. Where conflict once shaped daily life, young people are now choosing a different path through music, technology, sports, and entrepreneurship. From teenagers running cafes to girls coding apps, this new generation is rewriting the region’s future, one opportunity at a time.
Faisal, a 22-year-old hailing from Shopian, claims that although they refer to us as the “stone-pelting generation,” we would prefer to be known as the “startup generation”. Since 2022, the JK Youth Empowerment Program (JKYEP) has supported 48 youth-led enterprises, including his Aggrotech business, a drone rental service for monitoring apple orchards. The narrative of Faisal reflects a change: Long viewed as disenfranchised or radicalized, South Kashmir’s youth are using government programs to forge careers their parents couldn’t imagine.
Schemes Bridging Aspirations and Reality:
Himayat Scheme: Launched in 2011 but revamped post-2019, this skill development program has trained over 12,000 South Kashmir youths in sectors like hospitality, IT, and retail. In Anantnag’s “Tech Valley” hub—a converted government building with graffiti-covered walls—I met 20-year-old Saba, who learned graphic design here. She now freelances for clients in Delhi, earning ₹25,000/month. “My brothers used to protest; I’d hide in my room,” she says. “Now, I argue with clients about colour schemes instead.”
Mission Youth’s “MUMKIN” Initiative: Tailored for unemployed graduates, this program offers subsidies to youth launching transport businesses. Over 300 mini-trucks (“Mumkin vehicles”) now ply South Kashmir’s roads, driven by young entrepreneurs like Arif from Kulgam. “I used to ferry stones for construction. Now, I transport almonds to Delhi,” he says. His income has tripled to ₹40,000/month.
Sports as a Catalyst: The : “Khelo India” scheme has ignited a cricket frenzy. In Shopian’s “Sports Village”—a former conflict hotspot 300 boys and girls train daily. Sixteen-year-old bowler Insha was selected for Jammu’s state team last year. “Earlier, our fields had bunkers. Now, they have boundary lines,” her coach remarks.
Digital Kashmir: Under the “Digital Village Initiative”, 120 villages now have Wi-Fi hubs. In volatile Tral, teens like 17-year-old Umar use these spaces to run YouTube channels reviewing Kashmiri cuisine. “My ‘Wazwan Diaries’ channel has 50k subscribers. Even my dad who called the internet “haram”—shares my videos,” he laughs.
Awareness campaigns here aren’t just posters they’re conversations. The “Awaz-e-Nau” (Voice of the New) initiative deploys young influencers like 24-year-old poetess Hina Qureshi to schools. “We don’t lecture about schemes,” she says. “We perform spoken word pieces on anxiety, ambition, and why it’s okay to want a PS5 instead of a gun.”
In Kulgam, all-women “Gram Sabhas” (village councils) now allocate 30% of local funds to youth projects.
Tangible Wins: Employment, 8,000+ jobs generated through schemes since 2020 (JKYEP data).
Entrepreneurship: 1,200+ startups launched, 60% in tech and agriculture.
Crime Drop: Police data shows a 40% decline in youth-related unrest in scheme-intensive zones like Pulwama (2021–23).
Progress remains fragile. In remote villages like Dachnipora, schemes struggle with visibility. “Many don’t know programs exist,” admits Rayees, a government outreach worker. Others face bureaucratic tangles—Arif waited eight months for his Mumkin loan. Mental health is another frontier; counselors at Anantnag’s Hope Corner clinic report rising cases of anxiety among overpressured “scheme kids.”
Yet, the tide is turning. Former militants’ families are quietly enrolling in programs—a trend officials avoid publicizing for safety. “My son picked up a gun in 2016. My younger boy will pick a diploma,” says a father in Shopian, requesting anonymity.
The J&K administration’s 2024 agenda includes:
JKYPE 2.0: Coding bootcamps with placements in Bengaluru tech parks.
Art Corridors: Converting abandoned bunkers into street art zones manned by young artists.
Green Jobs: Training 5,000 youths in solar energy and waste management by 2025.
But for many, the real victory is intangible. At Pulwama’s café, Aamir plays a song he wrote “My Gun is a Guitar.” The crowd—a mix of cops, ex-protesters, and grandparents—sways along. “Three years ago, this would’ve been a militant song,” a police officer tells me. “Now, it’s just music.”
South Kashmir’s youth schemes aren’t fairy tales—they’re messy, uneven, and alive. They won’t erase decades of pain, but they’re offering alternatives to a generation told they had none. As Faisal’s drone hums over apple blossoms, and Insha’s cricket ball cracks against a bat, you realize: this isn’t just policy, It’s poetry.
Writer hailing from south Kashmir and can be reached at aroojabashir256@gmail.com