Opinion | Education Reforms in Jammu & Kashmir Post the Abrogation of Article 370

When I think of August 2019, I don’t just think of news headlines or political debates. I think of the silence that followed and how slowly that silence began to change, especially inside our classrooms. Working with students and teachers here in Jammu and Kashmir, I’ve seen small but powerful shifts taking place after the abrogation of Article 370. It didn’t happen all at once, but like snow melting quietly, and in its own time.

For many decades, the education system in Jammu and Kashmir felt trapped in uncertainty. Schools were often closed due to strikes, unrest, or weather. The walls stood firm, but inside, the air felt heavy. Teachers were unsure about new policies, and students often wondered whether their degrees would carry the same value as those from other parts of the country. After August 2019, however, there was a new kind of discussion that was not about politics alone, but about possibility.

The biggest shift came from connection. Once Jammu and Kashmir became a Union Territory, many of the national education schemes that earlier existed only on paper here finally began to reach classrooms. The National Education Policy 2020 which was being celebrated across India started to take root in our schools too. It brought with it ideas like flexibility in subjects, skill-based learning, and technology-driven teaching. For the first time, students here could feel that they were part of the same academic rhythm as the rest of India.

I remember visiting a small government school near Baramulla. It was winter, cold enough for fingers to go numb. The teacher there smiled and said, “Earlier, we used to worry about benches. Now we worry about projectors.” It sounded funny, but also hopeful. That one line stayed with me. It showed how change sometimes starts in tiny ways not through loud announcements, but through simple improvements that actually touch people’s daily lives.

Under schemes like Samagra Shiksha Abhiyan, schools that once struggled even for basic infrastructure now have electricity, water, and digital boards. Students who had never touched a tablet before are now using educational apps like DIKSHA and SWAYAM. I’ve seen children in Kupwara and Pulwama gather around a single phone to attend online lessons during the pandemic, three or four of them sharing earphones, sitting close, and still managing to smile. That spirit says more about hope than any official report could.

The change in girls’ education is perhaps the most heartening of all. In the villages I’ve visited, I can see it clearly: young girls cycling to school, carrying their bags proudly, laughing with their friends on dusty roads. A few years ago, that was rare. Many parents were afraid to send daughters beyond middle school. But now, with hostels, scholarships, and schemes like Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao, attitudes are shifting. A mother in Bandipora once told me, “Earlier we educated sons for pride. Now we educate daughters for strength.” That line captures what transformation really looks like not just in classrooms, but inside homes.

Teachers are changing too. I’ve sat in training workshops where teachers, some nearing retirement, learn how to use projectors and digital boards. They talk about how strange it feels to move from chalk to screens. “It’s like learning to teach all over again,” one teacher in Kupwara told me, half-laughing. That moment felt special because when teachers start learning again, something inside the whole system wakes up. In a few schools, I’ve even seen teachers recording short video lessons for students who miss class due to bad weather or network issues. The effort is genuine, and it shows how dedication can adapt with time.

Higher education has also begun to evolve. More degree colleges have opened in towns that never had one before, allowing students to study closer to home. New courses in science, humanities, and social work have given young people a chance to explore their interests without leaving the Valley. This decentralisation has been important because it gives local students equal access and confidence. A student in Handwara once told me, “We don’t feel left out anymore.” That sense of inclusion is what real reform should feel like.

The government’s focus on vocational education has also started to make an impact. Training centres are helping youth learn practical skills from tourism and computer applications to crafts and entrepreneurship. Kashmir’s rich heritage in handicrafts and art now finds a place in modern classrooms, linking tradition with livelihood. These steps remind us that education is not only about degrees but about dignity about learning something that can build a life.

Of course, everything isn’t perfect. Some schools still don’t have proper infrastructure, and frequent internet disruptions make online education difficult. A few teachers remain hesitant with digital tools, and many students still can’t afford smartphones or laptops. But progress is never smooth. The fact that these challenges are being openly discussed is itself a sign of maturity. What matters is that the direction feels right — that the movement, though slow, is steady.

Today, when I talk to students in Srinagar, Baramulla, or Kulgam, I can see a new kind of confidence in them. They know their exams follow national standards, their teachers are part of national training networks, and their education is finally linked with opportunities across India. That connection brings a feeling of equality — of belonging to something larger. It’s no longer about isolation, but about integration, and that has given both teachers and students a quiet pride.

Education here is slowly changing from memorising to understanding, from silence to dialogue. You can feel it in classrooms — in the way students raise their hands, argue, or smile when they finally get something right. Maybe these are small things, but they are also the roots of a bigger change. For too long, classrooms in Jammu and Kashmir were places of uncertainty; today, they are becoming spaces of conversation.

The abrogation of Article 370 changed many things for Jammu and Kashmir, but for me, it’s the transformation in education that feels most real. Roads can be repaired and buildings can rise, but the future begins when a student opens a book and dares to dream. Each morning, when a child walks into school, sometimes through snow, sometimes through silence it is not just about learning lessons. It’s about rebuilding hope.

And maybe that’s where the real story lies. In a land that has seen too much division, classrooms are quietly knitting together a sense of unity and understanding. The blackboards, the smart screens, the children’s laughter — they all tell one truth: that education, when given a chance, can heal more deeply than any policy ever could. Somewhere between the chalk dust and the glow of a digital board, the story of a new Jammu and Kashmir is being written one lesson, one dream, one student at a time.

faheemferoz618@gmail.com