In a land where mountains rise high, so too must our imagination. But why are our children taught to climb only one peak?
YASIR MANZOOR BHAT
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From the narrow lanes of downtown Srinagar to the remotest villages of Kupwara, Kashmiri students have demonstrated uncommon excellence in their studies, often surpassing national averages despite political turbulence and skeletal infrastructure. Yet, in a place where natural diversity flourishes, the diversity of aspirations is gradually perishing. A quiet trend has emerged—one where nearly every academically talented student is being funneled into a single dream: clearing NEET and becoming a doctor. In a valley brimming with talent, why are all dreams being forced into the same white coat?
While medicine is a noble and life-saving profession, it must never be the sole measure of success or the only approved aspiration. To understand this better, let’s delve deeper into the key factors driving Kashmir’s NEET and MBBS culture—and why it demands careful reconsideration.
Parental and Societal Pressure: When Comparison Kills Curiosity
In Kashmiri families, career discussions often begin with comparisons. If a neighbor’s son or cousin’s daughter is a doctor, then your child must follow the same path—or risk being labeled a failure. This comparison-driven parenting creates immense psychological pressure. Children end up living for family prestige rather than their own passions. Even students with no interest in medicine feel compelled to pursue NEET, not out of a desire to heal but to avoid shame. Many who lack any inclination toward biology still chase MBBS, fearing they’ll disappoint their families. Over time, curiosity—the heartbeat of genuine learning—is replaced by anxious compliance.
The Loudest Voices Know the Least
One of the most damaging aspects of this culture is how individuals with no real knowledge of NEET, MBBS, or medicine speak as if they are experts. Relatives, neighbors, and even shopkeepers casually discuss cutoffs, quotas, and coaching strategies without understanding the first thing about them. Their unsolicited advice and offhand remarks create a toxic environment where students feel perpetually judged. It doesn’t matter if these self-appointed critics can’t distinguish a ligament from a neuron—they still believe they have the right to decide who deserves to be called a “doctor.” Amid this noise, a student’s own voice is often drowned out.
The Multi-Year Cycle of Attempts
The pressure to crack NEET is suffocating—not just academically, but psychologically and emotionally. It has become a relentless, multi-year cycle. Students dedicate three, sometimes four, years of their youth to a single entrance exam. These aren’t ordinary years; they’re marked by anxiety, isolation, chronic stress, and emotional turmoil. Each failed attempt brings fresh shame, another probing question from a relative, and deeper self-doubt. This prolonged academic limbo takes a toll on mental health, family dynamics, and often physical well-being.
The Coaching Industry’s Role
The coaching culture only adds to the burden. Coaching centers, now ubiquitous across Kashmir, aggressively promote MBBS as the only worthy career. They capitalize on the fear of failure, reducing students to statistics and families to customers. And when students inevitably fall short—as most do, given the competition—they’re met not with empathy or redirection, but with disappointment, shame, and silence.
The rise of online coaching has worsened the problem. What was once a classroom battle has become a solitary, sedentary ordeal—10 to 12 hours a day spent glued to screens, disconnected from the world, from nature, and from their own emotional needs. While online courses are marketed as convenient, they often trap students in a confined existence where nights blur into days and human interaction is replaced by digital isolation. There’s no room to explore life beyond NEET, no space to imagine a different future.
The ‘Abroad MBBS’ Route: A Desperate Alternative
When students fail after years of grueling effort, the psychological toll is devastating. Yet, instead of reassessing whether medicine is the right path, many families cling to the dream by sending their children abroad for MBBS. Countries like Bangladesh, Kazakhstan, or Kyrgyzstan have become destinations not of hope, but of desperation—desperation to escape societal shame and salvage a failed dream.
The harsh realities of these overseas MBBS ventures are rarely discussed. Many students struggle in unfamiliar education systems, grappling with language barriers, homesickness, cultural isolation, and even academic failure. Some return without completing their degrees; others earn qualifications that aren’t easily recognized in India. Meanwhile, families pour lakhs into this pursuit—sometimes selling property or taking on debt—all to uphold a narrow definition of success.
The Tragic Cost: Lost Potential
The most heartbreaking consequence of this cycle is how other talents wither away. A gifted writer stifles their voice. A charismatic public speaker is told to “focus on biology.” A brilliant problem-solver who could have been an entrepreneur buries their head in old question papers. We’re not nurturing a generation of doctors; we’re raising young people whose self-worth hinges on a single exam. And if they fail, they’re left feeling lost, empty, and worthless.
Yes, medicine is a respected profession—but Kashmir needs more than just doctors. It needs journalists to tell its stories, climate activists to protect its land, lawyers to defend its citizens, teachers to educate its future, and engineers, economists, psychologists, and artists of all kinds. Imagine if a 15-year-old in Budgam or Baramulla knew they could become a UN policy analyst, a civil servant fighting for justice, a climate scientist in Antarctica, or a poet winning global acclaim.
Real progress comes not when everyone walks the same path, but when people forge diverse journeys with equal dignity.
To the Parents of Kashmir:
Don’t measure your child’s worth against the neighbor’s son. Don’t reduce their identity to a title. Don’t equate love with rank or reputation. Your child is not a project—they’re an individual with unique gifts, emotions, fears, and dreams. Give them space to breathe. Give them permission to fail. Give them the courage to rise again on their own terms, not under the weight of imposed expectations.
To the Students of Kashmir:
If medicine is your dream, pursue it fiercely. But if it isn’t, know this: You are not behind. You are not lost. You are not lesser. You are different—and that is beautiful. You weren’t meant to live someone else’s life. You were meant to live yours. There’s no shame in walking away from what isn’t yours. There’s only strength.
Kashmir deserves more than a one-dream culture. Its hills echo with the voices of poets, revolutionaries, scientists, musicians, and visionaries. Let’s not reduce this rich legacy to a single exam. Let’s break free from this MBBS obsession—not out of rebellion, but out of love for our children, their futures, and the valley itself.
