A few days ago, I was walking from my university to my hostel when a group of girls came into view ahead of me. 

They were talking among themselves as they moved along the roadside, absorbed in the ordinary concerns of student life. 

A few moments later, several young men on motorcycles approached, shouted loudly in an attempt to attract attention and sped away laughing.

The girls did not react, and kept walking. People nearby continued with their day.

The scene lasted only a few seconds, but I could not easily put it out of my mind.

What unsettled me was not the behaviour of the bikers. Kashmiri women know these encounters well. Most have experienced some version of them on roads, in markets, on buses or outside colleges. 

What troubled me most was the response of everyone else. 

Nobody appeared surprised. The girls treated it as another interruption in a long series of interruptions. The people around them treated it as part of the landscape.

That normalisation felt more troubling than the incident itself.

Public discussion in Kashmir usually revolves around politics, unemployment and economic uncertainty. Those concerns influence the lives of millions and need serious attention. 

But during these discussions, another reality often receives far less scrutiny despite driving the daily experiences of women and girls throughout the valley.

Many leave home carrying ambitions that would have seemed out of reach a generation ago. They attend universities, prepare for competitive examinations and enter professions that continue to expand their presence in public life. 

Alongside those ambitions comes another burden that rarely appears........

© Kashmir Observer