The exodus: Why Kashmir’s brightest are quietly leaving

Political instability, persisting conflict and a lack of opportunities have led to the silent exit of students and young professionals from Kashmir.

Srinagar: In the stillness of a Srinagar summer evening, 24-year-old Anzar Ahmad scrolls through apartment listings in Bengaluru on his phone. “I have made up my mind,” he says, his voice calm but resolute. “There is nothing left here for me. No job, no peace and no future.”

Ahmad, who completed his engineering and later earned an MBA in 2023, was once full of ideas to launch a tech startup in Kashmir. Now, like many in his circle, he is planning his exit — one more name in the growing list of the Valley’s best and brightest quietly slipping away.

“This place squeezes the life out of your ambition,” he says. “You either leave, or watch your dreams die slowly.”

The story is all too familiar. Across villages, towns and cities in Kashmir, young professionals, graduates, and even school students are slowly turning away—not just from home, but from hope.

29-year-old Saima, a PhD scholar in Social Sciences, once aspired to stay and teach in Kashmir. Now she is sending out CVs to private universities outside the Valley. “I waited for long,” she says. “But all I got was hopelessness. How do you teach hope when you have stopped feeling it yourself?”

This quiet but steady migration reflects a deepening crisis — one that is social, political, and deeply personal. The exodus is not only about a lack of jobs or opportunities, it is also about fear, alienation, and the shrinking space for expression.

With public sector jobs, traditionally seen as stable career paths, shrinking and the private sector remaining too weak to absorb the growing educated workforce, choices are limited.

Karnataka has been a preferred destination for Kashmiri students since the early 1990s. While an estimated 20,000 to 25,000 students leave Kashmir each year for higher education, supported in part by the Prime Minister’s Special Scholarship Scheme (PMSSS), which offers up to 5,000 scholarships annually, a significant number of them end up in Karnataka.

Though there is no official database that captures the scale of this migration, the presence of thousands of students and professionals across cities like Delhi, Gurugram, Mumbai, Pune and Bengaluru is evidence enough.

Among them is 19-year-old Irfan Bhat* from Sopore. Every morning in Bengaluru, when he walks into his college, far from his rented accommodation, he is confronted with his choice. “Back in Kashmir, you study but do not see a future opening up. Here, the path feels clearer,” he says.

Students, like Irfan, are drawn by relatively affordable education, cosmopolitan culture, and access to jobs. But even outside Kashmir, many say the sense of being ‘othered’ follows them.

Many migrations

Sameer Wani*, a student in northern Bengaluru, recalls being asked to submit a detailed list of his previous residential addresses — something none of his classmates from other states were required to do. “It was not aggressive, but it made me feel watched,” he says.

Tensions flared in late 2024 at a nursing college in Holenarasipur, where several Kashmiri students were, according to news reports, penalised for refusing to shave their beards. The institution cited hygiene, but students felt the pressure was targeted.

Beyond education, Kashmiris have carved a niche in sectors like tech, healthcare, business, and academia across the country and abroad. In the early 2000s, Ishtiyaq Shah from Ganderbal and two friends attempted to establish a homegrown IT company in Kashmir. 

“Red tapism killed our dream,” says Shah, now a cybersecurity expert at a US-based multinational company.

By 2006, they gave up and left — one to Bengaluru, another to Hyderabad, and Shah to Delhi. All three are now thriving in their careers. “We often think back to those days,” he says. “We were full of hope. But Kashmir just was not ready for us. And sadly, it still is not.”

Broken promises

The abrogation of Article 370 in August 2019 was projected by the Government of India as a turning point for Kashmir — the beginning of a new era of development, private investment, and integration into the national economic mainstream. Nearly six years later, that promise rings hollow for many on the ground.

According to official figures since 2019, Jammu and Kashmir has received investment proposals worth Rs 1.63 lakh crore, but actual investments amounting to Rs 10,516 crore, or 6.45% of the total proposals, have been made. Of the total investment, Rs 3,407.63 crore has been directed towards Kashmir and Rs 7,108 crore towards Jammu.

“We heard about foreign investments, IT parks, film cities, but what we have got are more surveillance, security bunkers and fewer opportunities,” says Suhail, an engineering graduate from Budgam. The government claims of investment proposals worth thousands of crores remain on paper and only a few have moved beyond MoUs to execution, he adds. 

For many, the abrogation of Article 370 was the promise that it would level the playing field and fast-track development. But on the ground, people speak more of anxiety than opportunity. “They said Article 370 was the obstacle. It is gone. So what is stopping the progress now?” asks Suhail.

Private sector

Despite projections of a thriving private economy, Kashmir’s business climate remains volatile. Local entrepreneurs continue to face logistical challenges, credit barriers, and inconsistent policy implementation.

The environment is so risk-averse that even those with viable ideas and technical skills are reluctant to begin. “You cannot build a future when the present feels so uncertain,” says Anzar. “There is no incubation, no support and no ecosystem.”

Bank loans are hard to come by, and most start-ups that try to stay afloat here either burn out due to delays or relocate to cities with better support systems.

“The idea was to open up Kashmir’s economy,” says a former J&K Bank official. “But without political stability and policy continuity, no serious investor will take the risk.”

For young Kashmiris with ambition, the message is clear — the private sector is not a viable alternative yet. The exodus, therefore, is not just a choice. It is a consequence.

Surveillance and silence

Amid the exodus of young talent from Kashmir, one recurring theme stands out starkly: Fear. Several young people interviewed spoke of a climate of fear. It is not just the lack of jobs or opportunities pushing them away — it is the overwhelming sense of being watched, judged, and silenced.

“Expression feels risky,” says a 22-year-old engineering graduate who, like many, asked not to be named. “You do not talk, you do not tweet.” He speaks of social media posts that are self-censored, group chats that avoid sensitive topics, and a sense that any opinion could be taken out of context — or worse, land someone in jail. 

On November 13, 2024, police detained, Bhat Navidul Ali, a university student, on allegations of using social media to “promote radical propaganda.” He was later released after his parents and other local community leaders were summoned, and counselling sessions were held.

In this environment, even academic freedom feels constrained. Saima, the PhD scholar applying for jobs outside the Valley, echoes the concern. “How do you teach critical thinking when you are scared to speak critically?” she asks. “Our classrooms are becoming quieter, not more enlightened.”

The fear is not imagined. Since the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019, increased surveillance and detentions under laws like the Public Safety Act (PSA) have created a chilling effect on open discourse.

As a result, many young Kashmiris no longer see the Valley as a place where they can speak freely, much less build meaningful careers. “When you feel like you are always being watched,” says Anzar, “you stop dreaming aloud.”

But even leaving Kashmir does not ensure safety. The recent terror attack in Pahalgam, which killed several tourists, has triggered fresh suspicion and hate against Kashmiri students, professionals and small-time businessmen living outside the Valley. Many reported online abuse and veiled threats, similar to the backlash after the 2019 Pulwama bombing.

Even though these young people had no connection with the violence, they bore the brunt of public outrage, targeted simply for being Kashmiri. 

In Maharashtra alone, around 10,000 Kashmiris live across cities like Mumbai, Pune, and Nagpur. “This does not include Kashmiri Pandit families,” says Sanjay Nahar, founder of Sarhad, a Pune-based NGO supporting Kashmiri youth for over two decades.

The Kashmiri Students’ Association in Pune sought protection from local authorities. “Parents are calling every day. They are scared,” says Aaqib Bhat, the association’s president. Though top leaders offered verbal assurances, anxiety persists.

The Valley’s silent loss

The departure of Kashmir’s brightest and most ambitious is quietly hollowing the Valley from within. With every coder, doctor, filmmaker or entrepreneur who leaves, the Valley loses not just talent, but also potential agents of change.

Dr Farrukh Faheem, who teaches at the University of Kashmir’s Institute of Kashmir Studies, says every migration here has a demographic and psychological cost too. “Families fragment, social fabric loosens, and youth — often the most resilient during the hardest times — disappear from the local equation,” he told DH.

“The tragedy is not that people are leaving,” he says. “It is that they do not see any reason to stay. This brain drain may be Kashmir’s most overlooked crisis. And yet, it is one without gunfire, slogans or protests — just suitcases, quiet departures, and unspoken goodbyes.”

Official perspective

A senior bureaucrat, speaking on condition of anonymity, acknowledged the growing frustration but emphasised the region’s unique challenges: “Yes, there is a gap between investment proposals and execution. But you cannot expect a region like Kashmir, emerging from decades of conflict, to transform overnight.”

“Infrastructure has to be built, investor confidence earned — and that takes time. Security perceptions and logistical bottlenecks do slow things down,” he added.

J&K L-G Manoj Sinha believes the progressive industrial policy and several key interventions in the last few years have strengthened investors’ confidence in the UT and attracted private investment.

“We have been successful in creating a conducive environment for the growth of industries, enabling overall development. Our efforts are now yielding positive dividends, with many industrial units having started their operations and many more investment proposals in the pipeline,” he said.

Will they return?

Many say yes — someday. “If things ever stabilise,” says Omar Baba, a software engineer now based in the UK, “I would love to come back, work in Kashmir and be part of its growth. That has always been the dream. But I just do not know when that ‘someday’ will come — or if it ever will.”

He pauses before adding: “I have left my age-old parents behind. Every time my phone rings, my heart sinks for a moment. I wonder — is everything okay at home? Has something happened? That worry never leaves you. It travels with you — through airports, meetings, days and nights.”

“My roots are in Kashmir. My soul is there. I did not want to leave. I had to,” Baba said.

At Srinagar airport, the departure lounges are busy — not just with tourists, but with young men and women like Ishtiyaq, Omar and Anzar, carrying degrees, dreams, and heavy hearts — walking away from a place that still means everything to them, but offers them nothing in return.

(With inputs from Mrityunjay Bose in Mumbai & Varsha Gowda in Bengaluru)

(*Names changed on request)