The hearth was warm, the stories deep.
The Khandaan, a tree; where all could sleep.
One trunk, one root, a promise kept.
Now concrete sprouts where orchards wept.
The tale untold, the song unsung.
The grandchild's ear no longer young.
We sold the past, a future bought.
And in the trade, our soul was caught.
So builds the dream, a gilded cage.
While wisdom fades with aging age.
A single light, where many shone.
The fortress breached, the family, gone.
82-year-old retired government teacher, Ghulam Mohammad's home, which used to breathe with life and the chirping of his three children, is today a forlorn, lonely structure with empty rooms inhabited solely by him and his wife. His daughter, who has settled in the United Kingdom, calls him on WhatsApp nearly every day, while his two sons, one an engineer in Dubai and the other doctor in the United States of America, call once a month.
He whispers, "This house used to breathe." It simply exists now. We constructed our palace, but never thought it would turn out empty. "During my service, I was too busy with work and had no time for socialising," he says, describing it as “foolish conceit”. The realisation now dawns that his main strengths now, are not the money he was saving up or the house he built but his neighbours. He says, they are there for him when the need comes.
In Kashmir, where the Khandaan (family, including extended form) was for centuries the unbreakable thread tying society together, members are now sprawled across the globe as part of a major post-millennial shift. With that stands threatened the traditional ecosystem of mutual support, cultural transmission, and peaceful coexistence.
The number of nuclear families is growing alarmingly. This shift, which is frequently presented worldwide as an unavoidable sign of "modernisation," is triggering a fundamental rewiring of Kashmiri society. Driven by a complex mix of flawed government policies, economic aspirations, status-driven construction boom and political uncertainty, while the young are moving out, the old are condemned to emotional solitary confinement.
The Anatomy of a Joint Family
To understand the scale of the loss, one must first understand what is being lost. Kashmir’s joint family system was a masterpiece of social engineering, forged in the crucible of adversity.
In the old, multi-storeyed houses of downtown Srinagar (Shahar-e-Khaas) or the sprawling homesteads of the countryside, three or even four generations lived under one roof. This was a system of elegant, unwritten contracts. Normally, in the joint family system, the elder female was the commander of the house, the steady centre around which the complex machinery of daily life revolved, while in the nuclear family system, these commands and controls have become loose, leaving a vacuum of authority and shared purpose.
Economic pooling was paramount. A teacher’s salary, a farmer’s harvest, an artisan’s craft, a shopkeeper’s sales, doctor’s healing power, and an engineer’s skill - all flowed into a common treasury managed under this matriarchal guidance. This system was the ultimate safety net, supporting the unemployed and ensuring a failed crop or a lost job did not spell disaster. A young man seeking work was not a burden. He was an investment the family could sustain.
Child-rearing and elder care were collective endeavours. While parents worked, grandparents were the primary caregivers. It was from them that children learned the nuances of Kashmiriyat, representing the region’s unique syncretic culture, nurtured through the literature, including folk tales and rituals. This constant interaction provided crucial physical and emotional protection for both the young and the old. The concept of an “old-age home” was as alien as a snowless winter.
Anthropological studies estimate that before the year 2000, between 70% and 80% of Kashmiri households were joint or extended, less as a romanticised ideal and more as a pragmatic system for survival.
The Tumultous Change
The turn of the millennium brought with it a wave of change, much of it framed as opportunity. The pivotal moment was the launch in 2000 of ‘Rehbar-e-Taleem’ (ReT), a flagship scheme to appoint local youth as teachers in remote villages and afterwards such like schemes were introduced in different fields. It was saw literacy rates soar.
But this “progress” had an unintended, dark underbelly. The ReT scheme, and subsequent contractual "Rehbar" frameworks, created a new class of salaried, mobile youth. While providing under-employment opportunities, they triggered a cascade of social consequences. These government-backed jobs provided a steady, individual paycheck. Young graduates were no longer tied to the ancestral land or its communal obligations.
Additionally, salaries from these posts and remittances from migrants in the Gulf flooded back into the valley. This new, liquid wealth fuelled a shift in aspirations. The collective ambition of the Khandaan began to be supplanted by the individualistic dream of “my own home, my own car.”
The data paints a stark picture. The National Family Health Survey-5 shows that 62% of households in J&K, mainly Kashmir valley are now nuclear, a rapid convergence with the national average. From roughly 40% in the late 1990s to 62% today—a 55% jump in just two decades.
An Economy of Bricks and Mortar
This nuclear surge thus promoted a relentless and illogical construction boom, triggering annual real estate price hikes of 15-20%. But this is a trap. Vast sums of family capital are locked away in static, opulent villas. These “status symbols” become economic dead ends. The money does not circulate into starting businesses or creating jobs. It is entombed in brick and mortar.
The social cost is immense. As the Anantnag-based marriage counsellor, Muhammad Amin, explained, “The pressure to build a separate, lavish home is a major cause of marital discord and financial ruin.”
The human cost
For children, the loss of the grandparental presence has created a cultural void. The oral traditions, the folk songs, the nuanced understanding of their own history are fading. Latchkey kids are increasingly turning to screens for solace, deprived of the constant physical and emotional protection that a house full of relatives provided. For the elders, this is an emotional tragedy compounded by lack of protective legislations for the old. Once unthinkable, old-age homes are now being established in Kashmir.
An Uncertain Future
Back in his silent house, Ghulam Mohammad offers a simpler solution. “We need to remember that a house becomes a home not by the cost of its marble, but by the voices within it. We have built the shells, but we have let the life inside wither. We must choose people over plaster.”
According to Prof Dr Arshad Hussain of the Institute of Mental Health Sciences (IMHS), Srinagar, the rise of nuclear family structures has had a detrimental impact on mental well-being.
He avers that these structures have generated widespread loneliness and social isolation, which he equates to the damage smoking inflicts on the lungs. Furthermore, he states that the nuclear family has "taken away crucial coping pillars from human life." In contrast, he highlights the joint family as a system that provided essential social support, bonding, and a network that built societal resilience and cushioned individuals against stress and trauma.
However, in an era of nuclear families and relentless work schedules, the profound wisdom of the joint family system offers a vital anchor for societal well-being.
According to socio-historian Dr Farooq Fayaz, the true wealth of elderly parents lies not in financial support but in the “kinetic engagement” of their children and grandchildren. When busy couples are absorbed by the demands of their careers, it is the simple, consistent interactions, such as a weekend gathering with family and neighbours that nourishes the soul, counters the isolation of old age and provides the younger generation with a connection and deep-rooted sense of identity. These need to be recreated.
A psychiatrist from GMC Anantnag, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, quoted studies that reveal the human fallout of the nuclearization of families. He points out that one in five elderly people in the region exhibits signs of depression. Approximately 19% of the adult population suffers from probable PTSD, and an estimated 45% of adults in the Valley are showing signs of mental distress.
Even though the joint family is not without challenges, its revival could be key to cultural preservation and social stability. In essence, the Kashmiri joint family is a living economy of empathy. By nurturing generations in shared spaces of love and labour, it combats alienation, upholds dignity, and orchestrates life's milestones with grace. In preserving this system, Kashmir safeguards not just families, but the soul of its society.
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