A family can sit together for hours and still have nothing to say to one another. In Kashmir’s homes, the smartphone is increasingly becoming the invisible wall between parents, children and grandparents. Bodies share the same room; attention belongs elsewhere.
At dinner, a father scrolls through messages, a mother checks social media, a teenager chats with friends and a younger child watches videos. The television plays to an indifferent audience. Conversation, once an ordinary part of family life, is reduced to instructions about food, homework and chores.
This is not simply a question of screen time. It is a question of what families are losing while everyone is busy being connected.
Smartphones have brought enormous benefits. They offer information, entertainment, educational resources and instant contact with people far away. For young Kashmiris, they can be a vital link to friends when outdoor socialising is difficult. But a tool becomes a problem when its use begins to displace sleep, responsibilities, face-to-face relationships and the simple habit of listening.
The most troubling part of this transformation is the contradiction at its heart: parents complain that children are addicted to their phones while remaining glued to their own.
The first responsibility, therefore, belongs to adults. Before confiscating a child’s device, parents should examine how often they reach for their own.
The consequences extend beyond family arguments. Experts have warned that digital consumption is reshaping people’s lives, with both beneficial and harmful effects.
Excessive screen use can contribute to disrupted sleep, irritability, reduced concentration and difficulties with academic performance. Yet it would be simplistic to blame every emotional or behavioural problem on a smartphone. Anxiety, loneliness, school pressure and family conflict can also drive young people towards digital spaces.
That distinction matters. A teenager retreating into online gaming may be avoiding a problem, seeking companionship or simply enjoying a hobby. The answer cannot be a reflexive ban that removes the device but leaves the underlying need untouched.
Experts emphasise that addressing screen addiction is neither simple nor one-sided. Families must take that advice seriously. Heavy use does not automatically constitute clinical addiction, but when it repeatedly disrupts sleep, education or relationships, ignoring it is equally irresponsible.
Kashmir’s circumstances make the issue more complicated. Where playgrounds are scarce, recreational facilities limited and outdoor socialising difficult, the phone can become a child’s principal source of entertainment and social contact.
But recognising this reality cannot become an excuse for allowing screens to consume every available hour. Online friendships can be genuine without replacing the value of physical activity, shared experiences and conversations at home.
The loss is felt across generations. Grandparents who once passed evenings telling stories may now sit beside grandchildren absorbed in content they cannot follow. The stories, family histories and everyday exchanges that connect generations cannot compete with an endless stream of notifications unless families deliberately make room for them.
Nor should the responsibility be placed entirely on children. Schools, communities and public authorities must help create accessible spaces for sports, recreation and social interaction. Telling young people to log off is hollow advice when meaningful alternatives are unavailable.
Families, meanwhile, must establish realistic boundaries. Meals can be phone-free. Late-night use can be limited when it interferes with sleep. Parents can take an interest in what their children watch, play and discuss online rather than approaching every digital activity as a threat. Where screen use is seriously affecting daily functioning, professional help may be necessary.
Above all, households need to recover the habit of conversation. Not every family problem requires a formal discussion. Sometimes a child opens up over dinner, a grandparent shares a memory during an idle evening, or a casual question reveals a worry that has remained unspoken. These small moments are the foundations of trust.
The answer is not to reject technology or romanticise an imagined past in which families had no distractions. It is to refuse the idea that physical presence alone constitutes togetherness.
A phone can connect Kashmir’s children to the world. It should not make them strangers to the people sitting beside them.
The test of a family is not how many hours its members spend under one roof, but whether they still make time to see, hear and understand one another. If parents want their children to look up from their screens, they must be willing to do the same.
