Perspective and commentary

In a milestone decision for heritage conservation, the Administration of the Union Territory of Ladakh officially declared 23 historic sites across the region as Protected Monuments. Spanning thousands of years of human civilisation, the sites include pre-historic petroglyphs, medieval forts, sacred meditation caves, colossal rock-cut Buddha statues, and ancient gompas. All these invaluable heritage sites now enjoy long overdue statutory protection.

Highlighting the significance of this landmark initiative, the Hon’ble Lieutenant Governor of Ladakh, Vinai Kumar Saxena shared on X, “Delighted to announce a landmark decision to safeguard Ladakh’s cultural and spiritual heritage! Have officially declared 23 historic sites across Ladakh as ‘Protected Monuments’. With this move, invaluable treasures, including ancient petroglyphs, rock carvings, centuries old forts, caves, and iconic gompas that have been facing degradation for decades, will now receive statutory protection and systematic conservation and restoration. This crucial legal framework will prevent encroachments, regulate activities, and preserve Ladakh’s rich civilizational identity.”

This landmark decision establishes formal preservation protocols, empowers the administration to prevent unauthorised encroachments, and provides a clear legal framework for regulating human activities and promoting responsible cultural tourism. Extreme weathering, encroachment, neglect, and increasing visitor pressure have gradually eroded these fragile heritage sites over recent decades. Thus, this framework marks a significant shift from passive observation to active institutional stewardship.

The 23 notified sites encompass five distinct categories of architectural and natural heritage. Among them are seven petroglyph sites (rDo-ris) located at Sharnos, Domkhar, Lehdo, Alchi, Murgi, Mangmore, and Yurbaltak in Kargil. These sites feature prehistoric etchings of ibex hunts, wild yaks, masks, dancers, horsemen, and numerous other motifs, offering rare visual documentation of ancient lifeways and migratory routes.

The declaration also protects eight rock carving statues (rDo-sku), including the intricate Maitreya Buddha rock carving at Shey near Sindhu Ghat, the Hunder Zong Chamba, and several remarkable carvings at Diggar, such as Chamba Karpo, the Rigsum Gonbo Rock Carvings, the Chamba Rock Carving at Tokpo, and Folong Singey.

Furthermore, three historic forts (mKhar), namely Tingmosgang Khar, Dechen Tsomo Khar, and Sumoor Khar, stand as enduring monuments to Ladakh’s strategic defence architecture and royal lineages.

The notification also includes four ancient caves (Tsham-phug), namely the Ancient Caves at Saspol, the Meditation Cave of Onpo at Hunder, Hunder Cave, and Stampuk (Tsamphuk?) Cave. These served as retreats for ascetic monks and shelters for travellers over many centuries. In addition, the historic Stongday Gonpa in Zangskar has also been included among the protected monuments.

While this legislation represents a monumental victory for community advocates, art historians, and conservationists, the transition from administrative notification to ground-level execution demands meticulous care and precision. Primary among these considerations is the precise preservation of traditional nomenclature, as government documentation must prioritise exact historical terminology. Administrative mapping risks introducing spelling discrepancies or corrupting traditional names, such as listing ‘Stampuk Cave’ instead of the correct indigenous term, Tsham-phug (meditation cave). Place names are intangible heritage assets that store linguistic memory and community identity, making it imperative that official records are thoroughly cross-checked and reviewed by local scholars and historical archival records before signage and legal registries are finalised.

In places like Hunder, where rock carvings, historic caves, and structural remnants share the same immediate geographic zone, declaring individual monuments creates fragmented protection zones. Designating these historic clusters as unified heritage precincts would ensure holistic environmental and landscape-level protection, preventing modern construction, roads, or commercial development from encroaching on the delicate visual and spatial buffer zones that connect artifacts located in close proximity.

To translate these administrative policies into effective action, the Union Territory Administration must expedite the full operationalisation of the “Ladakh Heritage Preservation Authority”. A dedicated, expert governing body comprising local historians, heritage experts, structural engineers, concerned departments and community representatives is indispensable to oversee scientific conservation protocols, manage digital documentation, supervise site management plans, and evaluate future proposals for protection.

Ladakh’s built environment, petroglyphs, and sacred spaces are far more than inert stone structures; they are living testaments to the spiritual endurance, artistic mastery, and trade networks of Trans Himalayan ancestors. Securing statutory protection for these initial 23 sites provides the baseline framework necessary to halt degradation. Its ultimate success will depend on scientific conservation, active community stewardship, and sustainable management for generations to come.

Ultimately, statutory protection is only one half of the preservation equation; the true key to endurance lies with the community. These precious monuments are not merely administrative assets to be handed over entirely to the state; they are our living identity and shared inheritance. While legal frameworks provide the tools to secure government funding and hold vandals accountable, day-to-day stewardship remains a local responsibility. The people of Ladakh must continue to embrace these monuments as living heritage rather than inert museum pieces, sustaining the sacred rituals, traditional festivals, and community gatherings that have kept them spiritually alive for centuries.

By Dr Sonam Wangchok

Dr Sonam Wangchok is the Editor of Heritage Himalaya, Founderof Himalayan Cultural Heritage Foundation, and President of Ladakh Cultural Forum.

Top photograph: Petroglyph in Mangbore, Kargil. Photograph by Nissar Ragrog

Ladakh was once known for its spiritual depth and meaningful celebrations. It is now slowly drifting toward a culture of mindless partying. Where there was tradition, connection, and joy, we now have alcohol-driven and mindless events. This includes celebrations for birthdays, work promotions, college or school reunions, marriage ceremonies, or even heartbreak or failure. Alcohol has somehow become central to these gatherings. Thus, parties are now synonymous with alcohol. Since when did we start believing that alcohol equals joy or celebration?

The truth is, it doesn’t. We often hear people using universal justification, “We only have one life, and we should try everything at least once.”

That one glass of beer, that first sip taken out of curiosity or due to social pressure, is where it all begins. What seems like a harmless moment often becomes a habit. By the time you realise the harm it is causing, you’re already trapped. It is disheartening to see school and college-going students believing that drinking is a sign of maturity or a sign that they are part of a ‘fun’ group.

Many youth are pressured to drink alcohol to prove their loyalty to their friends and to avoid being labelled as a “boring girl or mama’s boy.” However, true friends do not force you to pick up a glass. If you are being accepted only if consume alcohol, then it is time for you to question your social circle.
Celebrations are meant to create memories and not a hangover. They are a chance to reconnect with friends, laugh, sing, dance, and share life. Sometimes, someone in the group might be silently struggling emotionally or financially. Your time and presence could make a difference. However, when alcohol takes over, you miss those moments. What could have been a beautiful memory turns into regrets the next morning as you do not remember what you had said, how you behaved, or why you drank. There is nothing to boast in the number of beer bottles you drank last night at a gathering. It is in-fact rather embarrassing.

To those who feel pressured.

Alcohol doesn’t just change your behaviour, it hijacks your consciousness and the scariest part is, you don’t even realise what you are missing. It might seem like a temporary escape, but the truth is, it’s a trap. You pay the price not just in money but also in terms of relationships, emotions, families and most importantly, the loss of your own consciousness. 

To all the people out there, especially for boys/men who are always taught “to be strong and never cry”. They often lean towards what seems to be an easier option in grabbing a bottle of alcohol rather than seeking help. There is no shame in feeling pain. There’s no weakness in crying. You’re also a human being. You don’t need to pretend to be okay all the time. You definitely do not need to hide your emotions behind a bottle of alcohol or a packet of cigarettes or other such harmful substances.

Don’t believe what you see, the truth behind surrogate advertisement. Sadly, highly influential personalities, including popular actors, often glorify the consumption of alcohol. Your favourite actor drinks on-screen after heartbreak, promotes tobacco in stylish suits, and wears a cool shirt promotes by making it look cool and even desirable on screen. In some movies, an entire song sequence is dedicated to a party and alcohol consumption. But they do not show the harsh reality behind the scene and the number of lives or families that have been shattered because of the very things they endorse or because of that one person in the family who is suffering from an addiction. Do you really think they consume what they promote? Of course not!
Some people claim that they drink occasionally and in limits. I ask them to respond honestly if it is really just occasional? Or has it become routine and even expected at social gatherings?

Do we really need more alcohol outlets in a spiritual land like Ladakh? Shockingly, our bureaucrats have decided to promote alcohol by increasing liquor retail outlets from two to 20 on Ladakh. They are also opening shops in regions such as Changthang, Nubra, Zangskar and Sham in Ladakh. Guest-houses and home-stays can now obtain licences to sell liquor. Earlier, this privilege was limited primarily to hotels. Even more alarming is that they are doing all this in the name of boosting tourism and addressing the issue of drug addiction in Ladakh.

The question is: Who is responsible for the increase in drug abuse and the death of youth from overdose? Alcohol often becomes the first step toward substance abuse for many people. How is it supposed to curb the drug problem? In my opinion, opening more alcohol outlets is not the solution. Instead, we should invest in better sports facilities, quality education, meaningful career opportunities, and accessible counselling and rehabilitation centres. Young people should be encouraged to build a better future rather than being offered alcohol as an alternative to drugs.

At the same time, stricter action and stronger punishment for drug dealers are essential to effectively tackle the drug problem and its roots cause on the ground.

Some people argue that promoting alcohol will help to boost tourism and generate revenue. However, Ladakh is renowned across the world for its spirituality, peaceful way of life, and unique cultural identity. It is this spiritual environment and simplicity that attracts visitors from around the world and not alcohol.

Alcohol sales may generate revenue to some extent but they can harm Ladakh’s true identity as a spiritual place. Tourists visit Ladakh because of its culture, traditions, and peaceful environment. These special qualities should be protected. Ladakh should continue to be known for its spirituality and simple way of life, and its culture should never be replaced by alcohol or drugs, no matter how much money they bring.

It’s time to change this destructive trend collectively before it’s too late. It only takes one person in a group to say, “I don’t drink.” That one voice can shift the tone of the entire gathering. Step by step, we can challenge the belief that alcohol is needed to enjoy life. And if even one person reading this chooses to say no, chooses clarity over confusion, it is a start.

You don’t have to be the loudest, funniest, or most exciting in the group. It’s ok to be the odd one out or work our way through various emotions. There’s nothing wrong with being the quiet one.

All you need to do is to listen to yourself. Your body and mind always tell you the truth when you feel dizzy from smoking, when your blood slows down from drinking alcohol, when your energy dulls under the weight of substances. You’re not just celebrating, you’re slowly breaking down.

So, the next time there is a celebration, try saying no to alcohol or any substances. Host a get-together without alcohol. Choose real laughter, real stories, real memories and choose to be present. Can you do that at least once in your lifetime? Remember, you can celebrate without addictive substances or alcohol. You can be happy without it. And you are strong enough to say,  “I don’t.”

By Padma Dolkar

Padma Dolkar has graduated from GGM Science College, Jammu. She has a keen interest in understanding how societies evolve and how social change shapes communities over time. 

It was a Sunday afternoon. I was studying when my mother asked me to wash my brother’s uniform. I refused, arguing that both of us were studying. She gave me a strange look, as though I had defied a natural order. This was not a personal battle. It is a window into the patriarchal mind-set that pervades every household in Ladakh. It is the story of countless women in Ladakh and across India.

According to National Family Health Survey 5, 83% of rural women engage in unpaid domestic work alongside farm tasks. In Ladakh, women dominate agricultural activities including planting seeds, weeding, and harvesting. And they carry a double burden when they return home. After a full day’s work in the field, they are expected to do every domestic task. Meanwhile, men who may spend their day working outside the home return to a life of relative comfort. Their food is served and their needs are met without question. This stark division means that women never get a reprieve and their labour is taken for granted.

These unequal divisions extend to the smallest tasks. Girls are expected to wash not only their own clothes but also that of their brothers, fathers and eventually, husbands. Sunday should be a day of rest and leisure, but girls often spend the day washing piles of clothes. Meanwhile, boys spend the same day playing or socialising with friends.

This raises an important question: Why is a girl’s Sunday considered a day of service while for a boy it is a day of leisure? Why is it ‘normal’ for a sister to wash her brother’s uniform and ‘abnormal’ for a brother to wash his own clothes? Why do we encourage boys to enjoy their free time while expecting girls to spend hours performing unpaid household labour?

The issue is not merely about washing clothes. It is about the values we teach children from an early age. Through these everyday practices girls learn that their time is less valuable than that of boys. They learn that caring for others is their responsibility regardless of their own studies, ambitions, and exhaustion. Boys meanwhile are taught that domestic work and household responsibilities are optional for them and that it should primarily be done by women.

Such practices may appear insignificant when viewed individually but collectively they create a culture in which inequality is normalised. Patriarchy is sustained through laws and institutions as well as everyday routines in our homes. The washing of a uniform, the serving of a meal, the expectation that a daughter must help while a son is free to play; these seemingly small acts shape our understanding of gender roles and reinforce unequal power relations.

Such practices may appear insignificant when viewed individually but collectively they create a culture in which inequality is normalised.

The consequences extend beyond the household. When girls are taught that their needs are secondary, they grow up carrying a disproportionate burden of unpaid labour and their leisure, aspiration and opportunities are often sacrificed in the name of duty. A society that normalises such inequalities cannot claim to be just, democratic or equitable.

If we wish to build an inclusive and equitable society, we must begin by questioning the practices that we have long accepted as normal. Equality will not be achieved only through laws, policies and schemes. We need to teach boys and girls that household responsibilities belong to everyone and not just to womenfolk. It is achieved when daughters are given the same freedom to rest, study, and aspire; that sons enjoy.

The next time a girl is asked to wash her brother’s uniform, instead of asking why she refuses, we should ask: Why is she expected to do it in the first place? Until, we confront that question honestly, patriarchy will continue to occupy every corner of our lives and quietly shape the future of generations to come.

Finally, I urge young girls and boys to discuss with their families why these patterns persist even if such conversations are uncomfortable. Questioning is the first step towards addressing discrimination and inequality. This problem is not unique to Ladakh and is evident around the country and the world.

By Zulikha Bano

Zulikha Bano is pursuing a Masters in Arts (Political Science) at University of Ladakh and has a keen interest in gender, politics and social issues.

There was a time in Ladakh when life expectancy was modest, but life itself was expansive. People did not live long, but their lives were hard. By the time a person reached their late 50s, they had logged more real-world mileage than any smartphone could store, eaten food that had never been stored in a packet, and hauled enough barley sacks on their backs to humble a tractor. Death, when it arrived, usually did so without much drama, after a full life of movement, weather, work, and lungs trained in the thin air.

Then something quietly shifted. People began living much longer.

Our grandparents, who treated stairs as optional and chairs as conveniences, started touching 80, sometimes even 90. They walked because there was no alternative; ate what grew nearby because nothing else existed; slept early, woke earlier, and regarded the idea of ‘exercise’ as faintly insulting. Work was exercise. Junk food was something like a slightly charred Booskuruk(a thick flat-bread). Even today, villages like Igoo are known as the unofficial headquarters of octogenarians, a place where being 80 is not a medical miracle; it is simply the standard age for a long walk and a game of Cholo (dice). Without naming it, they were living inside an ancient future long before the phrase arrived.

Today, the future appears to be shrinking again.

The next generation may struggle to reach 70 or 80. The present one, if honesty is still permitted, may find 60 to be a competitive target. This is not a prophecy. It is visible science. Diabetes has become conversational. Obesity has become sociable. Heart attacks now arrive early with the efficiency of modern services. I must confess that I am personally contributing at least three data points to these statistics. Possibly four, if you count my relationship with Mok-moks.

‘Diabetes has become conversational. Obesity has become sociable. Heart attacks now arrive early with the efficiency of modern services.’

We now sit for a living. We travel even a few hundred metres by vehicle. Movement has been replaced by mobility. Walking has been replaced by wheels. Food arrives soaked in sugar, uncertain in nutrient, and deeply reassuring in flavour. Even fruits and vegetables have ambitions now, raised on fertilisers and chemicals, impressive in appearance but less so in substance. Nutrition has been replaced by confidence.

Somewhere along the way, abundance became complicated. Having defeated scarcity, we decided to practise it voluntarily. This has taken the form of intermittent fasting, a wellness fad promoted by social media influencers, involving eating less, explaining more, and feeling slightly superior throughout the day. The emphasis is on when one eats rather than what one eats. This is convenient because it allows a pastry to remain a pastry, a Puli (homemade biscuits) to remain a Puli, instant noodles to remain instant noodles, and real juice to remain surreally unreal, as long as they arrive at the correct hour. The discipline holds firm until dinner invitations intervene. At that point, the practitioner is caught between principle and pudding, explaining somewhat awkwardly that they are not hungry, only committed, while their fork twitches like a rebellious mountain goat. In urban Ladakhi circles, this has become both badge and burden, performed for social proof and complicated by real-life desserts.

Meanwhile, thinking itself has been outsourced. Memory has been relegated to phones, attention split between endless notifications, and judgment gently nudged by algorithms. The brain, like the body, is being carefully preserved from use.

The cruellest irony is timing. Heart attacks, once reserved for respectable old age, now arrive comfortably in the 40s, efficient and punctual, without any regard for seniority. A society that survived altitude, isolation, and brutal winters now finds itself negotiating cholesterol, screens, and sofas.

If we are not careful, the future Ladakhi obituary may not mention wisdom or endurance. It may simply read: “Died peacefully at 52. Very active on social media.”

Progress gave us excellent wi-fi, but it is quietly weakening our signal. Our ancestors did not survive thin air and hard ground so that we could exit history seated, scrolling, and comfortably unfit. Perhaps one day we will remember that mountains do not care about hashtags and history does not pause for social media likes. Until then, time will keep moving, the wind will keep blowing, and we will remain on the couch, wondering if the view will ever come to us. The ancient future has not disappeared. It has merely stopped waiting. Ta Borang wa!

By Phuntsog Tsering

Phuntsog Tsering is an entrepreneur from Leh and manages Migsal Enterprises.

The most dangerous place to be is inside a moving vehicle that you forgot you were driving. For instance, the morning seems to know what you will do. The alarm rings. You don’t wake up. You are summoned. You reach for the phone without opening your eyes or thinking. You scroll for seven minutes, maybe 10. You wouldn’t know. Then, bathroom, commute, work, whatever food is quickest, more screen-time, and finally, sleep. And the next day, repeat this again. Nobody planned it this way or sat down and said, “This is the life I choose.” Yet, here it is playing out like a pre-recorded script on loop. You are living on auto-mode or what engineers call ‘self-drive’. The car moves but no one is steering it.

In school, you had a lunch box someone packed for you, a bag someone bought for you, and a seat someone assigned to you. Life had walls painted by somebody else’s hand. Then, it ended. College arrived with its own confusion. Now you have a degree to finish and a career to start akin to building and sailing a ship at the same time, in a storm, with people watching. You are no longer in school but nobody told you how to be an adult. You are caught in a gap where half your friends post job offers while the other half repost memes about existential dread. In this confusion, autopilot quietly clicks on.

You don’t choose the routine, it chooses you. You follow the schedule because everyone around you does. You chase a job because you are supposed to. You sign up for certification, internships, and networking as the next step in the process. One process follows another. The quiet pull of what everyone is doing.

This is a force more powerful than any other. It has no name but everyone knows it well. Call it peer gravity. The invisible pull of what everyone around you is doing. Your batchmate gets a good placement and your restlessness sharpens into panic. Your neighbour’s son gets a government job. Your parents mention it at dinner and before long, you are applying for jobs you had not thought about or wanted as it is terrifying to stand while everyone else is moving.

This is ancient human wiring. We are tribal creatures and look to others to know if we are safe and on the right path. The tragedy is that the group is looking at another group, which is looking at another, and the original compass has been lost. This is called social proof in psychology, where humans revert to the actions of the majority when faced with uncertainty. The problem is that the majority may also be uncertain, just moving faster.

Something occurs rather quietly after you have been on auto-mode long enough: Nothing new happens. New things, people, and ideas keep emerging but you stop noticing. You have trained yourself to see what is expected, hear the familiar, and reach for what is comfortable. A child sees a pigeon and loses their mind with wonder. An adult on autopilot sees it and thinks: Pigeon. No further processing required. Neurologists call this habituation. When a stimulus is repeated, the brain devotes less energy to it. It is efficient. It is also tragic. The brain applies this logic not just to pigeons but also to sunsets, conversations, people, and your life. You don’t even realise you have stopped feeling. You just call it maturity.

What nobody tells us about auto-mode: Values start slipping. Not dramatically but slowly, like coins falling through a hole in a pocket you didn’t know about. You are kind but increasingly conditional about it. You are honest but selectively. You believe in hard work but increasingly only when it is being watched. You care about the world, but rarely enough to inconvenience yourself for it. Society runs on values the way a city runs on electricity. Most people don’t think about it until it’s gone. Integrity, empathy, patience, and courage to act: These are not words on a school poster but the operating system of a life with meaning. But when you are on auto-mode, who has the time to check about the operating system? We generally wait until something breaks.

Nobody gets off auto-mode in a moment of revelation. That only happens in movies. Real life is quieter. It starts with a single, underrated act: Noticing. Say, you notice that you reached for the phone before you reached for yourself, agreed to something you didn’t want, or realise it’s been months since you did something that made you happy. Noticing is not a cure but it is the first time the autopilot hears a hand on the wheel.

The gap between “I want to live intentionally” and “I need to survive this semester” is vast, confusing, and occasionally delayed for no reason. Here is the honest, embarrassing truth about stepping off autopilot: You don’t know where you’re going next. The autopilot at least had an endpoint plugged in even if it was a bad destination. It was something. It had a route. It had an ETA. Your relatives could track it. The moment you switch it off, you are suddenly standing in a parking lot, keys in hand, staring at the open road, and realising you haven’t eaten, don’t know where you are heading, and your phone is at 11% battery. This is normal. Nobody tells you this part. The movies skip it entirely. You will probably have yours during a 45-minute power cut in your hostel room, sweating, and staring at the ceiling.

A 2022 study found that people who quit autopilot routines without a plan report feeling ‘temporarily more confused but eventually more alive.’ The keywords here are ‘temporarily’ and ‘eventually’. Nobody specifies how long it takes: It could be a week, a semester or the whole of your 20s.

This is a journey you have to take. Not because someone said you should but because you were feeling that quiet, uncomfortable itch. The sense that something is off and that you are performing a life rather than living one. You might not know what to do with that feeling. Most people don’t and they scroll past it, open a new tab and look up something unrelated like “How long do turtles live?” The answer is a surprisingly long time, which will make you feel better and worse simultaneously. You don’t need to know the destination to take the wheel. You need to stop pretending the car is driving itself. You need to see your own white-knuckled hands on the wheel.

Drive confused. Drive slowly. Drive in the wrong direction. It is better than sitting in the passenger seat and telling yourself that the car knows best. It does not. The car is a machine, you are not. You don’t need a five-year plan. You just need to be more awake tomorrow than you were today. That’s it. The bar is that low and somehow worthwhile. There is a version of you, which is not far away. Who wakes up one morning and notices something. Maybe the way the light hits the wall, a conversation that took an unexpected turn, or a task that makes you happy. In that moment, you will be driving. You won’t know how it happened. You won’t be able to explain. But you’ll know.

You are not broken or failing. You are like every human who has ever lived, running on habit, fear, and the momentum of other people’s choices. The truth is that the wheel is right there but you become comfortable in the passenger’s seat. Routines will build themselves around you. But inside, there is still a version of you that craves things that are interesting. Find that person again. Not for productivity, success, or happiness but to say, “I am behind the wheel.”

By Rigzin Wangchuk

Rigzin Wangchuk is pursuing an under-graduate course at Punjab University, Chandigarh.

Nowadays, getting online content is one of the easiest things. Just open any social media app and you will get endless videos, memes, and shorts as if they were waiting for you. Some of it is fun and harmless like things that help us relax or teach us something useful. But honestly, a lot of it is pure trash and meaningless. The worst part is that we keep dumping it straight into our brains without pausing to think. Slowly it starts shaping the way we think, talk, and act. These platforms aren’t giving you random content. They have got crazy smart algorithms and use AI that monitors what we like, what we watch, what makes us click, and then they keep showing more of the same content. It’s like they know exactly what will grab our attention and they keep feeding it to us. Before we know it, we are stuck in this loop where we can’t stop scrolling. It’s honestly scary how good they are at this (with help from AI).

Our mind is so innocent that it soaks up whatever we feed it. If we keep watching videos of people smoking and acting cool, we will eventually start thinking smoking is cool and start mimicking them. If we see people using bad language and being rude, guess what? We will start talking the same way. I have seen people who were normal, start behaving in an unusual way based on the content they consume. I’ll be honest that I too got influenced once after watching the Mirzapur series. The constant abusive language in it slowly started affecting me and before I knew it, I had started using those words in my daily conversations. Our brain does not just watch but also mimics. Similarly, there are prank videos of people tricking or hurting others for laughs. Some viewers start copying this behavior as they think it is funny but end up hurting others.

One of the biggest issues that have emerged is the habit of watching short videos. Some of these are good, creative and educational. However, most of them are nonsensical. The real problem is that our brains are getting used to processing only such short content and our minds are getting trained to remember this kind of information. Thus, when it comes to longer things like watching a full movie, reading an article, or even listening in class, we get bored fast. Slowly, this is making it harder to focus on important stuff. We can’t remember things properly, and most importantly we lose patience, and our thinking and problem-solving skills start getting weaker. This constant useless data we keep feeding our brains is messing up our mental health too. We start comparing our real, messy lives to the fake, perfect ones we see online, and that makes us feel depressed. Nobody shows their failures, so it feels like everyone else has their life sorted except us and that creates a lot of pressure. On top of that, it also ruins our sleep schedule. How many times have we stayed up till 2 or 3 AM just scrolling?? Then we wake up the next day completely tired and drained, wondering why we feel so low.

It also affects relationships. We sit in the same room with family or friends but stare at our phones instead of interacting with them. Real conversations feel boring compared to the constant excitement on social media content. And the worst part is that our self-worth is now tied to likes and comments by people we do not know. If we don’t get enough engagement, we feel bad about ourselves. This is scary if we think about it. And the biggest danger is that we are slowly losing patience. Everything has to be instant and short. However, real life doesn’t work like that. It takes time to build things. Success takes effort. Relationships need work. If we keep training our brains to want shortcuts, we are going to suffer when real life demands consistency and patience.

Social media does have some good stuff. It is important we are mindful about what we consume. These platforms are built to make money by keeping us addicted. It’s on us to take back control. Choose content that adds value, makes you smarter, or at least keeps you genuinely happy. Because in the long run, what you feed your brain is what you become. Rigzen Norbu

By Rigzen Norbu

Rigzen Norbu (Kargyam Chibra) is pursuing an M.Tech from Indian Institute of Technology, Delhi.

Degrees are everywhere, but curiosity, critical thinking, civic sense seem to be missing from our classrooms. Since childhood, we are all taught in one form or another—by families, by society, and by schools. But when we talk about ‘education’ most of us shrink the definition to classroom walls, textbooks, examinations, and degrees. By the time we finish school and college, a common realisation dawns on us that the education we received did not really prepare us for life. This leads us to a deeper and more urgent question: What does it mean to be educated?

By the time we finish school and college,
a common realisation dawns on us
that the education we received
did not really prepare us for life.

During my college time, I started noticing that many people, even ones from top-ranked institutions, seem to lack curiosity, initiative, questioning ability, empathy, civic sense, basic responsibility and become defensive when given positive criticism. If we regard people with high scores, polished resumes, and glowing taglines ‘truly educated’ it is in stark contrast with the realities of today’s society.

While there are ongoing discussions about reforming our educational curriculum, we are still far from implementing even existing ones in a meaningful way. A large part of the blame lies in the examination-centric system. Education today is reduced to the preparation for short-term examinations while forgetting the real essence and goal of education as a whole. Despite studying subjects like history, science, geography, and civics, most students don’t know how any of it connects to their own lives, surroundings, or society. For instance, we study philosophies, but don’t know how to behave ethically, we learn about democracy, but don’t understand our own civic duties, and we know that climate change is real, but struggle to act responsibly.

In 2021, a student from IIT Hyderabad—a top Indian engineering institute—was arrested for issuing a rape threat to cricketer Virat Kohli’s nine-month-old daughter. It begs the question, how can someone so ‘educated’ be capable of such inhumanity.

Similarly, the Kolkata Law College hostel rape case in June 2024 where a law student was allegedly gang-raped by fellow students in a private hostel is deeply reflective of the contradiction of upholders of justice committing horrifying crimes.

There are numerous cases of elected representatives who are responsible for the progress of the country but struggle to read a single-page of their oath or have a hard time accepting constructive criticism.

These incidents force us to ask if we are truly educated or just literate. If education is to have any real meaning, it must do more than prepare people for jobs or examinations. It must nurture the ability to understand the world better, engage with it meaningfully, and respond with maturity and care.

The onus is really on all of us to make learning real for ourselves and everyone around us, especially for the youth. Subjects shouldn’t just exist in books. Concepts and theories must be taught using real-world happenings ranging from local to global, historical and current events as well as possible future scenarios. This approach not only helps students but also keeps teachers engaged and socially aware allowing education to become a shared journey.

Curiosity should be nurtured, not suppressed. Let students ask why and how—not just what. Empathy, ethics, civic duty, and emotional awareness should be built into every subject—not left for ‘extra’ classes. Teachers need to be lifelong learners too equipped not just with content but with context, sensitivity, and vision. In this regard, education should unite us, not divide us. Let students grow together, not against each other. Institutions in the field of education must remain dynamic to align with ever evolving demands of time and place. To be truly educated is to engage with the world through curiosity, awareness, and compassion. It’s about connecting knowledge to purpose, and learning to live meaningfully and not just ‘successfully’. Until we stop treating education as a race and start treating it as a journey of growth, empathy, and awareness; our degrees will remain a piece of paper. We need an education system that doesn’t just produce professionals but also responsible, ethical, aware human beings. Only then can we truly say that we are educated.

By Jigmath Wangchan

Jigmath Wangchen completed her Bachelor of Arts with Economics Honours from Ambedkar University, Delhi.