Kashmir’s Youth Caught in Online Gambling Spiral

Srinagar, Aug 7: It begins with a tap. A flashing screen, a rising aircraft, a cashout button. In seconds, the game ends — either with a small win or a crushing loss. But for thousands across Kashmir, especially the young, this isn’t just a game anymore. It’s become an obsession — one that is quietly hollowing out families, draining life savings, and leaving behind broken homes.

What’s driving this alarming trend isn’t just addiction — it’s unemployment.

Kashmir’s job crisis has been worsening for years. With limited private sector growth and scarce government vacancies, thousands of educated young people remain idle, frustrated, and hopeless. In this economic vacuum, online gambling apps have found fertile ground, promising instant wealth with little effort, and delivering, more often than not, devastating losses.

“It is a harsh reality that our youth are getting addicted to these online gambling games,” says Javid Tenga, President. Kashmir Chamber of Commerce and Industry (KCCI). “This is a menace. After drugs, this is now the next epidemic — and no one seems to be taking it seriously.”

These apps don’t look threatening. Most appear harmless — some even marketed as casual games. Yet beneath the surface lies a trap. Games like the infamous “aircraft game” — where users bet on how long a virtual plane stays in the air — have become especially popular. The rules are simple, the outcome is always uncertain, and the probability of consistent wins is almost nonexistent.

Across the Valley, there are quiet murmurs — stories of young boys selling their bikes, students borrowing from classmates, shopkeepers losing track of accounts, and families forced to sell property to cover debts. What started as curiosity has turned into a financial and emotional freefall.

In one particularly grim case, a young man lost Rs 17 lakh to a betting app in just a few weeks, driving his family to sell their house. His story, like so many others, is whispered from one locality to the next — rarely spoken of publicly, but deeply etched in family trauma.

Mohammad Shafi, a shopkeeper in Nishat, still struggles to believe what happened in his own family. “My nephew was a normal, quiet boy. One day he was helping at the shop. The next, he was borrowing money from strangers — all for a game,” he says. “We didn’t even know he was gambling until he had lost Rs 4 lakh.”

That’s part of what makes this crisis so dangerous: it hides in plain sight. Unlike drug abuse or physical violence, online gambling is invisible. It happens behind locked screens. Victims rarely talk — until it’s too late.

In several cases, children have used their parents’ phones and bank apps to place bets, draining accounts before anyone even noticed. Others have spent emergency savings meant for education or health on late-night gambling sprees, hoping — praying — for one big win to fix everything.

Despite growing public concern, these gambling platforms remain widely available. They are openly advertised on social media, promoted by influencers who glamorise quick wins, and easily accessible to anyone with a smartphone. Most of them operate on servers located outside India, placing them beyond the scope of domestic regulation.

The government, so far, has remained largely silent. No advisory. No awareness campaign. No crackdown.

“It’s a digital epidemic,” said a local psychologist who treats young gambling addicts. “They aren’t just losing money. They’re losing trust, peace, and their sense of control.”

With silence from the administration, religious leaders are stepping in.

“This is a societal epidemic,” warned Mufti Zubair Ahmad. “Online betting destroys households, corrupts young minds, and erodes our values. Every responsible citizen and authority must act before it consumes more lives.”

Grand Mufti Nasir-ul-Islam has also spoken out, urging a total ban on such platforms and tighter regulation of their promotion. “We cannot let technology become a tool for moral and economic collapse,” he said recently in a sermon.

Mosques across the Valley are now using Friday sermons to raise awareness. Clerics are urging families to monitor children’s phones, talk openly about the dangers, and seek help early if they notice changes in behaviour.

Unlike metro cities, Kashmir lacks robust economic alternatives for its youth. The private sector remains stunted, entrepreneurship is often unsupported, and even well-educated graduates struggle to find meaningful employment.

Most private jobs that do exist offer poor pay, barely enough to meet basic expenses, let alone support a family. In such a bleak environment, the lure of gambling apps is not just temptation — it’s desperation.

According to economic experts, the absence of structured recreational spaces, social engagement, and employment programs is deepening this addiction crisis. “You have young men sitting idle for months, sometimes years,” said a university researcher studying digital addictions. “They want to contribute, to earn, to feel useful. These apps offer that illusion — and then crush it.”