SUNDAY BYTES: Making Our Lives Hostage to Priorities And Preferences of Others

“Lukh Kya Wanaan, Rishtedaar Kya Wanaan, Hamsaai Kya Wanaan”. (What will people say, what will the relatives think, what will neighbours conclude?)

Dr. Fiaz Maqbool Fazili

When we succumb to a culture of opinions – and the mental trauma it breeds, every choice is filtered through one question: “What will people think if I do this… or if I don’t?”

We measure our steps by their opinions, not our needs. We silence our desires to protect their comfort. We bend our principles to fit their expectations. And in this constant performance, we lose the most precious thing—our own life, our own truth. When we allow the fear of judgment to control our decisions, we surrender our freedom, our peace, and our authenticity. Society becomes the master, and we become its obedient prisoners.

There is a quiet tyranny alive in our society, one that rarely makes headlines yet governs our most personal choices. It comes wrapped not in laws or official orders, but in whispers, side remarks, raised eyebrows, and the suffocating phrase we have heard since childhood: “Lukh kya wanaan, rishtedaar kya wanaan, hamsaai kya wanaan,etc ?” What will people say, what will the relatives think, what will neighbours conclude? This constant fear of collective judgement—this surrender to imagined social tribunals—has become one of the most corrosive cultural habits in Kashmir. It shapes decisions, crushes individuality, distorts priorities, affects marital decisions ,choosing spouses and silently sows the seeds of anxiety, depression, and emotional burnout.

The tragedy is that those whose opinions we fear so intensely rarely have any meaningful stake in our well-being. The same neighbours whose imagined criticism keeps us awake at night never knock on the door when we are in distress. The same relatives whose reactions we desperately anticipate are often absent during moments of vulnerability. And the same “friends” whose approval we chase are the first to disappear when life becomes complicated. Yet, despite this evident emptiness, we sacrifice our principles, our comfort, our rational decisions, and even our peace of mind merely to escape their judgement.

In Kashmiri society, this psychological burden is woven into our upbringing. From childhood, a child learns to measure every behaviour not by whether it is right or wrong, but by whether “people will like it.” A teenager is told to choose subjects, friends, hobbies, even clothing based on “what people will say.” Adults are pressurised into marriages (lavish expenditure), jobs, social rituals, or lifestyle choices not because they suit them, but because they conform to the expectations of the extended clan. Over time, this conditioning produces a people who live externally controlled lives—always scanning the horizon for reactions, never listening to their own inner voice.

This collective obsession comes at a heavy mental cost. The fear of judgement is not simply a cultural quirk; it is a chronic stressor. It invites constant comparison, self-doubt, and emotional exhaustion. When someone suffers a personal setback—a broken marriage, financial struggle, unfulfilled ambition, or health challenge—the first anxiety they experience is often not about the problem itself but about the social chatter it will generate. “What will people think if I seek therapy?” What will relatives say if I do only two days of marriage function ,” What will relatives say if I send only two baskets of sweets without “KOKER or ,Roghan josh majama(chicken or mutton tray)” “What will relatives say if I postpone marriage?” “What will neighbours say if my child chooses an unconventional career?” This invisible pressure traps people in silence, delays healing, and pushes them toward unhealthy emotional coping.

Ironically, the same people we fear are usually preoccupied with their own problems and insecurities. But we have magnified their opinions into a monster that lives permanently in our minds. Social expectations have become so internalised that even when nobody is actually judging us, we judge ourselves on their behalf. This is not cultural pride; this is cultural imprisonment.

The impact is particularly harsh on women, who bear a disproportionate share of reputation-driven restrictions. They are told to live carefully, speak softly, avoid choices that may “damage the family name,” and accept burdens to maintain “izzat.” Whether in education, marriage decisions, mobility, or expression, the shadow of “lukh kya wanaan” follows them relentlessly. Many suffer quietly, unable to seek help for domestic abuse, marital stress, or psychological trauma because society has taught them that silence is honour and visibility is shame. This is not dignity—it is emotional suffocation wrapped in the cloth of tradition.

Men, too, suffer in ways we rarely discuss. They are expected to be achievers, stable earners, flawless providers, and symbols of family pride. Any deviation—a job loss, academic failure, business collapse, or emotional vulnerability—invites gossip. Instead of receiving empathy, they receive mockery disguised as concern. As a result, many men refuse to talk about their mental health, fearing ridicule. The cultural script forces them to appear strong even when they are breaking internally. Behind the façade of masculinity lies a generation battling silent anxiety.

The worst part is that this pressure has created relationships driven not by affection but by performance. We perform roles for society, for extended families, and for acquaintances who barely matter. Weddings become exhibitions of status, not celebrations of love. Funerals become arenas of competition in ritual showmanship. Even acts of charity are increasingly performed to be seen, not to help. The desire to impress outweighs the desire to be genuine. And the more we perform, the further we drift from our true selves.

Why does a person go into debt, sell valuables, or cross societal boundaries—lavish decorations, extravagant feasts, musical shows in weddings, or even “modest” people stretching themselves beyond their means?
Whom are we trying to satisfy?

Often, not ourselves.

Most people do it to satisfy a silent, invisible, and cruel audience: “log kya kahenge.”
This fear of judgment is so deeply ingrained that it overrules logic, financial stability, personal values, and even peace of mind.

A person will:
• Borrow money he cannot repay
• Sell jewellery or land
• Host feasts he cannot afford
• Impress relatives who don’t care
• Compete in a race no one wins

All just to avoid a comment, a raised eyebrow, a whispered remark.

It is not society that pressures us. It is our own ego tied to society’s imagined expectations.

We decorate our events not to celebrate joy, but to silence imaginary critics. We overdo everything not for our happiness, but to avoid becoming a topic of gossip.

In the end, we suffer financially, emotionally, and mentally—while the “people” we tried to please forget us within minutes.

Real freedom begins when we say:
“I will live within my means, with dignity, without fear of what others think.”

We need a cultural detox—a collective awakening from this inherited psychological slavery. Real liberation begins the moment we stop outsourcing our happiness to the thoughts of others. The first step is recognising that a society built on fear cannot be healthy. A society obsessed with perceptions cannot progress. A society that prioritises reputation over emotional well-being will produce wounded generations.

The solution does not lie in rebellion for the sake of rebellion. It lies in reclaiming our agency. It lies in choosing authenticity over approval. It lies in teaching our children that their worth is not determined by others’ opinions. It lies in reminding ourselves that most of the people we fear do not truly care about our happiness, our struggles, or our dreams. The relatives who gossip will gossip regardless of what you do. The neighbours who judge will judge even if you live perfectly. Their judgement is not a mirror of your character—it is a reflection of their own insecurities.

Every person deserves the freedom to make decisions based on reason, not fear; based on personal values, not societal pressure. Whether it is choosing a career, entering or ending a relationship, seeking therapy, prioritising mental health, or setting boundaries with toxic relatives—our decisions must be guided by what is healthy, not what is acceptable to an imaginary audience.

We must create a society where it is normal to ask someone, “How are you? Are you okay? How can I help?” instead of “What will people say?” Empathy should replace gossip. Support should replace scrutiny. Understanding should replace judgement.

The truth is simple and painful: relatives, neighbours, and so-called well-wishers often have very little real concern for us. Yet we allow them to dictate our lives. This cultural pattern must end. Our mental health, our happiness, our dignity, and our emotional freedom are far too precious to be surrendered at the altar of social approval.

The day we stop living for “what people will say” is the day we begin to truly live. Only then will our society move from fear to freedom, from judgement to compassion, and from collective insecurity to individual strength.

Breaking this cycle is not easy, but it is necessary—for ourselves, our children, and the emotional future of Kashmir.

(STRAIGHT TALK COMMUNICATIONS EXCLUSIVE. Author is a doctor at Mubarak Hospital, and a columnist who actively contributes to positive perception management, public debates and reforms on moral, social, and religious issues can be reached at drfiazfazili@gmail.com)