In the not-so-distant past, Indian summers held a soft and unspoken magic—a season unmarked by clocks, calendars, or curated goals. It was a time when children wandered through long afternoons with grass on their knees and sun in their eyes, when playing outside wasn’t a scheduled activity but a daily certainty. The world was vast and inviting, and even the smallest corner of a room could be transformed into a palace of imagination. Dragonflies hovered like punctuation in a slow-moving story, and cardboard boxes doubled as cars, boats, stages, and spaceships. These were not lazy days—they were essential days. Within that gentle rhythm of unstructured time, children quietly built the foundations of creativity, self-discovery, and resilience.
But somewhere along the road to modernity, summer was stolen. In the name of ambition and opportunity, we have replaced the art of doing nothing with the grind of doing everything. Today’s children march from coding camps to language classes, from yoga retreats to robotics labs—each experience branded as “essential” for success. Leisure has become another commodity, play another point on the résumé. The result is not enrichment but exhaustion. The quiet joy of simply existing has been smothered beneath a blanket of productivity anxiety, leaving little room for reflection, spontaneity, or unstructured exploration. This hyper-scheduling is not just a misstep—it is a cultural drift with long-term consequences. By filling every hour with adult-sanctioned purpose, we are stripping childhood of the very essence that nurtures innovation and emotional growth. Children need boredom. It is in that quiet, unremarkable space—the moment where there’s “nothing to ”do”—that they learn to listen to their inner world, to problem-solve, and to imagine. When we deny them that silence, we also deny them the chance to find their own voice. Ironically, as we in India race toward over-scheduling childhood, some Western societies are slowly waking up to its cost. A term like “summer kid ”rotting”—playful as it sounds—signals a serious shift. It encourages parents to allow their children to be still, to be bored, even to appear aimless. It’s a movement grounded in the realization that not all growth is visible, and not all value can be measured. That a child lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, is not wasting time—they are absorbing the world in a way no workshop ever could. And yet, we in India didn’t need a viral trend to know this. We once understood instinctively that the best learning is often unintentional, that play without a purpose is still worthwhile, and that childhood must be protected not shaped. Our elders knew the worth of wandering minds and daydreaming eyes. But that wisdom, hard-earned and gently passed down, is now at risk—crowded out by apps, certificates, and performance charts. The time has come to push back. We must remember that not every good thing requires a timetable. That not every valuable moment needs an outcome. Let children waste some time. Let them sprawl on sunlit balconies, argue over board games, watch ants in the soil, or simply be. Because in giving them that space, we’re not giving them less—we’re giving them more. More room to grow, more trust in their instincts, and more time to fall in love with life in their own way. The best summers—like the best childhoods—are not programmed. They are lived. And in letting them live it freely, we allow them to carry something essential into adulthood: the ability to breathe, to imagine, and to belong to themselves.
In short, it is important to urge the Jammu and Kashmir government to recognize the cultural and developmental value of unstructured play and creative downtime in a child’s life. As a region rich in natural beauty and traditional wisdom, J&K has the unique opportunity to promote nature-based learning, community-led summer activities, and open play spaces instead of overly commercialized programs. The government should consider launching initiatives that encourage schools and parents to adopt a balanced, child-centric approach to summer engagement—one that preserves the joy of doing nothing and respects the silent work of imagination. Let Jammu and Kashmir lead by example in protecting the essence of childhood.