By: Shahid Fayaz
“When the roots of a society begin to rot, the fruits it bears become poisonous. And when a daughter of the soil dares to cleanse those roots with truth, courage, and conviction, a revolution is born—one word at a time.”
Mehvish Rafiqa Firdous, in her fearless literary debut Blame Game, has penned not just a book but a thunderous cry from the womb of a wounded land. It is a document soaked in lived pain, guided by intellectual clarity, and driven by a burning desire for reform. It exposes, interrogates, and, most importantly, humanizes one of the most pressing crises in Kashmir today—substance abuse—with an intensity that both haunts and heals.
Blame Game – A Stark Reality of Substance Abuse in Sopore
Author: Mehvish Rafiqa Firdous
Publisher: Free Minds Club (2024)
ISBN: 978-81-974277-2-5
Set in Sopore, a town historically synonymous with resistance and resilience, Mehvish’s research isn’t limited to academic inquiry. It is an emotional excavation, a deeply personal voyage into the dark alleys of a society where youth are perishing, not just because of drugs, but because of apathy, ignorance, and fear. She lifts the veil on a community gasping for intervention while silenced by stigma and systemic failures.
What distinguishes Blame Game from ordinary sociological work is its intersection of empathy and evidence. A postgraduate student of sociology at IGNOU, Mehvish could have easily compiled surveys and submitted a report. Instead, she went to battle. She walked the streets. She knocked on doors. She faced rejection, skepticism, threats—even the suffocating disdain that a girl dares to question the decay of her society. But through it all, she remained undeterred. Her mission was not data collection—it was truth revelation.
In a society eager to find scapegoats—whether they be addicts, dealers, or even women who speak too loudly—Mehvish chooses nuance. She reframes addicts not as criminals but as victims of a decaying social framework, caught in the web of broken homes, joblessness, lost spirituality, cultural erosion, and emotional abandonment. She asks the forbidden question: Why would anyone knowingly destroy themselves unless they felt already destroyed inside? Her answer is uncomfortable—but necessary: the real drug is not heroin or charas—it is hopelessness.
From the very first pages, the language of the book strikes like lightning. It is lyrical yet logical, bold yet balanced, poetic yet piercing. When she dedicates her work to both victims and dealers, stating she feels compassion rather than contempt, you know this is not an ordinary voice. This is a writer with a rare moral spine—one who refuses to bow to social expectations or intellectual conformity.
Her narration is immersive and unfiltered. She shares the tears of mothers, the silence of community leaders, the helplessness of reformers, and the devastating reality of young boys turning into corpses with syringes still in their veins. She interviews Mohalla Presidents, distilling their hesitant truths and masked fears into a powerful expose. Each chapter becomes a window into a society breaking from within while pretending everything is fine on the surface.
One of the book’s most powerful episodes recounts her interaction with Ghulam Mohammad Shah, a man who personifies the dying conscience of Sopore. Despite his tireless fight against drug peddlers, the system betrays him. Bribes flow, cases collapse, and his own life is endangered. This single narrative reveals the rot at every level—from law enforcement to community inertia. Yet, through his character, we also glimpse the unbreakable spirit that still survives beneath the debris.
But Mehvish doesn’t stop at diagnosis. Her analytical acumen shines through as she explores structural causes, backed by charts, statistics, and psychological insights. She critiques the collapse of parenting, the failure of religious institutions, the ineffectiveness of local leadership, and the dangerous glamorization of Western excesses. She shows how modern aspirations, coupled with spiritual emptiness and economic despair, have birthed a generation that is numb, lost, and aching for meaning.
Moreover, Blame Game brilliantly confronts the politicization of pain. She dismantles conspiracy theories that reduce drug abuse to “a Centre-led plot” and instead emphasizes personal and collective responsibility. Her critique of Kashmir’s victimhood narrative is daring and overdue. As she writes, “We are not merely victims. We are enablers. Until we rise, the rot will deepen.” In a region where victimhood is often worn as a badge of honor, her words are nothing short of revolutionary.
What elevates this book further is Mehvish herself—a voice the world didn’t expect, but one it desperately needs. A young Kashmiri woman, speaking truth to power, without fear or apology. In a place where patriarchy still dictates how and what women can speak, her presence is a rebellion. Her courage is contagious. Her writing is transformative.
Technically, the book is well-structured. The data is clearly presented, and her field research has depth, integrity, and authenticity. The prose is rich and evocative, drawing readers into a narrative that flows seamlessly between personal anecdote, social commentary, and academic insight. Even her moments of exhaustion, despair, and fear are rendered with poetic intensity—reminding us that research, when rooted in real life, becomes a spiritual act.
Narrative Bravery;
Mehvish does not flinch from asking uncomfortable questions.
Emotional Intelligence;
She listens not just to words but to silences.
Intellectual Depth;
Her sociological analysis is rooted in real-world complexity, not textbook idealism.
Stylistic Mastery;
Her writing dances between rage and reason, making every paragraph a revelation.
Call to Action;
The book ends not with despair but with a powerful message of hope and responsibility.
“Final Verdict: 10/10 – A Modern Masterpiece”
If Kashmir has long awaited a voice that bridges scholarship with soul, Blame Game is that voice. It is more than a book—it is a mirror, a sword, and a prayer. It calls not only for policy change but for a moral resurrection of society.
In a time where the youth of Kashmir are caught between disillusionment and destruction, Mehvish Rafiqa Firdous emerges as a lighthouse—guiding, warning, illuminating.
This book must not gather dust on bookshelves. It must be discussed in classrooms, debated in parliaments, embraced in homes, and above all, acted upon in the streets of Sopore and beyond.
Let it be said: This daughter of Sopore did not write a book—she ignited a revolution.
Columnist is Bestselling Author of Rooms Without Homeland & Manifesto of Conscious Governance. He can be reached at: [email protected]
