Let Gen-Z lead

Show them their roots

It is searching for its own path back to them. Its method differs, its language differs, and its curiosity differs. It will not accept something merely because ‘it has always been done this way.’ It will ask why?

Sunil Bansal

In a recent meeting, conversation turned to the younger generation. Experiences spilled out, worries surfaced, and complaints followed one after another. Some blamed mobile phones. Others pointed to social media. Still others spoke of changing values and eroding traditions. Amid the discussion, one gentleman smiled and remarked lightly, “Ah, these Gen Z people…”The words were casual, perhaps meant in jest. Still,  the phrase lingered.

“These Gen Z people.” The small word “these” unsettled something deeper. When did this distance arise between us and our children? The same children whose first steps we guided, whose earliest smiles lit up our homes, in whose dreams we invested our own futures—those we repeatedly called the nation’s hope, energy, and possibility—how did they suddenly become “these people”?

When the Prime Minister addresses the youth as “My young friends,” the phrase carries more than politeness. It reflects a perspective that places young people beside us rather than opposite us—as partners in dialogue, not mere recipients of lectures. Perhaps our greatest confusion about Gen Z is not Gen Z itself. It is the lens through which we choose to view them. Every new generation questions its times. Youth’s nature is inquiry. When Bhagat Singh made freedom the highest purpose of his life, he was simply a young man of his era. The era differed, the struggle differed, and the means were limited, yet the inner fire remained the same: a refusal to accept the world exactly as it was.

Every generation arrives with its own set of questions. It asks why. It wants to know why things must remain this way. And sometimes it declares, courageously, that change is necessary. Those questions often make the older generation uncomfortable. Yesterday our questions disturbed our elders. Today our children’s questions disturb us. Tomorrow those same children will likely level similar complaints at the generation that follows. We call this the generation gap. The difference between generations is nature’s design. The emotional distance, however, is something we construct. Opinions may diverge. Language may shift.

The pace of life may accelerate. Yet as long as dialogue continues, the space between generations becomes a bridge rather than a gulf.Our most common complaint is that the young remain glued to their phones. The concern is not entirely baseless. Still, part of the question turns back toward us.

Do our children see us with books in hand? Do they witness us engaged in relaxed conversation within the family? At the dinner table, is our own phone kept at a distance? Have we taken them along village paths, walked the boundaries of fields, introduced them to the scent of earth, shared family stories preserved in grandparents’ memories, or tried to plant the sweetness of our mother tongue in their hearts?If a child’s world is shrinking into a screen, we must ask ourselves how beautifully we have shown them the world beyond it. Values are not merely preached; they are lived.

Children learn less from our words than from our conduct. Complaining about the young is easy. Standing before them as an example is harder.There was a time when news of distant events reached us only with the next day’s newspaper.

Waiting was part of life. Today the world fits into a palm. A lone penguin walking Antarctic ice appears on a child’s screen within moments. So does a lecture from a foreign university, the Ganga aarti in Kashi, a satsang in Vrindavan, or the flight of Chandrayaan. For our generation the world was a map. For this one it is a touch. Hence their curiosities are greater, their options wider, their opportunities larger—and their confusions more numerous.

As the world has grown smaller, the responsibility of parents, teachers, and society has grown larger. In this ocean of information we must become a shore for them—a shore named trust.A frequent charge is that today’s youth have drifted from religion, spirituality, tradition, and values.

Yet look at the other side of the picture. How do we account for the millions of young people who listen to Premanand Ji Maharaj? Whose is the youthful crowd that gathers every Tuesday at the Hanuman temple in Delhi’s Connaught Place? What does the rising presence of young people at pilgrimage sites and spiritual gatherings tell us? This generation is not cutting itself from its roots.

It is searching for its own path back to them. Its method differs, its language differs, its curiosity differs. It will not accept something merely because “it has always been done this way.” It will ask why. We need not fear that question. We must explain the philosophy behind tradition, the essence behind faith, and demonstrate culture through action. Connection to roots is built through warmth, not commands. To reduce Gen Z to a few seconds of reels does injustice to its larger personality. This is the same generation that stands at the borders. These young people wear uniforms and prepare to offer their highest for the nation.

This generation is astonishing the world on the chessboard; players such as D. Gukesh are writing a new introduction to Indian talent. 

These young people are building startups, conducting experiments in laboratories, raising the tricolour on sports fields, and opening new paths in technology, science, and entrepreneurship. They create reels and they also set records. The same fingers that swipe screens move chess pieces that make history, craft new technology on keyboards, and hold the national flag. Expression has changed. Aspiration has not.One of this generation’s fine qualities is empathy. It seeks to recognise not only its own pain but also the pain of others.

Whether the concern is the environment, the rights of animals and birds, mental health, equal opportunity, or standing with the vulnerable, today’s youth speak more readily on these subjects. Some of their conclusions may strike us as immature; we may disagree with certain ideas. Disagreement is natural. Empathy itself cannot be dismissed. Given the right direction, that empathy becomes compassion. Compassion becomes duty. And duty becomes the power to transform society. Behind every glowing screen is a mind. Today’s youth possess a sky of opportunities, yet the expanse of pressures is no smaller. Comparison is constant.

Competition waits at every turn. On every screen someone else’s achievement shines. On social media everyone appears successful, so even a small personal setback can feel mountainous. Today’s young person needs not only discipline but also reassurance. There is no need always to begin with “In our time…” Sometimes it is more useful simply to sit beside them and say, “Tell me… I am listening.”

That short sentence can become an entire sky for a mind that feels alone. We have much to offer Gen Z—our experience, our memories, our culture, our traditions, and the wisdom earned through struggle. Yet this generation also has much to give us: a fresh perspective, new speed, new technology, new questions, and a different window onto the world. We can give them patience; they can give us momentum.

We can show them the way to the roots; they can show us the path to new skies. We can offer the light of experience; they can show us a new sun of possibility. The relationship must be one of dialogue, not lectures; of partnership, not superiority; of trust, not confrontation. That is the finest bridge between generations. So the next time someone smiles in a meeting and says, “Ah, these Gen Z people…,” we might smile back and reply: Yes, they are Gen Z. But they are not “these people.” They are our own children. They are our friends. They are our hope. They are our present. And they are the architects of our tomorrow.

Not everything they say will be right—just as not everything we said was right. They will make mistakes, as we did. They will fall, get hurt, learn, rise again, and perhaps go farther than we did. We do not need to chart their entire path. We need only ensure that when they look back while searching for their way, they see someone of their own—someone whose eyes hold more trust than complaint. Gen Z is not another world. It is the next chapter of our own story. We received our share of India, lived it, and improved it a little.

Now the next journey of India will advance on these shoulders. What tomorrow’s India becomes will be written from the dreams in these eyes, coloured by these imaginations, and paced by these footsteps. Rather than place them in the dock, stand with them. Complain less. Converse more. Listen to them. Understand them. And above all, trust them. The future is not moulded into our own shape. The future’s hand is held. We walk with it. And remember: the next story of India is to be written by none other than these hands.

When the Prime Minister addresses the youth as “My young friends,” the phrase carries more than politeness. It reflects a perspective that places young people beside us rather than opposite us—as partners in dialogue, not mere recipients of lectures.

Whether the concern is the environment, the rights of animals and birds, mental health, equal opportunity, or standing with the vulnerable, today’s youth speak more readily on these subjects. Some of their conclusions may strike us as immature; we may disagree with certain ideas. Disagreement is natural. Empathy itself cannot be dismissed. Given the right direction, that empathy becomes compassion. Compassion becomes duty. And duty becomes the power to transform society.