IT is a question I find myself asking more often; where have all the words gone.
In my clinical practice over the past few years, I have noticed a disturbing trend.
Children sometimes as young as one year old are not speaking.
They do not respond to their names, they avoid eye contact, they scream when things do not go their way and some seem to live in their own bubble, detached from the world around them.
Concerned parents bring them in, worried that something is seriously wrong.
Honestly, they’re not wrong but the culprit often isn’t a neurological disorder or a genetic condition.
It’s something much more modern, more common and sadly, more preventable.
Screens.
That innocent-looking mobile phone or tablet often handed over with the best intentions has quietly taken over the role of babysitter, playmate and sometimes-even parent and we’re paying the price for it.
What we’re seeing is not classic autism, but what researchers and clinicians have started calling virtual autism a developmental delay caused by too much screen exposure and too little human interaction.
As a physician, I try to stay calm and explain the situation gently, however, a part of me is honestly frustrated, because these are not isolated cases anymore.
This is taking the shape of an epidemic.
We have normalized giving phones to infants.
We have turned “Cocomelon” into a coping mechanism.
Somehow, we have convinced ourselves that a few educational apps can replace talking, reading and playing with a real human being.
I realize that parenting is hard.
It is thankless, sleepless, unpaid work.
It is also terrifying because each child is different, each experience is uncharted and there’s no manual handed out in the delivery room.
When you are exhausted, overwhelmed and trying to stay afloat in a fast-paced world obsessed with productivity and performance, it is tempting to give your child a screen just to get a few quiet minutes.
Those quiet minutes add up and before you know it; your toddler is spending more time with a glowing rectangle than with its own family.
That comes at a cost language delays, emotional outbursts and social withdrawal.
Then there is the other layer of guilt.
Parents, when they finally realize what’s happening, are devastated.
They blame themselves, they panic and they ask if it’s too late.
It breaks my heart every single time.
Because this is not just their fault.
It’s ours.
It’s society’s.
We have built a culture that praises economic hustle but leaves no space for family time.
We glorify multitasking and screen-based entertainment, but barely talk about play, storytelling or simply sitting together.
To make matters worse, even if a parent wants to seek help, our system does not offer much.
Access to child and adolescent mental health services in Pakistan is let us be honest; almost non-existent.
Try finding a child psychiatrist in your city.
Now try getting an appointment in under three months.
It is a cruel joke and the joke’s on our children.
We urgently need school-based mental health programs, trained professionals and mass awareness campaigns, but until then, we have to do what we can, where we are.
If you are a parent reading this, consider this your gentle nudge to take a good look at your child’s daily screen time.
If your baby is not saying “mama” by 18 months but can unlock your phone and skip ads on YouTube, it’s time to unplug.
Read to them.
Talk to them.
Play peekaboo, sing silly songs, have messy snack times.
These are not just cute moments they are how brains grow.
It isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about being present.
Children don’t need polished parents they need responsive ones and while we may not have all the answers, one thing is clear: no screen can replace your voice, your hug, your smile.
Not now, not ever.
—The writer is Associate Professor, Health Services Academy, Islamabad. (drahmedabdullah83@gmail.com)
