When Humanity Was Held at Gunpoint: A National Reckoning After Pahalgam

There are some acts that cross every line of decency, every margin of belief, and every boundary of what we can still call human. The April 22^nd 2025 massacre in Pahalgam is not just a terrorist attack—it is a spiritual insult to humanity itself. It wasn’t an ambush on soldiers in uniform, nor a skirmish in a contested zone. It was a mass execution of civilians. Of tourists. Of dreamers. Of fathers who had saved for years to take their families to the hills. Of a Navy officer whose uniform was off, but whose service never ceased.

Let us not dilute the truth. What happened in Baisaran was a genocide, not an incident. A targeted ethnic and psychological cleansing done with military discipline and medieval hate. The men were forcibly separated from the women and children. Undressed. Mocked. Humiliated. Then gunned down, execution-style. The language of the attackers—Pashto—spoke more than just commands; it whispered of training across borders. The attackers wore helmet-mounted cameras—not to navigate—but to record and broadcast this horror. Their aim was not only to kill bodies but to send a chilling message to millions: “You are not safe. And we want you to remember that.”

The deliberate targeting of men, the forced recitation of religious verses, and the desecration of identity—all reveal a calculated psychological operation. These weren’t desperate men with lost causes. These were trained killers, manufactured in ideological factories, likely across the border, wearing military fatigues, armed with high-grade weapons, and operating with the precision of a covert battalion. This was not about Kashmir. This was about dismantling India's unity and morale—by violating its most innocent spaces.

The echoes of Pulwama in 2019 are deafening. There, a suicide bomber rammed a convoy of CRPF personnel, killing 40 soldiers. In both cases, Lashkar-e-Taiba-linked proxies were involved. In both, the mission was terror maximization. But Pahalgam took it a step further—it used tourism as the setting, families as the targets, and peace as the bait. The battlefield wasn’t a military highway; it was a meadow.

The difference? This time the world watched in higher definition—because the killers filmed it.

And how have we responded?

With resolve, yes. Prime Minister Modi flew back early from a diplomatic tour. The Home Minister was on the ground within hours. The counter-insurgency mechanism kicked in swiftly—air surveillance, door-to-door search ops, and total lockdowns. The Land Border with Pakistan was closed. The Indus Waters Treaty—a legacy of diplomacy—was suspended. These were not just reactions—they were rebukes. Strategic, visible, and necessary.

But we must go deeper.

How did this level of coordination slip through? How did attackers infiltrate a well-frequented tourist zone with such ease? What of intelligence? What of local support, or complicity? These are uncomfortable questions, but they are necessary. Because the blood of the innocent demands more than mourning—it demands introspection and accountability.

Security is not just about retaliation. It's about anticipation. Not about being angry after an attack, but being alert before it.

But we cannot leave it to the cracks.

What happened in Pahalgam should mark a national threshold—a point of no return. Not just in foreign policy, but in internal unity. Not just in politics, but in principle. It is time to stop negotiating with noise, stop appeasing ideologies that breed hate, and stop intellectualizing evil to the point of paralysis.

This was not a tragedy. This was a provocation. And how we respond—legally, diplomatically, emotionally—will define who we are as a nation.

And let us be clear about another thing—this was not done by Kashmiris. This was done to Kashmir. Let the next child who goes to Pahalgam return with stories of rivers and mountains, not memories of fear. Let no father have to choose between a family holiday and their life. Let no mother cover her child’s eyes while bullets fly in the air.

We owe it to those who never came back from that valley. And more so, to those who still walk through it, carrying hope in trembling hands.

Why Rahul Gandhi Must Stay in Politics—Whether He Likes It or Not!

On Sunday morning, over a cup of coffee, I found myself in a debate with a friend. The topic? The undying love for Congress—specifically, the insistence that Rahul Gandhi must stay in politics, not because of his leadership skills (still under development), but because… well, legacy.

Now, before anyone jumps to conclusions, let me make one thing absolutely clear—I have nothing against Rahul Gandhi. Seriously, why would I? He has never borrowed money from me and forgotten to return it. He hasn’t cut me off in traffic or taken my spot in a long queue. I have no personal grudges, no hidden agenda. If anything, I admire his resilience—losing elections with such consistency takes real dedication!

But what fascinates me is the unconditional loyalty some people have toward him—without ever questioning whether it’s the right thing for him, for Congress, or for the country. It’s as if his political presence is a non-negotiable rule, like traffic jams in Mumbai or power cuts during an IPL match.

Let’s be honest—Rahul Gandhi’s political career is like a daily soap opera. You never quite understand the plot, but you can’t look away. He resigns, then doesn’t really leave. He disappears, then makes a dramatic return. His speeches are unpredictable, his strategies are… unique, and somehow, despite all odds, there’s always someone insisting that this time, he will rise. It’s like waiting for a WiFi connection that keeps dropping—you keep hoping for a stable signal, but deep down, you know better.

And that’s what led me to this realization—why is it so important that he stays in politics? If he leaves, Congress might actually be forced to find a leader who wants to win. That sounds like a lot of work. Besides, Indian politics without Rahul Gandhi would be like Bollywood without nepotism—simply unnatural. He is the face of dynasty politics, a living testament to India’s favorite tradition: If your ancestors ruled, so will you. Passion is optional; surname is everything.

And let’s not forget—he’s an asset to the ruling party! His speeches alone are enough to keep their PR team relaxed. Why spend money on election campaigns when you can just replay his interviews? If Rahul quits, who will generously provide free publicity for the opposition?

Then there’s the entertainment factor. His political philosophy is a mix of deep, almost spiritual wisdom and… complete unpredictability. Who else would explain employment policies using Coca-Cola vendors? Who else could turn a simple question into an existential riddle? Without Rahul Gandhi, our Parliament debates would lose their unintentional comedic relief, meme pages would go bankrupt, and Twitter would suddenly feel too serious.

So, after my coffee debate, I had a revelation—Rahul Gandhi is not just a politician; he is an experience. He must stay in politics, not for Congress, not for governance, but for the sheer joy of keeping democracy interesting. Because in the end, it’s not about whether it’s right or wrong—it’s about tradition, nostalgia, and the pure entertainment of watching an unpredictable, unstoppable political saga unfold.

Chasing Glory: Why Sports Needs Passion, But Also a Plan

 

Pullela Gopichand nailed it. Sports is a discipline, a way of life, and a journey that shapes you. But thinking that sports alone will secure your future? That’s like hoping your favorite street food stall will get a Michelin star—it sounds romantic, but reality has other plans.

We all admire athletes, celebrate their wins, and even get emotional when the national anthem plays after a big victory. But what about those who never make it to the podium? The ones who train just as hard, push just as much, but don’t land the jackpot? Gopichand, having spent decades shaping India’s top shuttlers, has seen it all—the highs, the heartbreaks, and the brutal reality that most don’t talk about.

He puts it bluntly: sports should be a discipline, not a blind gamble. There are parents who throw everything—money, time, even their own peace of mind—into the hope that their child will be the next sports sensation. And why not? We live in a world where one IPL contract or a single Olympic medal can change everything. But here’s the catch: that’s the exception, not the rule. You have a better chance of finding a traffic-free road in India at 9 AM than making it big without a solid backup plan.

Even champions struggle. Lakshya Sen, one of India’s top badminton players, had to win multiple titles before he gained financial stability. If someone at his level has to fight for security, what hope does a district-level player have? Yet, many go in thinking, “Arre, koi sponsor mil jaayega” or “Job toh mil hi jaayegi na?” If only life were that kind. As Gopichand rightly points out, hoping that someone will invest crores in your career is a dream that works 1% of the time. The remaining 99%? They often end up asking, “Koi job hai?”—and trust me, no one is waiting with a cheque and a smile.

This isn’t to say that one shouldn’t pursue sports. Absolutely, go for it. But don’t go all in without a safety net. Sports teach discipline, resilience, and hard work—qualities that can help you succeed in life, whether or not you win medals. But thinking that sports owes you something just because you gave it your all? That’s as naïve as expecting Bollywood to cast you in a blockbuster just because you look good in sunglasses.

The real question is: what happens after the cheering stops? When the energy of the game fades, and the body refuses to keep up? The day sports leaves you, so does all the excitement. That’s when reality hits hardest. The truth is, medals don’t pay bills—discipline does. This is why Gopichand insists on education and skill-building alongside sports. Look at successful sporting nations—they create systems where athletes study, learn, and prepare for multiple career paths. In India, we are still catching up, but it’s time we made this shift.

The solution isn’t to scare kids away from sports; it’s to guide them wisely. Pursue sports with fire, train like a beast, and dream like a champion—but also have a plan. Because not everyone will become a legend, but everyone deserves a future.

Beyond the Illusion: When to Stop Clapping and Start Seeing the Truth

Just a few days ago, I started thinking about how projection and performance are often far apart, yet they strongly influence the perception of the decision-maker. It’s fascinating—and a little frustrating—how people who look successful often get ahead, even when their actual performance doesn’t match the image they create. In almost every field, from business to politics, perception shapes reality, often more than actual results do. It’s like picking a restaurant based on Instagram pictures, only to realize later that the food was microwaved, and the best thing on the menu was the filtered lighting.

This is why in offices, the person who talks the most in meetings is often the one who gets promoted, while the one actually doing the work remains stuck. It’s not that hard work isn’t valued—it’s just that decision-makers often rely on what they see rather than what’s actually happening. If someone walks around confidently, drops industry buzzwords, and presents a sleek PowerPoint filled with impressive (but meaningless) graphs, they are perceived as competent. Meanwhile, the quiet worker who consistently delivers but doesn’t market themselves remains unnoticed. It’s not fair, but it’s how the game is played.

This principle doesn’t just apply to individuals; it’s deeply embedded in the corporate world. Startups that have never made a dollar in profit often get billion-dollar valuations because they have convinced investors that one day they will. The logic is simple: if you can sell a vision well enough, people will buy into it—even before you prove it works. Companies with flashy branding and big promises often attract more funding than stable, well-performing businesses that don’t project themselves as aggressively. It’s the business equivalent of a person with expensive clothes and no savings being mistaken for wealthy while the frugal millionaire goes unnoticed.

Politics is another prime example of how projection dominates decision-making. Election campaigns are built on promises that sound amazing in theory but rarely hold up in reality. Politicians confidently declare, "We will create 10 million jobs!" or "We will fix the economy!" as if these things can be done with the push of a button. The strategy is simple: say something convincingly enough, and people will believe it. Once elected, the actual performance often fails to match the grand projections, but by then, the votes are already cast, and accountability is conveniently delayed until the next election cycle. (Much like those grand promises—vanishing faster than their seats in the Delhi election.)

The reason projection works so well is that humans love a good story. Decision-makers, whether CEOs, investors, or voters, don’t always have time to dig into the details. Performance absolutely matters, but showcasing it effectively is just as important. Excelling at what you do is valuable, but making sure others recognize your contributions opens the right doors. When talent is paired with confidence, opportunities follow. Those who communicate their impact well often stand out, proving that success isn’t just about working hard—it’s about ensuring your efforts are seen and appreciated.

This doesn’t mean performance doesn’t matter—it absolutely does. But relying on performance alone without projecting it in the right way often leads to missed opportunities. If you’re great at what you do but don’t ensure that people see your contributions, someone with half your skill but twice your confidence will outshine you. The loudest person in the room is often perceived as the smartest, whether or not they actually are.

The key takeaway is balance. If you’re an employee, work hard, but also ensure your efforts are visible. If you’re a decision-maker, don’t be fooled by smooth talkers—demand proof, not just promises. If you’re an entrepreneur, know that selling a vision is important, but it must be backed by real results. So not very much clear or in details but, projection and performance will always be in a silent battle. One dazzles, the other delivers. The real trick isn’t just admiring the magician’s show—it’s knowing when to stop clapping and start questioning how the trick was done. Because in the end, it’s not the illusion that matters, but what’s actually behind the curtain.