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.