Latest news with #IndianAdministeredKashmir
South China Morning Post
21-05-2025
- Politics
- South China Morning Post
India government accused of ‘mischievous intent' in Tharoor pick for Kashmir mission
The Indian government's move to appoint opposition leader Shashi Tharoor to head a diplomatic mission explaining New Delhi's position on the Kashmir conflict has sparked backlash within his own Congress Party, laying bare internal fractures and fuelling claims the ruling party is exploiting this division. While the multiparty delegation was billed as a show of national unity following last month's deadly militant attack in Indian-administered Kashmir, Congress leaders have accused Prime Minister Narendra Modi 's government of bypassing the party's recommended nominees and politicising the process by unilaterally including Tharoor. Party spokesman Jairam Ramesh said the government had acted with 'mischievous intentions', noting that only one of the four names suggested by Congress – Anand Sharma – had been accepted. Tharoor, he stressed, was not on the list. 'The Congress Party believes that national interest is paramount … Let the MPs go. We will not stop them. We will not boycott this delegation. We do not politicise it,' he said. Tharoor's acceptance of the role has deepened the rift, with some party leaders accusing him of undermining internal discipline. He responded by insisting that cross-border terrorism was a bipartisan concern tied to national security, not party allegiance. A former UN undersecretary general and parliamentarian known for his eloquence and foreign policy credentials, Tharoor lost the 2022 race to be the Congress Party president to Mallikarjun Kharge – a veteran politician backed by the Nehru-Gandhi family, which continues to wield an outsize influence in party affairs. Congress Party spokesman Jairam Ramesh says the government is acting with 'mischievous intentions' by picking Shashi Tharoor. /The India Today Group Analysts say the controversy underscores a recurring issue for Congress – the marginalisation of independent or reform-minded leaders – even as the party struggles to mount a credible challenge to Modi's Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which has held power since 2014.
Al Jazeera
21-05-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
‘Heart bleeds': Kashmiris grieve children killed on India-Pakistan frontier
Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir – Javaid Iqbal opens a photo on his mobile phone. It shows a little girl sporting a pink woollen beanie, a grey trinket slung loosely around her neck – her face beaming in a wide smile. Five-year-old Maryam, his daughter, who happily posed for the photo only last month. Today, she is no more. Maryam was killed on the morning of May 7 when an explosive landed on their home in Sukha Katha, a cluster of some 200 homes in Poonch district of Indian-administered Kashmir, some 20km (12 miles) from the Line of Control (LoC), India's de facto border with Pakistan in the disputed Himalayan region. 'Oh, Maryam,' Iqbal, 36, cries out, clutching the phone to his chest. 'This is a loss I cannot live with.' Maryam was among at least 21 civilians – 15 of them in Poonch – killed in cross-border shelling in Indian-administered Kashmir in early May as the South Asian nuclear powers and historical enemies engaged in their most intense military confrontation in decades. For four days, they exchanged missiles and drones, and stood on the precipice of their fifth war before they announced a ceasefire on May 10. That truce has since held, even though tensions remain high and both nations have launched diplomatic outreach initiatives to try and convince the rest of the world about their narrative in a conflict that dates back to 1947, when the British left the subcontinent, cleaving it into India and Pakistan. But for families of those who lost relatives in the cross-border firing, the tenuous peace along the LoC at the moment means little. 'My heart bleeds when I think of how you [Maryam] died in my arms,' wails Iqbal. For decades, residents along the LoC have found themselves caught in the line of fire between India and Pakistan, who have fought three of their four previous wars over Kashmir. Both control parts of the region, with two tiny slivers also administered by China. But India claims all of Kashmir, while Pakistan also claims all of the region except the parts governed by China, its ally. In 2003, India and Pakistan agreed to a ceasefire along the LoC that – despite frequent border skirmishes and killings of civilians on both sides – broadly held, and was renewed in 2021. But on April 22, gunmen killed 25 tourists and a Kashmiri pony rider in Pahalgam, a scenic resort in Indian-administered Kashmir, starting the latest chapter in the India-Pakistan conflict over the region. New Delhi accused Pakistan of backing the gunmen, a charge that Islamabad denied. Since the beginning of an armed rebellion against India's rule in Indian-administered Kashmir in 1989, New Delhi has accused Islamabad of training and financially supporting the rebels. Islamabad says it only provides diplomatic and moral support to the separatist movement. On May 7, the Indian military responded to the Pahalgam killings by launching missiles at multiple cities in Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir. India claimed it struck 'terror camps' and killed about 100 'terrorists'. Pakistan said more than 50 people were killed – but most were civilians, with a military personnel also killed. Pakistan responded with heavy cross-border firing. Iqbal says he was jolted awake at about 2am on May 7 by the sounds of artillery shells landing 'one after the other, their thuds rattling the earth beneath us'. 'I made frantic calls to everyone, like police, officials in administration I knew, and on toll-free emergency numbers like 108, pleading with them to rescue me and my family,' he told Al Jazeera. 'But no one came.' He says he huddled his family – his wife, three children and three children of his brother who were with them at the time – in an outhouse abutting their main house, hoping that cinder blocks on top of the structure would make it more resilient to any Pakistani shells. The explosions kept getting closer. Shortly after sunrise, he says, a shell whizzed across the mountains, a trail of smoke streaming behind it, and landed with an explosion close to their shelter. Its splinters hurtled in every direction, blasting through the walls behind which Iqbal and his family had sought refuge. As he squinted through the smoky haze, his eyes rested on Maryam, whose little body was perforated with hot metal shards as she lay listless amid the debris, which was soaked with her blood. 'I called a friend for help. He alerted the administration, who sent an ambulance, which tried to come near our house, but the continuous shelling forced it to return,' he said, adding that the ambulance attempted to come closer five times but could not. By the time the shelling subsided and they could get to a hospital, Maryam was dead. Her sister, 7-year-old Iram Naaz, was also hit by a splinter in her forehead and is currently recovering in the family's ancestral village in Qasba, close to the LoC. The shelling continued in Sukha Katha for three days. Today, it looks like a ghost town, its ominous silence shattered only by the strong gales of wind sweeping through the open doors and windows of empty homes, with curtains fluttering and dust swirling around them. Most residents who fled the shelling haven't returned. 'There are about 200 homes here and they are empty because everyone has fled to safety,' said Muhammad Mukhar, a 35-year-old resident. He and a few others remained. 'We are just keeping an eye out for thieves. These townspeople are unlikely to return soon because things are still uncertain.' The villagers have reasons to remain fearful of more attacks, says Kashmiri political analyst Zafar Choudhary. He says the loss of civilian lives on the Indian side of the border in Poonch is due to the 'peculiar' topography of the region, which confers a 'unique advantage' to Pakistan. 'Most of the towns and villages on the Indian side are situated down in the valleys while Pakistani army posts remain high on the mountain tops, overlooking the civilian habitations here,' he says. 'Even if India retaliates, the civilian loss to the Pakistani side would remain minimal. This makes border towns such as Poonch vulnerable.' At Khanetar, a town of rundown structures of bricks and rebars overhung with life-size advertisements of soda drinks, an asphalt road zigzags through the forests and ravines and links the border areas of Poonch with the plains of Jammu, in the southern part of Indian-administered Kashmir. In this village, a Pakistani shell explosion killed 13-year-old Vihan Kumar inside the family's car when they were trying to escape the firing. The boy died on the spot, his skull ripped open. 'It was a loud sound, and at once, my son was in a pool of blood,' recalls Sanjeev Bhargav, Vihan's father. 'We immediately rushed to the district hospital in Poonch, where Vihan breathed his last.' Vihan was the only child of his parents. Meanwhile, at the intensive care unit of the Government Medical College Hospital in Jammu, the second largest city in Indian-administered Kashmir, about 230km (140 miles) southeast of Poonch, Arusha Khan is consoling her husband, Rameez Khan, a 46-year-old teacher, who is battling for his life after shrapnel punctured the left side of his liver. They are mourning the loss of their twins – son Zain Ali and daughter Urba Fatima – who died in the shelling of their house on May 7. They had turned 12 in April. The family was cowering inside their home in Poonch when the frightened twins called their uncle, Arusha's brother Aadil Pathan, who lived in Surankote, in the same district, about 40km (25 miles) away, pleading with him to save them. 'The children were scared to their wits' end,' Arusha's sister Maria Pathan tells Al Jazeera over the telephone. 'Aadil left home in his car at 5:30am and reached their place an hour later.' Maria says Aadil called out from outside the house and swung open the door of his car. But as soon as the trapped family came out and began to dash in the direction of the car, a shell struck. Urba died on the spot. Rameez also suffered 'tremendous blood loss' from his injuries, Maria said. 'And suddenly, Arusha couldn't see Zain around,' says Maria. 'He was injured and had staggered into a neighbour's home about 100 metres (300ft) away. When Arusha rushed to see him, he was just a body on the floor.' He, too, had died. 'We don't wish even for our enemies what has happened to my sister and her family,' Maria says amid sobs. Meenakshi Ganguly, deputy director of Human Rights Watch Asia, says attacks on children during such conflicts between two nations could constitute war crimes. 'Indiscriminately striking civilian areas is a violation of international humanitarian law,' she says, speaking to Al Jazeera. 'If such attacks are committed willfully, they would amount to war crimes.' Poonch-based politician Shamim Ganai says the destruction wreaked by the Pakistani shelling was a 'naked dance of death'. 'We weren't prepared for what we eventually came to experience. There were no preparations to evacuate people. People were simply running, many even barefoot, holding on to chickens and other belongings in their arms,' he recalls. 'I have lived through previous border clashes,' he says. 'But this was nothing like I have ever seen.'
Al Jazeera
19-05-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
‘Fear is real': Why young Kashmiris are removing tattoos of guns, ‘freedom'
Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir – In a quiet laser clinic in Indian-administered Kashmir's biggest city, Srinagar, Sameer Wani sits with his arm stretched out, his eyes following the fading ink on his skin. The word 'Azadi' (freedom in Urdu), once a bold symbol of rebellion against India's rule, slowly disappears under the sting of the laser. What was once a mark of defiance has become a burden he no longer wants to carry. As Sameer, 28, watches the ink vanish, his mind drifts to a day he will never forget. He was riding his motorbike with a friend when Indian security forces stopped them at a checkpoint. During the frisking, one of the officers pointed to the tattoo on his arm and asked, 'What is this?' Sameer's heart raced. 'I was lucky he couldn't read Urdu,' he tells Al Jazeera, his voice tinged with the memory. 'It was a close call. I knew right then that this tattoo could get me into serious trouble.' When he was younger, he said, the tattoo was a 'sign of strength, of standing up for something'. 'But now I see it was a mistake. It doesn't represent who I am any more. It's not worth carrying the risk, and it's not worth holding on to something that could hurt my future.' Sameer is one of many young Kashmiris choosing to erase tattoos that once reflected their political beliefs, emotional struggles or identity. Once worn with pride, the tattoos are now being removed in growing numbers across the region – quietly and without fanfare. While a trend to remove tattoos was already under way, the urgency has deepened since India and Pakistan – who have fought three wars over Kashmir since emerging as independent nations in 1947 – came to the brink of yet another war following the killing of 26 people in the scenic resort town of Pahalgam in Indian-administered Kashmir last month. New Delhi accuses Islamabad of backing an armed rebellion that erupted on the Indian side in 1989. Pakistan rejects the allegation, saying it only provides moral diplomatic support to Kashmir's separatist movement. Two weeks after Pahalgam, India, on May 7, launched predawn drone and missile attacks on what it called 'terror camps' inside Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir – the most extensive cross-border missile strikes since their war in 1971. For the next three days, the world held its breath as the South Asian nuclear powers exchanged fire until United States President Donald Trump announced a ceasefire between them on May 10. However, peace remains fragile in Indian-administered Kashmir, where a crackdown by Indian forces has left the region gripped by fear. Homes of suspected rebels have been destroyed, others have been raided, and more than 1,500 people have been arrested since the Pahalgam attack, many under preventive detention laws. In such a tense atmosphere, many Kashmiri youth say they feel exposed – and more vulnerable to scrutiny over even the most personal forms of expression. 'Every time something happens between India and Pakistan, we feel it on our skin – literally,' Rayees Wani, 26, a resident of Shopian district, tells Al Jazeera. 'I have a tattoo of Hurriyat leader Syed Ali Shah Geelani's name on my arm, and after the Pahalgam attack, I started getting strange looks at checkpoints,' he said, referring to the separatist leader who passed away at the age of 91 in 2021. The Hurriyat is an alliance of pro-freedom groups in Indian-administered Kashmir. 'Even my friends ask me uncomfortable questions. The media, police, and even the neighbours start looking at you differently,' Rayees added. 'I just wish people understood that a tattoo doesn't define someone's loyalty or character. We are just trying to live, not explain ourselves every day. I want to erase this as soon as possible.' Arsalan, 19, from Pulwama recently booked a tattoo removal session. He did not share his last name over fears of reprisal from the authorities. 'People with visible tattoos – especially those hinting at past political affiliations – are suddenly worried they could be profiled, questioned – or worse,' he said. To be sure, tattoo culture itself isn't fading in Kashmir. Tattoo studios are still busy, especially with clients aged between 22 and 40, many of whom wait for hours to get inked. But the trend has shifted; instead of political or religious tattoos, people now prefer minimalistic designs, nature-inspired patterns, names or meaningful quotes in stylish fonts. Some Kashmiris trying to get rid of tattoos say that's part of their personal evolution and growth. 'For me, it was about being brave,' Irfan Yaqoob from Baramulla district told Al Jazeera. Now 36, Yaqoob got a slain rebel's name tattooed on his left arm when he was a teenager. 'Back then, it felt like a symbol of courage. But now, when I look at it, I realise how much I have changed. Life has moved on, and so have I. I have a family, a job, and different priorities. I don't want my past to define me or create trouble in the present. That's why I decided to get it removed. It's not about shame. It's about growth,' he said. It isn't just the security forces that are driving this move among many Kashmiris to get rid of tattoos. For some, tattoos became painful reminders of a turbulent past. For others, they turned into obstacles, especially when they tried to move ahead professionally or wanted to align the inscription on their bodies with their personal beliefs. Anas Mir, who also lives in Srinagar, had a tattoo of a sword with 'Azadi' written over it. He got it removed a few weeks ago. 'People don't clearly say why they are removing tattoos. I removed mine only because of pressure from my family,' the 25-year-old said. 'It's my choice what kind of tattoo I want. No one should judge me for it. If someone had an AK-47 or a political tattoo, that was their choice. The authorities or government shouldn't interfere. And yes, tattoo trends also change with time,' he added, referring to the Russian-made Avtomat Kalashnikova assault rifles, arguably the most popular firearm in the world. One of the key reasons behind people removing tattoos is religion. In a Muslim-majority region, tattoos, especially those carrying religious or political messages, could often conflict with the faith's teachings. Faheem, 24, had a Quranic verse tattooed on his back when he was 17. 'At that time, I thought it was an act of faith,' he told Al Jazeera, without revealing his last name over security fears. 'But later, I realised that tattoos – especially with holy verses – are not encouraged [in Islam]. It started to bother me deeply. I felt guilty every time I offered namaz [prayers] or went to the mosque. That regret stayed with me. Getting it removed was my way of making peace with myself and with my faith.' Many others said they shared the feeling. Some visit religious scholars to ask whether having tattoos affects their prayers or faith. While most are advised not to dwell on past actions, they are encouraged to take steps that bring them closer to their beliefs. 'It's not about blaming anyone,' said Ali Mohammad, a religious scholar in Srinagar. 'It's about growth and understanding. When someone realises that something they did in the past doesn't align with their beliefs any more, and they take steps to correct it, that's a sign of maturity, not shame.' Another key factor driving tattoo removals is job security. In Kashmir, government jobs are seen as stable and prestigious. But having a tattoo, especially one with political references, can create problems during recruitment or background checks. Talib, who disclosed his first name only, had a tattoo of a Quranic verse shaped like an AK-47 rifle on his forearm. When he applied for a government position, a family friend in law enforcement hinted it might be an issue. 'He didn't say it directly, but I could tell he was worried,' said the 25-year-old. 'Since then, I have been avoiding half-sleeve shirts. I got many rejections and no one ever gave a clear reason, but deep down, I knew the tattoo was a problem. It felt like a wall between me and my future.' As the demand for tattoo removal rises, clinics in Srinagar and other parts of Indian-administered Kashmir are seeing a steady increase in clients. Laser sessions, once rare, are now booked weeks in advance. Mubashir Bashir, a well-known tattoo artist in Srinagar who also runs a tattoo removal service, said: 'After a popular singer's death in 2022, the trend of AK-47 tattoos exploded,' Bashir said. Punjabi singer Sidhu Moose Wala, whose music often glorified guns, was killed in May 2022. Police blamed his death on an inter-gang rivalry. 'But now, especially after the Pahalgam attack, we are seeing more people coming in to erase those tattoos. The fear is real,' Mubashir said. He estimated that tens of thousands of tattoos have been removed in the region over the past seven years, since 2019, when India abrogated Kashmir's semi-autonomous status and launched a major crackdown, arresting thousands of civilians. 'Some say the tattoo no longer represents them. Others mention problems at work or while travelling,' Mubashir said. Laser tattoo removal isn't easy. It requires multiple sessions, costs thousands of rupees and can be painful. Even after successful removal, faint scars or marks often remain. But for many Kashmiris, the pain is worth it. Sameer, whose 'Azadi' tattoo is almost gone, remembers the emotional weight of the process. 'I didn't cry when I got the tattoo,' he says. 'But I cried when I started removing it. It felt like I was letting go of a part of myself.' Still, Sameer believes it was the right choice. 'It's not about shame,' he says. 'I respect who I was. But I want to grow. I want to live without looking over my shoulder.' As he finishes another laser session, a faint scar is all that is left of the word that is Kashmir's war-cry for freedom. 'I will never forget what that tattoo meant to me when I was 18,' Sameer says as he rolls down his sleeve. 'But now, I want to be someone new. I want a life where I don't carry old shadows.'
Yahoo
12-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
‘Who suffered the most?': Fear and fatigue in Kashmir after ceasefire
Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir — On Saturday morning at Fateh Kadal, a densely packed neighbourhood on the sloping embankment of the Jhelum river in Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir's largest city, 62-year-old Hajira wrapped a cotton scarf with a brown paisley design around her shoulders. With her face muscles tense and sweat beading across her upper lip, she sat on the cement floor of a government-run grains store. 'Can you make it quick?' she called to the person manning the store. Hajira comes to the store every month to submit her biometric details, as required by the government to secure the release of her monthly quota of subsidised grains, which her family of four depends on. But this time was different. The past few days have been unprecedented for residents of Indian-administered Kashmir. Drones hovered overhead, airports were shut down, explosions rang out, people were killed in cross-border fire and the region prepared for the possibility of an all-out war. 'He made me stand in the queue,' she said, flinching from knee pain, referring to the store operator. 'But there's uncertainty around. I just want my share of rice so I can quickly return. A war is coming.' Then, on Saturday evening, Hajira breathed a sigh of relief. United States President Donald Trump announced that he had succeeded in mediating a ceasefire between India and Pakistan. 'I thank Allah for this,' Hajira said, smiling sheepishly. 'Perhaps he understood that I didn't have the means to endure the financial hardship that a war-like situation would have caused.' On Sunday morning, Trump went a step further, saying in a post on his Truth Social platform that would try to work with India and Pakistan to resolve their longstanding dispute over Kashmir, a region both countries partly control, but where they each claim the part the other administers. Political analyst Zafar Choudhary, based in the city of Jammu in southern Indian-administered Kashmir, told Al Jazeera that New Delhi would not be happy about Trump's statement. India has long argued that Pakistan-sponsored 'terrorism' is the primary reason for tensions between the nuclear-armed neighbours. However, 'Trump's offer underlines the fact that Kashmir remains central to India-Pakistan confrontations', Choudhary said. And for Kashmiris, the hope stemming from the fragile pause in fighting between India and Pakistan, and Trump's offer to mediate talks on Kashmir, is tempered by scepticism borne from a decades-long, desperate wait for peace. Hundreds of thousands of Kashmiris stood in the direct line of fire between India and Pakistan in recent days. As the neighbouring nations launched missiles and drones at each other, communities in Indian-administered Kashmir near the de-facto border with Pakistan also witnessed cross-border shelling on a scale unseen in decades, triggering an exodus of people towards safer locations. The shadow of conflict has stalked their lives for nearly four decades, since an armed rebellion first erupted against the Indian government in the late 1980s. Then, in 2019, the government scrapped Indian-administered Kashmir's semi-autonomous status amid a huge security crackdown – thousands of people were imprisoned. On April 22, a brutal attack by gunmen on tourists at Pahalgam left 26 civilians dead, shattering the normalcy critics had accused India of projecting in the disputed region. Since then, in addition to a diplomatic tit-for-tat and missile exchanges with Pakistan, the Indian government has intensified its crackdown on Indian-administered Kashmir. It has demolished the homes of rebels accused of links to the Pahalgam attack, raided other homes across the region and detained approximately 2,800 people, 90 of whom have been booked under the Public Safety Act, a draconian preventive detention law. The police also summoned many journalists and detained at least one for 'promoting secessionist ideology'. By Sunday, while a sense of jubilation swept through the region over the ceasefire, many people were still cautious, doubtful even, about whether the truce brokered by Trump would hold. Just hours after both countries declared a cessation of hostilities, loud explosions rang out in major urban centres across Indian-administered Kashmir as a swarm of kamikaze drones from Pakistan raced across the airspace. Many residents raced to the terraces of their apartments and homes to capture videos of the drones being brought down by India's defence systems, a trail of bright red dots arcing across the night sky before exploding in midair. As part of the emergency protocols, the authorities turned off the electricity supply. Fearing that the debris from drones would fall on them, residents ran for safety. The surge of drones through the night skies also touched off sirens, triggering a sense of dread. 'I don't think I have ever been more frightened before,' said Hasnain Shabir, a 24-year-old business graduate from Srinagar. 'The streets have been robbed of all their life. If the prelude to war looks like this, I don't know what war will look like.' Hours after the ceasefire was announced on Saturday, India accused Pakistan of violating the truce by shelling border regions. Residents across major towns in Kashmir were on their toes, once again, after drones reappeared in the skies. One of the worst-affected places in Kashmir these days is Uri, a picturesque town of pear orchards and walnut groves close to India's contested border with Pakistan. The village is surrounded by majestic mountains through which the Jhelum river flows. It is the final frontier on the Indian-administered side before the hills pave the way to Pakistan-administered Kashmir. Parts of Uri saw intense shelling, forcing the residents to leave their homes and look for safety. On May 8, officials told Al Jazeera that a woman, Nargis Bashir, was killed in her car as she and her family tried to flee the border region, like thousands of others, after flying shrapnel tore through the vehicle. Three of her family members were wounded. Muhammad Naseer Khan, 60, a former army serviceman, was huddling in his room when Pakistani artillery fire hit a nearby military post, with metal shrapnel shards blasting through the walls of his house. 'The blast has damaged one side of my home,' Khan said, wearing a traditional blue shirt and a tweed coat. 'I don't know if this place is even liveable,' he said, his bright blue eyes betraying a sense of fear. Despite the ceasefire, his two daughters and many others in his family who had left for a relative's house, away from the disputed border, are sceptical about returning. 'My children are refusing to return. They have no guarantee that guns won't roar again,' he said. Suleman Sheikh, a 28-year-old resident in Uri, recalled his childhood years when his grandfather would talk about the Bofors artillery gun stationed inside a military garrison in the nearby village of Mohra. 'He told us that the last time this gun had roared was in 1999, when India and Pakistan clashed on the icy peaks of Kargil. It is a conventional belief here that if this gun roared again, things are going to get too bad,' he said. That's what happened at 2am on May 8. As the Bofors gun in Mohra prepared to fire ammunition across the mountains into Pakistan, Sheikh felt the ground shaking beneath him. An hour and a half later, a shell fired from the other side hit an Indian paramilitary installation nearby, making a long hissing noise before striking with a thud. Hours after Sheikh spoke to Al Jazeera for this report, another shell landed on his home. The rooms and the portico of his house collapsed, according to a video he shared with Al Jazeera. He had refused to leave his home despite his family's pleas to join them. 'I was here to protect our livestock,' Sheikh said. 'I didn't want to leave them alone.' Unlike the rest of the Kashmir Valley, where apple cultivation brings millions of dollars in income for the region, Uri is relatively poor. Villagers mostly work odd jobs for the Indian Army, which maintains large garrisons there, or farm walnuts and pears. Livestock rearing has turned into a popular vocation for many in the town. 'We have seen the firsthand experience of what war feels like. It is good that the ceasefire has taken place. But I don't know if it will hold or not,' Sheikh said, his face downcast. 'I pray that it does.' Back in Srinagar, residents are slowly returning to the rhythm of their daily lives. Schools and colleges continue to remain closed, and people are avoiding unnecessary travel. The scenes of racing drone fleets in the skies and the accompanying blasts are seared into public memory. 'Only in the evening will we come to know whether this ceasefire has held on,' said Muskaan Wani, a student of medicine at Government Medical College, Srinagar, said on Sunday. It did, overnight, but the tension over whether it will last remains. Political experts attribute the general scepticism about the ceasefire to the unresolved political issues in the region – a point that was echoed in Trump's statement on Sunday, in which he referred to a possible 'solution concerning Kashmir'. 'The problem to begin with is the political alienation [of Kashmiris],' said Noor Ahmad Baba, a former professor and head of the political science department at the University of Kashmir. 'People in Kashmir feel humiliated for what has happened to them in the last few years, and there haven't been any significant efforts to win them over. When there's humiliation, there is suspicion.' Others in Indian-administered Kashmir expressed their anger at both countries for ruining their lives. 'I doubt that our feelings as Kashmiris even matter,' said Furqan, a software engineer in Srinagar who only gave his first name. 'Two nuclear powers fought, caused damage and casualties at the borders, gave their respective nations a spectacle to watch, their goals were achieved, and then they stopped the war. 'But the question is, who suffered the most? It's us. For the world, we are nothing but collateral damage.' Furqan said his friends were sceptical about the ceasefire when the two countries resumed shelling on the evening of May 10. 'We all already were like, 'It is not gonna last,'' he said, 'And then we heard the explosions again.' Muneeb Mehraj, a 26-year-old resident of Srinagar who studies management in the northern Indian state of Punjab, echoed Furqan. 'For others, the war may be over. A ceasefire has been declared. But once again, it's Kashmiris who have paid the price – lives lost, homes destroyed, peace shattered,' he said. 'How long must this cycle continue?' 'We are exhausted,' Mehraj continued. 'We don't want another temporary pause. We want a lasting, permanent solution.'
Al Jazeera
12-05-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
‘We want a permanent solution': Fear and fatigue in Kashmir after ceasefire
Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir — On Saturday morning at Fateh Kadal, a densely packed neighbourhood on the sloping embankment of the Jhelum river in Srinagar, Indian-administered Kashmir's largest city, 62-year-old Hajira wrapped a cotton scarf with a brown paisley design around her shoulders. With her face muscles tense and sweat beading across her upper lip, she sat on the cement floor of a government-run grains store. 'Can you make it quick?' she called to the person manning the store. Hajira comes to the store every month to submit her biometric details, as required by the government to secure the release of her monthly quota of subsidised grains, which her family of four depends on. But this time was different. The past few days have been unprecedented for residents of Indian-administered Kashmir. Drones hovered overhead, airports were shut down, explosions rang out, people were killed in cross-border fire and the region prepared for the possibility of an all-out war. 'He made me stand in the queue,' she said, flinching from knee pain, referring to the store operator. 'But there's uncertainty around. I just want my share of rice so I can quickly return. A war is coming.' Then, on Saturday evening, Hajira breathed a sigh of relief. United States President Donald Trump announced that he had succeeded in mediating a ceasefire between India and Pakistan. 'I thank Allah for this,' Hajira said, smiling sheepishly. 'Perhaps he understood that I didn't have the means to endure the financial hardship that a war-like situation would have caused.' On Sunday morning, Trump went a step further, saying in a post on his Truth Social platform that would try to work with India and Pakistan to resolve their longstanding dispute over Kashmir, a region both countries partly control, but where they each claim the part the other administers. Political analyst Zafar Choudhary, based in the city of Jammu in southern Indian-administered Kashmir, told Al Jazeera that New Delhi would not be happy about Trump's statement. India has long argued that Pakistan-sponsored 'terrorism' is the primary reason for tensions between the nuclear-armed neighbours. However, 'Trump's offer underlines the fact that Kashmir remains central to India-Pakistan confrontations', Choudhary said. And for Kashmiris, the hope stemming from the fragile pause in fighting between India and Pakistan, and Trump's offer to mediate talks on Kashmir, is tempered by scepticism borne from a decades-long, desperate wait for peace. Hundreds of thousands of Kashmiris stood in the direct line of fire between India and Pakistan in recent days. As the neighbouring nations launched missiles and drones at each other, communities in Indian-administered Kashmir near the de-facto border with Pakistan also witnessed cross-border shelling on a scale unseen in decades, triggering an exodus of people towards safer locations. The shadow of conflict has stalked their lives for nearly four decades, since an armed rebellion first erupted against the Indian government in the late 1980s. Then, in 2019, the government scrapped Indian-administered Kashmir's semi-autonomous status amid a huge security crackdown – thousands of people were imprisoned. On April 22, a brutal attack by gunmen on tourists at Pahalgam left 26 civilians dead, shattering the normalcy critics had accused India of projecting in the disputed region. Since then, in addition to a diplomatic tit-for-tat and missile exchanges with Pakistan, the Indian government has intensified its crackdown on Indian-administered Kashmir. It has demolished the homes of rebels accused of links to the Pahalgam attack, raided other homes across the region and detained approximately 2,800 people, 90 of whom have been booked under the Public Safety Act, a draconian preventive detention law. The police also summoned many journalists and detained at least one for 'promoting secessionist ideology'. By Sunday, while a sense of jubilation swept through the region over the ceasefire, many people were still cautious, doubtful even, about whether the truce brokered by Trump would hold. Just hours after both countries declared a cessation of hostilities, loud explosions rang out in major urban centres across Indian-administered Kashmir as a swarm of kamikaze drones from Pakistan raced across the airspace. Many residents raced to the terraces of their apartments and homes to capture videos of the drones being brought down by India's defence systems, a trail of bright red dots arcing across the night sky before exploding in midair. As part of the emergency protocols, the authorities turned off the electricity supply. Fearing that the debris from drones would fall on them, residents ran for safety. The surge of drones through the night skies also touched off sirens, triggering a sense of dread. 'I don't think I have ever been more frightened before,' said Hasnain Shabir, a 24-year-old business graduate from Srinagar. 'The streets have been robbed of all their life. If the prelude to war looks like this, I don't know what war will look like.' Hours after the ceasefire was announced on Saturday, India accused Pakistan of violating the truce by shelling border regions. Residents across major towns in Kashmir were on their toes, once again, after drones reappeared in the skies. One of the worst-affected places in Kashmir these days is Uri, a picturesque town of pear orchards and walnut groves close to India's contested border with Pakistan. The village is surrounded by majestic mountains through which the Jhelum river flows. It is the final frontier on the Indian-administered side before the hills pave the way to Pakistan-administered Kashmir. Parts of Uri saw intense shelling, forcing the residents to leave their homes and look for safety. On May 8, officials told Al Jazeera that a woman, Nargis Bashir, was killed in her car as she and her family tried to flee the border region, like thousands of others, after flying shrapnel tore through the vehicle. Three of her family members were wounded. Muhammad Naseer Khan, 60, a former army serviceman, was huddling in his room when Pakistani artillery fire hit a nearby military post, with metal shrapnel shards blasting through the walls of his house. 'The blast has damaged one side of my home,' Khan said, wearing a traditional blue shirt and a tweed coat. 'I don't know if this place is even liveable,' he said, his bright blue eyes betraying a sense of fear. Despite the ceasefire, his two daughters and many others in his family who had left for a relative's house, away from the disputed border, are sceptical about returning. 'My children are refusing to return. They have no guarantee that guns won't roar again,' he said. Suleman Sheikh, a 28-year-old resident in Uri, recalled his childhood years when his grandfather would talk about the Bofors artillery gun stationed inside a military garrison in the nearby village of Mohra. 'He told us that the last time this gun had roared was in 1999, when India and Pakistan clashed on the icy peaks of Kargil. It is a conventional belief here that if this gun roared again, things are going to get too bad,' he said. That's what happened at 2am on May 8. As the Bofors gun in Mohra prepared to fire ammunition across the mountains into Pakistan, Sheikh felt the ground shaking beneath him. An hour and a half later, a shell fired from the other side hit an Indian paramilitary installation nearby, making a long hissing noise before striking with a thud. Hours after Sheikh spoke to Al Jazeera for this report, another shell landed on his home. The rooms and the portico of his house collapsed, according to a video he shared with Al Jazeera. He had refused to leave his home despite his family's pleas to join them. 'I was here to protect our livestock,' Sheikh said. 'I didn't want to leave them alone.' Unlike the rest of the Kashmir Valley, where apple cultivation brings millions of dollars in income for the region, Uri is relatively poor. Villagers mostly work odd jobs for the Indian Army, which maintains large garrisons there, or farm walnuts and pears. Livestock rearing has turned into a popular vocation for many in the town. 'We have seen the firsthand experience of what war feels like. It is good that the ceasefire has taken place. But I don't know if it will hold or not,' Sheikh said, his face downcast. 'I pray that it does.' Back in Srinagar, residents are slowly returning to the rhythm of their daily lives. Schools and colleges continue to remain closed, and people are avoiding unnecessary travel. The scenes of racing drone fleets in the skies and the accompanying blasts are seared into public memory. 'Only in the evening will we come to know whether this ceasefire has held on,' said Muskaan Wani, a student of medicine at Government Medical College, Srinagar, said on Sunday. It did, overnight, but the tension over whether it will last remains. Political experts attribute the general scepticism about the ceasefire to the unresolved political issues in the region – a point that was echoed in Trump's statement on Sunday, in which he referred to a possible 'solution concerning Kashmir'. 'The problem to begin with is the political alienation [of Kashmiris],' said Noor Ahmad Baba, a former professor and head of the political science department at the University of Kashmir. 'People in Kashmir feel humiliated for what has happened to them in the last few years, and there haven't been any significant efforts to win them over. When there's humiliation, there is suspicion.' Others in Indian-administered Kashmir expressed their anger at both countries for ruining their lives. 'I doubt that our feelings as Kashmiris even matter,' said Furqan, a software engineer in Srinagar who only gave his first name. 'Two nuclear powers fought, caused damage and casualties at the borders, gave their respective nations a spectacle to watch, their goals were achieved, and then they stopped the war. 'But the question is, who suffered the most? It's us. For the world, we are nothing but collateral damage.' Furqan said his friends were sceptical about the ceasefire when the two countries resumed shelling on the evening of May 10. 'We all already were like, 'It is not gonna last,'' he said, 'And then we heard the explosions again.' Muneeb Mehraj, a 26-year-old resident of Srinagar who studies management in the northern Indian state of Punjab, echoed Furqan. 'For others, the war may be over. A ceasefire has been declared. But once again, it's Kashmiris who have paid the price – lives lost, homes destroyed, peace shattered,' he said. 'How long must this cycle continue?' 'We are exhausted,' Mehraj continued. 'We don't want another temporary pause. We want a lasting, permanent solution.'
