On the morning of May 7, the valley of Kashmir awoke to news of a deadly Indian armed attack — Operation Sindoor — launched in the early hours of Wednesday. The operation targeted nine key locations in Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Jammu and Kashmir (PAJK).
The strike came in response to the April 22 attack in Pahalgam, where gunmen in army fatigues opened fire on a group of mostly tourists, killing twenty-six people — including a Nepalese national — and injuring more than twenty others. It was the deadliest assault on Indian civilians since the 2008 Mumbai attacks.
At a press conference in New Delhi, Indian foreign secretary Vikram Misri said Operation Sindoor was launched to bring the perpetrators and planners of the Pahalgam terror attack to justice.
“Despite a fortnight having passed, there has been no demonstrable step from Pakistan against terrorist infrastructure in its area,” Misri said. He added that the operation began around 1:44 a.m., was based on intelligence inputs, and neutralized all identified targets without civilian casualties or strikes on military installations.
The Indian government blames Pakistan for supporting the Pahalgam assailants, a charge Islamabad denies. The incident shattered Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s claims that Kashmir had returned to normalcy — a narrative supported by increased tourism and tighter control since the region’s semiautonomy was revoked in 2019.
In the aftermath of the attack, Indian security forces launched a widespread crackdown in nearby villages. The houses of suspected militants were demolished. The campaign was described by some as “collective punishment,” with reports of over two thousand detentions, home demolitions, and increased military patrols.
Despite the escalation, many Kashmiris expressed grief and condemned the Pahalgam attack.
Cease-fire violations have surged along the border, forcing villagers to reopen long-disused bunkers and triggering fresh waves of fear among civilians.
As of the latest reports, at least thirteen people have been killed and more than fifty people were injured in the escalating violence.
For residents like Nuzhat Bibi, a forty-four year-old mother of three living in the Uri sector of north Kashmir, near the Line of Control (LoC), the specter of war has never felt so close.
“We don’t want our children to go through the same hardships we experienced during past conflicts,” she said, standing outside her small house with livestock tied nearby. “There’s hardly any space, and we have animals to care for too. But keeping our children safe is the only priority now.
As tensions mount, the situation has become worse.
“We hear the sound of blasts at night and have no idea what’s happening. We just close our bankers and pray it ends,” she says in a follow-up phone conversation.
In her village, families have begun clearing out old straw and grain from underground bunkers built during past India–Pakistan skirmishes.
“Even a single gunshot echoes here, and our homes are within firing range. We have nowhere to hide,” she adds. “Day and night, we watch the border with anxiety. We have small grandchildren — we just pray things don’t get worse.”
In 2021, India and Pakistan agreed to a renewed cease-fire along the LoC, bringing a few years of relative calm to border communities. But that fragile truce has come under strain following the Pahalgam attack, with several cross-border firings reported in the last weeks. The violence has displaced families and damaged homes in forward areas.
Now, as tensions escalate between the two nuclear powers, the situation has become volatile. In response, security forces in Jammu and Kashmir have increased surveillance, intensified counterinsurgency operations, and issued aggressive public messaging. These developments are reminiscent of the aftermath of the 2019 revocation of Article 370, which stripped the region of its semiautonomous status and led to months of military lockdown.
The attack has dealt a severe blow to Kashmir’s tourism industry, a vital component of the region’s economy. Following the Pahalgam incident, tourist arrivals have dropped sharply, leading to widespread cancellations and significant losses for local businesses.
Ghulam Nabi, a houseboat owner in Srinagar, expresses his despair: “I had advance bookings for June and July — all cancelled within a day after the Pahalgam attack. We don’t know how long this will last. People hear ‘Kashmir’ in the news and assume it is a war zone.”
The collapse in tourism threatens to devastate one of the few nonmilitary sources of livelihood left for ordinary residents. After a record-breaking 2023, which saw over two million tourists visit the valley, hotel bookings have plummeted, and the iconic houseboats of Dal Lake now sit largely empty.
Although the government continues to promote Kashmir as an “all-season destination,” the attack of Pahalgam has severely damaged the region’s image, potentially setting back the valley’s tourism for many years.
In parts of South Kashmir, where militant activity has persisted in recent years, Indian authorities have resumed a controversial tactic: demolishing the homes of individuals accused of militancy or of harboring suspects — often without prior notice or court orders.
Videos circulating online show families in tears beside piles of their belongings. In one clip, a woman pleads: “We haven’t seen our son for many years. If he is involved in any kind of attack, punish him — not us.”
What makes the situation especially volatile is the broader geopolitical context. India and Pakistan have fought three wars over Kashmir and have come to the brink of a fourth on multiple occasions — most recently following the 2019 Pulwama attack and India’s retaliatory Balakot air strikes. Both countries are currently led by hawkish governments, and public sentiment remains highly polarized on the Kashmir issue.
Pakistan has condemned India’s internal crackdown, while New Delhi accuses Islamabad of harboring militant groups. Meanwhile, China’s growing presence in the nearby Ladakh region, especially after the deadly Galwan Valley clashes in 2020, has introduced a third nuclear power into the already volatile standoff in the Himalayas.
Amid the global headlines and geopolitical brinkmanship, it is people like Gulzar Ahmad, a farmer from Balakot village near the LoC, who bear the brunt.
“It is peaceful for now, but we keep hearing that things might escalate,” he says. “We are worried because we do not have any bunkers left. The old ones are either full of junk or have collapsed.”
In his community, even whispers of “shelling” are enough to send families into panic. “Any tension between India and Pakistan becomes our tension too,” Gulzar said. “We just want to be left alone.”
Five years after the revocation of Kashmir’s special status, the region remains in limbo — neither fully integrated nor autonomous, neither at peace nor at open war. The current spiral of violence, state actions, and border tension has only sharpened that sense of uncertainty.
“There is a deep sense of abandonment,” a Srinagar-based political analyst tells us. “People feel they are just numbers in a national security calculus. Their fears, their grief, their economic despair — none of it makes headlines unless it suits a narrative.”
For now, bunkers are being cleared, the streets are patrolled, and the skies are watched. But with livelihoods shrinking, freedoms curtailed, and children growing up under constant anxiety, ordinary Kashmiris remain caught between powers and politics — bearing the cost of a conflict not of their own making.
Great Job Sajad Hameed & the Team @ Jacobin Source link for sharing this story.
