“Walo ho bagawāno navbahāruk shān paida kar,
Phir az novo chaman andar gulān pawan paida kar.”(“Come, O gardener, let us give the glory of spring a new birth,
Let flowers bloom again in the garden, anew with fragrance and mirth.”)
The silence of the Kashmir Valley was shattered once again—26 innocent souls, including local residents and visiting tourists, fell victim to a barbaric act of terror. A massacre that shook the soul of a land that has fought long and hard to reclaim its peace. This heinous crime deserves nothing but the strongest condemnation.
Yet, something is different this time. For the first time in decades, terror failed to sow the seeds of fear and hatred. The people of Kashmir did not retreat. Instead, they rose.
In the last ten years, Kashmiris had started to breathe freely again—reclaiming a semblance of normalcy, joy, and hope. They had begun to believe that peace wasn’t a distant dream, but a right they too could claim. And when that peace was attacked, it wasn’t just bullets that echoed in the valley—it was the unified voice of the people, condemning this brutality with an intensity never seen before.
This time, there were no stones hurled in the streets. No angry chants from the misguided. Instead, Srinagar echoed with cries of “India Zindabad!” as men, women, and children—young and old—stepped forward with tears in their eyes, condemning the violence not as outsiders, but as victims who lost their own.
They mourned the tourists. They mourned Syed Haider Shah, the pony operator who died a hero, trying to protect the very guests who had come to experience the warmth of his homeland. His story, like many others, remains unsung by the mainstream media.
I remember—I had young and energetic Kashmiri boys and girls working in my English and Urdu news teams. They were eager to learn, curious, and open-hearted—ready to embrace anything that helped them build a future away from the shadows of distrust and animosity. They celebrated every festival with joy in our newsroom, invited me warmly for iftars, and walked up to me for comfort during turbulent times—especially when they were looked at with suspicion. But not once did they shy away from their newsroom responsibilities. All they ever asked for was a little trust. And I’m proud to say—I did trust them. It was my first real encounter with them, and today, I can say with certainty—I learned more from them than they ever did from me.
The youth of Kashmir
Those once manipulated by forces of chaos—have seen peace in last 4-5 years. And they’ve tasted the life that peace brings. They now dream not of vengeance but of becoming IAS officers, scientists, cricketers, and filmmakers. They want to write, report, anchor, and lead. And they can—if only we stand with them, not against them.
We have, for too long, held the Kashmiri awam responsible for the unrest. But we ignored the silent war they were fighting—against elements both within and beyond our borders that thrived on destabilizing their dreams.
But now the tide has turned.
As Kashmir stands up to terror with unflinching resolve, it is our turn to not look away. We cannot abandon them now—not when they’ve walked so far, through so much, with courage in their hearts and hope in their hands.
Let us travel to Kashmir. Let us walk beneath the swaying chinars, let us feel the misty embrace of its winter breeze, and above all, let us listen to the stories its people have waited decades to tell.
Let India feel the tulips bloom again.
Let Kashmiriyat rise, not in defiance, but in unity.
Let us not let their hand slip now.
Because when the tulips weep… the valley doesn’t fall.
It rises.