I WAS born in the 1980s, a time when the wars between Pakistan and India were already part of history — stories told by elders, chapters in textbooks, or scenes in films glorifying the bravery of our soldiers in the 1965 and 1971 wars. For decades, we lived with a sense of detach- ment, believing that a full-scale conflict was a thing of the past — until May 7.

That day, uncertainty gripped the nation as India attacked Pakistan. For the first time in my life, the abstract concept of war became terrifyingly real. Anxiety gripped our minds as news channels flashed warnings, social media buzzed with panic, and the skies roared with the sounds of fighter jets. The threat was no longer confined to history books — it was outside our doors, threatening our homes, our families, our very existence.

But then came a moment of immense pride — Pakistan’s swift and decisive retaliation. The armed forces defended our sovereignty with courage, proving that no aggression would go unanswered. The tension escalated, the world held its breath, and powerful nations intervened, pushing both sides towards a ceasefire that even today remains fragile.

During those tense days, sleep was a luxury. As a father of two children, both under four, I endured hours of torment, imagining the unthinkable. I found myself staring at my children, wondering what kind of future awaited them. Would they grow up in peace, or would they inherit a world torn apart by senseless conflicts? The uncertainty was a living hell, pushing me to escape reality.

War is surely not just about bombs and borders — it is about broken families, displaced children, and generations scarred by trauma. Dialogue, not destruction, must be the only way forward. Let us not allow pride and politics to dictate a future where our children pay the price.

Ghulam Hussain
Jaffarabad

Published in Dawn, June 21st, 2025