On the night of May 6, India went to bed. In the morning, we were at war.When I woke up on Wednesday at about 4:30am to use the bathroom, the glow of my phone screen caught my bleary eye. Still half asleep, I picked it up – only to be jolted awake by headline after headline screaming the same unthinkable message: India had launched a series of strikes into Pakistan, targeting “terrorist strongholds“.
My husband was getting ready to catch a 7am flight from New Delhi to Jaipur. My phone beeped again. Some flight routes were being cancelled, and a few airports in northern India might be shut down. It was unclear whether this was a precautionary measure or in anticipation of possible Pakistani retaliation by air. We decided it was too risky. He would drive instead.
In the hour and a half before the world woke up to the news that had already upended my night, I was caught in a pendulum of emotions – waves of fear, anxiety, a deep sense of unease, and, most of all, helplessness. I kept refreshing the news, hoping for more clarity, – anything that might make things feel less surreal. Advertisement
Of course, like every other Indian, I knew the catalyst for the offensive: the recent terrorist attack in Pahalgam – a truly horrific act in which 26 unarmed Indian tourists were killed. India had blamed the attack on Pakistan-based militants, a charge that Pakistan denied. In the days that followed, India responded with a seri …
