I am Rimmi from Ahmedabad. I contemplated this blog on April 27, 2025 in Jammu, when my plans of revisiting the paradise called Kashmir were shattered—not by fear, but by circumstances and sorrow. I decided to share my story with a heavy heart, hoping it reaches those who still believe in the warmth of humanity over the divisive noise of prime-time media.
My family and I had planned a journey to Pahalgam from April 22–24, followed by days in Srinagar until May 3. The excitement of walking through Kashmir’s valleys, breathing its crisp air, and soaking in its timeless beauty kept us awake at night. But when we arrived in Jammu on April 21, our plans unraveled.
The all-weather road connecting Jammu to Srinagar was blocked by a massive landslide near Ramban district. Stranded, we considered taking the Mughal Road to Pahalgam—a grueling 15–16-hour journey. But with young children and elderly parents, such a daunting trip seemed unwise. We let go of that plan, hoping for another way.
Then, on the evening of April 22, calls from family in Ahmedabad flooded in, their voices trembling with worry. News of a horrific terror attack in Pahalgam—the first of its kind in Kashmir’s history—shook us to the core. Twenty-six lives lost, countless dreams broken.
I won’t delve into the details; the pain is too raw, and the stories spun by prime-time channels only deepen the wounds. They thrive on hatred, weaving narratives that pit us against one another for TRP greed and political gain.
But I refuse to let their lies define my story. Instead, I want to share two encounters that reminded me why Kashmir remains the heaven of my heart.
Local Muslims, including horse riders, taxi drivers, and tour guides, heroically saved the lives of many travelers. Notably, Syed Adil Hussain Shah made the ultimate sacrifice, while Nazakat Ali displayed remarkable bravery, rescuing numerous individuals.
In 2018, after my article “Prime Time Lies” was published in Greater Kashmir, I received over 400 responses from Kashmiris—ordinary people, CRPF personnel, and others—who poured out their love and longing for peace. Among them was Tehseen Khan from Srinagar, a young man who became like a brother to me.
Our bond, born through emails and shared hopes, grew into something sacred.
When Tehseen learned we were canceling our trip, he called me on the morning of April 24, his voice breaking. “Don’t you trust us?” he asked.
Those words pierced my soul.
He shared how the attack had shattered him, how he saw tourists in Srinagar’s markets and felt an urge to apologize, to offer chocolates to their children, to seek forgiveness for a crime that wasn’t his.
“I want them to feel safe,” he said, his voice thick with guilt he didn’t deserve.
I tried to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but his heart was heavy with the weight of Kashmir’s pain.
Tehseen’s love, his humanity—this is the true face of Kashmir, a face prime-time lies can never erase.
Then there was Muneer, a taxi driver from Avantipura, who drove us to Jammu’s airport today, April 27.
With thousands of tourists canceling plans and train tickets nearly impossible to find, we had no choice but to book expensive flights—over ₹13,000 per ticket—a bitter pill to swallow when airlines exploit desperation.
But Muneer was different.
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| Muneer, Tehseen |
“Please don’t give up on Kashmir,” he urged. “Come back. This is our home, and you are our guests.”
When we reached the airport, he refused to accept his fare. It took every ounce of insistence to make him take it, and even then, his hands trembled with emotion.
Muneer’s kindness wasn’t just a gesture—it was a plea for us to see Kashmir’s soul.
These aren’t isolated stories. Across social media, tourists are sharing videos of Kashmiris offering them food, shelter, and assurances of safety.
My phone hasn’t stopped ringing with friends from the Valley condemning the attack, their voices united in grief and resolve.
This is Kashmiriyat—the melting pot of cultures that Kalhana wrote about in Rajatarangini.
Even families who lost loved ones in Pahalgam are standing tall, pleading, “Don’t make this about religion. Terrorism has no faith.”
Yet, as Kashmiris extend their hands in love, fundamental forces twist the narrative.
Kashmiri students across India are facing attacks, scapegoated for a crime they mourn just as deeply as we do.
One more thing I want to share:
Due to recent developments, many tours originally planned for Kashmir have shifted to Himachal Pradesh.
Popular hill stations like Dalhousie, Khajjiar, Chamba—once quieter retreats—are now bustling with tourists, alongside well-known destinations like Shimla and Manali.
Doesn't this indicate something deeper?
I canceled my trip not out of fear but because the joy we carried for Kashmir’s valleys was dimmed by tragedy.
The landslide, the attack—they stole our excitement but couldn’t steal my faith in Kashmir’s people.
To those reading this, I request:
- Don’t let prime-time lies cloud your heart.
- Kashmir is not just its pristine lakes or snow-capped peaks; it is the divine beauty of its people—people who, even in their darkest hour, choose love over hate.
- I have returned to Ahmedabad, but a piece of my heart will always stay in Kashmir.
To every nature lover, every seeker of beauty, I say this:
- Come to Kashmir.
- Fall in love with its meadows, its rivers, and its people.
- Let their warmth defeat the venom of communalism.
- Let us prove that love prevails over hatred.
- Kashmir is waiting—not just as the heaven of the earth, but as the heaven of humanity.
With a heart full of hope...
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