MAHOOR HAYA SHAH
In the aftermath of every tragedy in India, a predictable pattern unfolds. A terror attack occurs – painful, condemnable and deeply tragic. But before the mourning ends, fingers start pointing. Not toward the actual perpetrators, but toward entire communities.
And once again, the thread that holds our social fabric – delicate but resilient is put to the test. What followed was not only grief, but a dangerous wave of anger and hate, disproportionately directed at Kashmiris and Muslims in general.
The hate spilled faster than the facts. Within hours, Kashmiri students were assaulted, Muslim vendors were driven away, and social media boiled with threats, most aimed not at the terrorists, but at an entire community.
And just like before, we forgot: That terror has no religion. It does not wear a skullcap or a tilak. That the killer may be in any disguise but the weapon is always hatred. That most Kashmiris mourned the loss too, maybe more than you.
Each time communal tension surges, it’s the ordinary people who suffer the most. The Muslim vegetable seller who’s been denied a space in the market. The Hindu family living in a Muslim-majority locality now fears backlash. The Kashmiri student, hundreds of miles from home, was threatened just for his identity. In these moments, the first casualty is trust. The second is the truth. And the third, possibly the most damaging, is our shared future.
How Did We Get Here?
The divisions weren’t always so sharp. India’s soil has always been diverse, syncretic, contradictory, and deeply intertwined. There are countless examples where Hindus and Muslims have lived as neighbours, celebrated each other’s festivals, shared grief in death, and joy in weddings.
Yet, in the last few years, communal narratives have been actively fueled by:
• Sensationalist media that thrives on polarization.
• Political rhetoric that sees hate as a shortcut to power.
• Social media misinformation spreads faster than any virus.
What Must Change
1. Speak Up
When someone jokes about “them” or shares a hateful message, don’t laugh along. Say something. Discomfort is the price of courage.
2. Check the Source
Before forwarding any news or video— pause. Misinformation spreads hate faster than any weapon. Be part of the solution, not the smoke.
3. Celebrate Each Other’s Festivals
Go to the Eid gathering. Invite friends for Holi. Not as a token—but as a gesture of trust. Sometimes, a shared meal can heal more than a hundred speeches.
4. Teach the Next Generation Better
Talk to children about love, not fear. Show them the India of freedom fighters, not the India of WhatsApp forwards or Instagram education.
5. Media Must Be Held Accountable
Prime-time debates that turn faith into a battleground must be called out. Headlines that stigmatize entire communities must be resisted. Instead of feeding propaganda, media must go back to its duty—to report facts, hold power accountable and foster unity, not division.
6. Justice Must Be Equal and Visible
There cannot be one law for one group, and another for another. Justice must not wear a saffron or green lens— it must wear a blindfold.
Each time a Kashmiri is beaten in another state because of something that happened in the valley, we create more wounds, more rage, more alienation. Each time we say “they” instead of “us,” we shrink the soul of humanity. India cannot be a Vishwaguru while it fails its own people.
Why Do We Keep Forgetting the Truth?
Because fear is easy. Hate is louder than love on a TV debate. And when tragedy strikes, it’s convenient to blame the nearest, the quietest, the most misunderstood. But unity is harder. It demands memory. It demands courage.It demands that we remember stories like Kashmiri Muslim who donated land for a Hindu temple. Or the Hindu man who carried his injured Muslim neighbour to safety in Manipur. These stories still happen every day. But they don’t go viral. Because peace isn’t exciting enough for TRPs. But this silent compassion, co-existence and courage is still alive. And it needs us now more than ever.
Enough of using faith as a weapon. Enough of turning Kashmiris into scapegoats. Enough of forgetting that before we were Hindu or Muslim, we were neighbours and first of all humans.
If India is truly to rise, it cannot be Hindu-only or Muslim-only. It must be all. That is not a weakness. That is the deepest strength.
The next time someone tries to divide you with WhatsApp forwards or venomous hashtags, ask them this:
“Who brought food when your family had Covid?”
“Who fixed your bike in the middle of the rain?”
“Who helped you find your wallet when you dropped it in the market?”
More often than not, the answer will be:
A neighbour. A friend. Someone with a different name, but the same heart.
We will heal — not when we shout louder, but when we listen deeper. Let us begin again. Let us begin now. To speak, to write, to act—not just against hate, but for love. Because in the end, no faith, no vote is more sacred than the life of a fellow human being.
You are not less Indian because you say “As-Salamu Alaikum.” You are not anti-national because you cry for a Kashmiri beaten miles away. You are not weak because you choose love over revenge.
If this moved you, don’t let it end here. Start a conversation. Check on your friend. Celebrate a festival together. Unity isn’t built in speeches— it’s built in moments. Let’s create more of them.
