A year has passed, but the scars of the Pahalgam terror incident are still fresh in our minds and hearts. It feels as painful and real as it did that very day. Time moves on, routines return, but some wounds do not fade so easily. The scars of that incident remain, in conversations, in silences, and in the way people remember what was lost.
Pahalgam has always been known as a place of peace and joy. People come here to breathe, to slow down, to find a break from the noise of everyday life. For many visitors, it represents the softer side of Kashmir, the beauty, the calm, the warmth of its people. That is what made the attack so disturbing. It did not just take innocent lives; it shook the very idea of what Kashmir stands for.
Those who lost their lives in the Pahalgam terror attack were not part of any conflict. They were ordinary people, guests who had come with trust and peace. In Kashmir, a guest is not just a visitor but a respected person. This is part of our culture, one we have grown up with. Therefore, the pain of the innocent killings was deeply personal to all Kashmiris.
What followed that night was something the world noticed, but only Kashmiris truly felt. Social media was filled with messages from people across the Valley saying “sorry.” Many questioned this, why should Kashmiris apologize for something they did not do? And yes, logically, it was not Kashmiris fault. It was an act of terror, a security concern, the doing of those who want to disturb peace. But emotions do not always follow logic.
Those apologies came from a place of pain, not guilt. They came from a sense of shared humanity. People here felt responsible in a way that cannot be explained in simple terms. It was Kashmiriyat, that deep-rooted sense of empathy and connection that made people speak out. Mothers cried for lives they had never known. Families sat in silence, thinking about those who would never return home. There was grief, but also anger, anger at the kind of violence that keeps coming back to haunt this land.
Across Kashmir, candle marches were held. Streets that are usually busy fell quiet as people gathered, holding candles, standing together. It did not matter what political views people held or which group they belonged to. From different organisations, associations, and communities, there was one clear voice: this was wrong. This was not who we are.
That unity and integrity among the Kashmiris mattered. It showed that despite everything Kashmir has been through over the years, there is still a strong desire for peace. People are tired of violence. They are tired of setbacks just when things begin to feel stable again. For the first time in decades, many felt that Kashmir was slowly moving forward—towards development, normalcy, and a future that looked a little more hopeful and peaceful.
Tourism had started to grow again. People were returning, businesses were picking up, and there was a sense that maybe, just maybe, things were changing. Incidents like the Pahalgam attack threaten all of that. They create fear, not just for visitors but for locals whose lives depend on peace. When violence returns, it does not just take lives, it takes away opportunities, trust, and the belief that things can get better.
It is important to say this clearly: those who carry out such attacks are not just enemies of peace; they are enemies of Kashmir itself. They do not represent its people, its culture, or its future. Whether they come from within or are influenced by forces outside, their actions only bring suffering. They push the region backwards at a time when people are trying hard to move ahead.
A year later, remembering Pahalgam is not just about looking back. It is also about asking what kind of future we want. The people of Kashmir have shown, again and again, that they want peace. They have shown it in their reactions, in their unity, and in their refusal to accept violence as normal.
The martyrs of that day should not be remembered only for how they died, but for what their loss taught us. They reminded us how fragile peace can be, and how important it is to protect it. Their memory should push us to stand firmer against anything that threatens that peace.
Even today, when people speak of that incident, there is a pause, a moment where words fall short. That silence says a lot. It carries grief, but also a quiet strength. Kashmir has seen pain before, and yet its people continue to hold on to hope.
As we mark one year since the Pahalgam attack, we remember those who lost their lives with respect and sorrow. We stand with their families, even if from a distance, in their loss. And at the same time, we remind ourselves of who we are, a people who value peace, who believe in humanity, and who refuse to let violence define us. The candles lit last year may have burned out, but their meaning still shines brightly—a lasting tribute to your martyrdom.

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