hree weeks ago, when the Pahalgam terrorist attack occurred, my first reaction was a sense of fatigue, a never-ending, desolate fatigue. At that time, desolation came from a realisation of the unending nature of terror that refuses to leave us. Mine is a generation that grew up during the times of Khalistan movement and its attacks; then Kashmir; and then many others including both what are called ‘religious terrorism’ across India.

India has lost two of its prime ministers and thousands of other citizens to terrorism. Yet, with all our troubles, we continue to build the same dreams. Economic liberalisation happened and years of prosperity for a growing section of population followed (even as others continued to be pushed to the margins). We continued to dream of peaceful times, often beginning to believe that we had got there, only to be jolted violently like in the case of that girl, dazed and bewildered, sitting next to the body of her husband, only to be reminded how messy our lives are. Our region, its history, its present, and it seems its future as well, are pathetic. This sense of fatigue comes from the bleak realisation of the situation when you watch someone half inside, half outside the door of a house on blaze. This time, the roof seems to be caving in.

That sense of persistent fatigue became worse with what unfolded in the following two weeks.........

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