LAMHE

  I was sipping my morning tea when the news arrived—not like a whisper, but like a siren through my chest. Another terror attack, this time in Pahalgam. The moment felt heartbreakingly familiar. My heart clenched not just with pain, but with exhaustion. It wasn’t just grief—it was the weight of decades. I asked myself, how many times must we bury our dead before the world sees the truth? How many times must we call this a beginning, when we know this war never truly ends?   India’s response came swiftly— Operation Sindoor. And what a name. Not just a military label, but a metaphor. Sindoor—that sacred streak of red across a woman’s hairline, a mark of life, of promise, of protection. But also, the first drop of blood, symbolic of every sacrifice made for the sanctity of the nation. This was not war for war’s sake; this was a reply rooted in the soil of rage and reverence. India didn’t just retaliate—it restored balance. With S-400 air defense systems, Akash missiles, and...