Patriotism & Pain between Cross-Border Admiration: A Reflection on India & Pakistan
On April 22, 2024, the picturesque valleys of Pahalgam in Jammu and Kashmir were again stained with blood. An ambush on Indian Army personnel left four brave soldiers martyred and several others injured. The attack was allegedly orchestrated by Pakistan-based terror groups, continuing a brutal pattern of cross-border proxy violence that has haunted India for decades.
For many Indians, especially those who have lived through the trauma of Pulwama, Uri, and countless such attacks, this was not just another headline—it was a fresh wound. A cruel reminder that even in peacetime, we are not truly at peace.
And yet, barely days after this tragic incident, a curious paradox unfolded on Indian social media. As the Indian government banned several Pakistani Instagram handles—primarily celebrities and influencers as well as cricketers—some Indians, particularly fans of Pakistani dramas, music, and cinema, rushed to bypass the ban using VPNs. In a move that triggered many, sections of our youth seemed more eager to “stay connected” with Pakistani pop culture than regret the attack that had just taken the lives of our Indian tourists, suddenly.
It begs a difficult question: What does patriotism mean to us anymore?
The Duality of National Affection
India & Pakistan share a complicated, painful history. Born from the same land, divided by ideology and bloodshed, we are nations tethered by legacy and yet separated by narrative.
It is not wrong to appreciate the artistic value of Pakistani content. Some of their actors, musicians, and creators do have immense talent. The problem comes when admiration turns into selective empathy—when people can celebrate the aesthetics of a nation while being silent about its systemic support for terrorism against our own country. Claiming they have a voice and where on the land of terrorism.
Is it fair to follow a Lollywood star while ignoring the tears of an Indian wife who has just lost her husband in front of her eyes?
This is where the emotional complexity lies. Art, music, and cinema should ideally rise above politics, but when those very artists refuse to condemn terror attacks or when their silence indirectly aids propaganda, it becomes impossible to separate the two.
BeerBiceps and the Genuineness Debate
Popular influencer Ranveer Allahbadia, aka BeerBiceps, recently stirred a controversy by stating in his Instagram post, which was later deleted, that he found Pakistanis to be “genuine and kind” during his interactions. While this may be his personal experience and entirely valid from an individual humanistic lens, it touched a raw nerve for many Indians.
Because this isn’t just about people. It’s about context.
How can one speak of genuineness and goodwill without acknowledging the larger ecosystem that continues to birth and shelter groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed? Groups that have proudly claimed responsibility for massacres like 26/11, Pulwama, and more recently, Pahalgam.
To praise a nation’s “genuineness” without acknowledging the blood on its hands—whether directly or through its deep state proxies—is not just naïve, it’s deeply hurtful.
Selective Outrage and the Erosion of National Memory
What’s most distressing is not just the VPN subscriptions or the fan comments on Pakistani celebrities’ pages—it’s the silence. The silence about the martyrs. The absence of nationwide outrage. The lack of consistent remembrance for the sacrifices made.
We are becoming a nation that forgets too quickly. We post hashtags, light a candle, and move on to the next trend. Meanwhile, soldiers continue to die anonymously in border skirmishes, anti-terror operations, and ambushes planned far beyond our Line of Control.
Our patriotism, it seems, has become conditional. We wave the flag on Independence Day and during World Cup cricket matches. But in moments that demand unity, grief, and collective conscience, we often fall short.
Pakistan’s Own Struggle and the Illusion of Generalization
Let us be clear: not all Pakistanis support terrorism. Many suffer under the same oppressive state machinery, economic decay, and extremism that India decries. Countless Pakistani journalists, feminists, and activists have been jailed, exiled, or silenced for speaking against the military-industrial complex that fuels both domestic and cross-border violence.
But in India, when we confront terror attacks traced to Pakistan, it is difficult to separate the people from the policies. The grief is too raw, the wounds too deep.
Admiration for Pakistani culture must be tempered with awareness. It must be mindful of timing, context, and the larger realities of national trauma. One can appreciate a Mehdi Hassan ghazal and still demand accountability for Hafiz Saeed’s free movement in Lahore. These two truths can—and must—coexist if we are to remain morally consistent.
The Question We Must All Ask
So here’s the question to all who freely admire Pakistan’s cultural landscape while ignoring its violent shadows:
Was the Pahalgam attack on April 22nd worth it?
Was the silence worth the VPN?
Was the admiration worth the disloyalty?
Was the fan-following worth the betrayal of grief?
This isn’t a witch-hunt. It’s a soul-searching. And it’s necessary. Because if our love for art overshadows our love for our martyrs, then we’ve truly lost our sense of national dignity.
Patriotism in the Age of Algorithms
In the digital age, opinions are currency. But with great voice comes great responsibility. Public figures—be it influencers, YouTubers, or actors—must recognize that their words carry weight. A podcast line, an offhand compliment, a post—it can shape perceptions and wound sentiments.
Criticism of India’s internal faults is necessary and patriotic. But blind praise of an adversary without context is careless.
True patriotism lies in balance—where we honor truth, mourn loss, and celebrate humanity without forgetting who bleeds for our freedom.
Final Thought
Let us not become a nation divided by hashtags and VPNs.
Let us remember Pahalgam—not as just another attack—but as a reminder that freedom comes at a price.
And while we may admire art across borders, let us never forget who guards those borders.
Not just with guns, but with their lives.
Also Read: Operation Sindoor: Bollywood’s 2025 War Film Rush Amid Ongoing Conflict
