Delhi: During a phone conversation, Areeba, a 22-year-old student from Kashmir who lives in Chandigarh, recounted how her friend, also from Kashmir, was travelling to the airport on Thursday morning when strangers stopped her and pulled her out of her cab, causing a bruise. 

They shouted, she said, “You Kashmiris are the ones responsible for attacks like the one in Pahalgam; you support them.”

Since then, Areeba, a radiology student at Rayat Bahra University, who asked that her last name not appear, has locked herself in her rented room, fearing the same backlash.

“We are stuck. We can’t go outside, and we can’t go home. Even booking a cab to the airport feels like risking our lives,” Areeba said, her voice breaking. “I feel like a prisoner here, just because I’m Kashmiri, just because I’m Muslim. This flat that was once my home feels like a cage now.”

In the wake of a deadly terrorist attack that claimed the lives of 24 Indians and two foreigners in the popular tourist town of Pahalgam in central Jammu and Kashmir, Kashmiris living in at least three northern states (Uttarakhand, Uttar Pradesh, and Punjab) and in Jammu, and  faced reprisals, fueled by right-wing groups, and hatred against them on social media surged. 

In Uttarakhand, members of the Hindu Raksha Dal, a vigilante group, threatened Kashmiri Muslim students in Dehradun, demanding they leave the state “or face consequences”.

Suvendu Adhikari, head of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in Bengal, tweeted the address of two supposed Kashmiris, wrongly accusing them of suspicious activity, running a communications dish that turned out to belong to the cellphone company Jio. 

Six years ago, in the aftermath of a deadly terrorist attack in the central Pulwama district, which claimed the lives of 40 security personnel in February 2019, Kashmiris nationwide faced harassment, eviction threats, and physical assault and were branded traitors and terrorists.

Many observers said the Pulwama attack catapulted the BJP and Prime Minister Narendra Modi to a stunning victory in the general election in May 2019. Three months after that, the Modi government rescinded J&K’s semi-autonomous status and demoted India’s only Muslim-majority state to a union territory, bringing it under direct control of the central government.

Modi said this would usher peace, investments and economic prosperity in the conflict-ridden region.

“After Pulwama in 2019, I remember hiding in my room for a week,” said Junaid Bhat, a student at the Thapar Institute of Engineering & Technology in Punjab. “Now it is happening again. We are either invisible or accused. There is no in-between.”

“We are not even allowed to mourn what happened back home,” said Rumaisa Lone, a 28-year-old working professional in Delhi. “Because the moment we express sorrow, they think we are faking it. They think we are part of it. How do you live in a place where even your grief is seen as guilt?”

Nasir Khuehami, the national convenor of Jammu & Kashmir Students Association (JKSA), a Srinagar-based student union, said that they were receiving between 600 to 700 calls daily, requesting assistance from Punjab, Himachal Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, and Jammu. However, Khuehami noted that the circumstances following Pulwama and today are not the same, as Kashmiris across the board have unanimously condemned the killing of civilian tourists, they have established a “mechanism” for seeking and providing help, and the authorities are now responsive to their appeals for intervention. 

According to JKSA, in Uttarakhand, a state governed by the BJP, the director general of police, Deepam Seth, constituted a special team and instructed senior police officers to meet Kashmiri students and ensure their safety. 

Khuehami said that a criminal case was registered against the Raksha Dal member who had issued threats of violence.

Khuehami noted that this time, there were more threats and fear tactics than actual violence. He stated, “It’s possible that this may not escalate”

A Kashmiri woman student, reportedly subjected to verbal abuse and physical intimidation in Punjab, was saved by student leaders.

‘What Did I Do?’

Rukhsar Wani, a nursing student at Rahat Baharat University in Chandigarh, cried while describing the harassment she faced at a local market on 24 April. 

“As soon as I stepped out, people started staring at me like I didn’t belong there. A group of men began abusing me, calling me names, shouting the worst things,” said Wani, 25 years old. 

“I could hear the hate in their voices. It was not just words. It was a threat. I started shivering. I could not even walk properly. I froze. I kept thinking, ‘What did I do? What was my fault?’” she said. 

Since then, Wani have not left her room. “I did not have the guts to step out. I just want to return to where I belong and feel safe. But I am stuck here and don’t know how long I can take this. I feel trapped in every way possible.”

‘It's Always The Same Story’

Faizan Shafi, a 21-year-old student at the Himalayan Institute of Technology in Dehradun, went without sleep the night following the terrorist massacre, fearing imminent retaliation.

“The moment I saw the headlines, I knew we would suffer for it,” said Shafi. “It is always the same story, someone else commits a crime, and we all become suspects.”

Shafi, pursuing a bachelor's degree in pharmacy, said he had not stepped out of his hostel room since the attack, not even for food. 

“I feel like every eye on this campus is burning through me, like they all know where I am from and are just waiting,” said Shafi. “I hear footsteps outside and freeze.” 

“My phone keeps buzzing with messages from home telling me to stay quiet, stay safe,” he said. “But how do you stay safe when your name, face, and identity are enough to make you a target? I didn’t do anything, yet I’m the one hiding.” 

“I’m tired of being scared. I’m tired of apologising for something I had no part in. We have called our warden, college officials, and even the police,” said Shafi. “No one is picking up. No one wants to be responsible for Kashmiris right now. We are alone.” 

Kashmiri students told us their rooms had been targeted, doors banged violently late at night, slurs hurled through the corridors, and threatening notes slipped under doors. 

“They beat on our doors like they were trying to break in,” said a 24-year-old B.Com student at the Himalayan Institute of Technology, speaking on the condition of anonymity. 

“They shouted things I can’t even repeat, filthy, hateful words just because we are Kashmiri. We did not sleep at all,” he said. “We just sat huddled together, scared someone might actually come in.” 

Isolation, Abandonment

Kashmiri students said they feared not just the violence, but also the possibility of being entirely isolated, deserted by the institutions meant to ensure their safety.

Some students were in the middle of their examinations. But with threats looming outside and fear gripping their hearts, they said attending exams felt nearly impossible. 

Students said they had called the administration offices requesting delays or online alternatives, but received no response.

“How are we supposed to focus on papers when we are scared?” said the student who spoke on the condition of anonymity.  “The university hasn’t postponed anything. For them, it is business as usual. But for us, just stepping outside to reach the exam hall feels like walking into danger. We want to study and graduate, but right now, survival comes first.”

‘Last Warning’

In Prayagraj, Uttar Pradesh, Kashmiri students and professionals living in rented accommodations reported threats from their landlords to vacate immediately or face violent consequences. 

“We were told this is the last warning. If we don’t leave by tonight, we will be thrown out, or worse, killed,” said a 26-year-old Kashmiri student, speaking on the condition of anonymity. 

“We don’t even have the option to return home, and now we are being forced onto the streets,” he said. “It feels like we are being hunted in every corner of this country.”

‘If We Are Not Safe In Jammu’

On Wednesday night in Janipur, Jammu, protests erupted with slogans openly inciting hatred against Kashmiri Muslims. 

Eyewitnesses said that Kashmiri students living in the area were singled out, harassed, and even beaten. 

“We never imagined we would face this here, in our land,” said Irfan Beigh, a Government Medical College and Hospital (GMC) student in Jammu. “If we are not safe in Jammu, where are we safe? This is not just about students anymore, this is about our identity being attacked, everywhere.”

“Too Close” To The Story

The wave of hostility has found its way into newsrooms, too. 

A young Kashmiri reporter working with a national outlet in Delhi said editors made veiled remarks questioning their empathy, painting them as “too close” to the story. 

“It’s humiliating,” said the reporter, speaking on the condition of anonymity. “We’re treated like our professionalism is somehow compromised just because we’re from Kashmir. It’s not open abuse, but it is a kind of mental torture that eats away at you every day.”

Kashmiri professionals we spoke with said they had faced questions from colleagues about their “stance” on terrorism, with some even being advised to “go back home until things settle.”

In Kashmir, schools, markets and businesses have closed to mourn and protest the attacks.

“Just once, I want someone to say, ‘This was not your fault,’” says Faizan Shafi quietly. “But that is never going to happen. Because it is always easier to blame us.”

(Masrat Nabi is an independent journalist who reports on politics, gender and human rights.)

Get exclusive access to new databases, expert analyses, weekly newsletters, book excerpts and new ideas on democracy, law and society in India. Subscribe to Article 14.