Panic Attack, PTSD, Fear: Kashmiris Across Generations Speak Out on War Anxiety

In a region where peace is fragile, the psychological cost of simply existing is often overlooked.

A week on, despite the official ceasefire between India and Pakistan, a deep sense of anxiety continues to grip Kashmir.

(Illustration by Vibhushita Singh)

“I vividly remember the first moment I felt the fear of dying," said Zehra, a 16-year-old resident of Upper Town, Srinagar.

“I heard muffled explosions in the distance. It happened near our home. I panicked and ran upstairs, shouting, 'Are we under attack? Can they reach the city?'"

"Since then, I haven’t been able to sleep. I can’t sit alone," she said recalling the morning of 10 May when drone attacks rocked Srinagar amid cross-border shelling by Pakistan.

A week on, despite the official ceasefire between India and Pakistan, a deep sense of anxiety continues to grip Zehra — and many others in Kashmir.

Even in Srinagar, far from the border and bustling with life, the calm feels tenuous. Beneath the surface, fear persists — shaped by years of conflict and the ever-present threat of sudden violence.

“What if India and Pakistan exchange fire again? Till when will this calm last?” ask residents.

'Never Experienced Anything Like This'

For many young people in the Valley, the anxiety of war is an unfamiliar and unsettling experience.

“It was past midnight (on 7 May) when I started seeing posts on social media about a possible war and attacks,” said Rafia, a 19-year-old student from Srinagar.

“I felt something I had never felt before, an overwhelming and strange sensation in my chest. I told my parents, and they panicked too. They rushed me to the hospital, where the doctors said I was having a panic attack. I had never experienced anything like that in my life,” she added.

Rafia, a 19-year-old from Srinagar, said she experienced her first panic attack after hearing the news of a possible war.

(Photo: Syeda Sakeena)

In the days that followed, the distant sounds of sirens and airstrikes cast a heavy sense of unease across the region.

This fear only intensified following attempted missile and drone strikes, reportedly by Pakistan, in several parts of northwestern India, including Jammu, on the night of 8 May.

While peace may have returned along the borders now, the experience has left a deep psychological toll on many young Kashmiris.

"Even a door slam would make my heart race. It’s exhausting mentally and emotionally."

Fizza (name changed), 28

Flashbacks of Past Hostilities

Older residents, who have lived through previous conflicts and wartime conditions in the Valley, say the current situation has resurfaced past traumas.

Naseera, a woman in her 60s from downtown Srinagar, sat with her three-year-old granddaughter Khateeja on her lap as she recalled vivid memories from her childhood.

“I don’t remember exactly how old I was, probably about as old as Khateeja is now," she said.

"My parents used to turn off the lights, light a candle inside a steel glass, close the curtains, and make my siblings and I lie down on our stomachs whenever sirens blared outside.”

Naseera

As she spoke, her face turned red and her eyes welled up with tears.

“Kyah aus Kashiran naseebas (Is this Kashmir’s fate)?," she whispered.

"As soon as I heard there was a war-like situation, the first thing I told my children was to stock up on essentials,” said Shagufta, a 57-year-old widow from Budgam, a town 27 km away from Srinagar.

“I couldn’t shake the anxiety—the thought of conflict brought back so many fears. Reflecting on the loss of family members I witnessed back in 2016 left me deeply unsettled. This has been our reality for as long as I can remember.”

Shagufta

Zainab, a 33-year-old entrepreneur in Srinagar, spoke with weary frustration. 

“Just when we thought life in Kashmir was returning to normal, like in other places, it hit us all over again,” she said. “Everything we have built is turning to dust.” 

For many like her, whose livelihoods depend on tourism, the attack in Pahalgam has dealt a heavy blow. “Tourism is Kashmir’s backbone,” she said. “It supports every sector. After the incident, everything crumbled again.” 

A shikara owner on Dal Lake, speaking on condition of anonymity, shared his anguish. 

“I’m losing Rs 50,000 a day since the Pahalgam attack. This wasn’t my fault, but I’m paying the price. It’s not just the money, but the stress and the helplessness. We’re being punished for something we didn’t do.” 

The Psychological Cost of Conflict

In a region where uncertainty is constant and peace remains fragile, the psychological toll of simply existing is often overlooked.

In Kashmir, “normal” is a cycle of calm punctuated by conflict. People have learned to live in a state of waiting and the uneasy pauses between violence and quiet.

But with each repetition of the cycle, the silence that follows feels thinner, more fragile. Behind the conflict are real people—weary, resilient, and quietly breaking under the weight of enduring uncertainty.

Speaking on the psychological impact of living under conflict areas, Dr Zoya, a psychologist based in Srinagar, explained, “Living in a state of prolonged insecurity marked by curfews or violence creates deep psychological distress."

"It disrupts sleep, causes nightmares, and can worsen existing mental health conditions like PTSD, depression, and anxiety. The body and mind remain in a constant 'survival mode', which over time erodes resilience and quality of life.”

Dr Zoya

In conflict-hit areas like Kashmir, Dr Zoya said, she has observed a clear pattern of anxiety-related symptoms across all age groups.

“Many people report persistent worry about their family’s safety, panic attacks, breathlessness, and chest tightness. Others experience intrusive thoughts about past or imagined violence,” she noted.

She emphasises that these symptoms are not just personal struggles, but are closely tied to the broader instability people live in.

“Restrictions on mobility, technology, disrupted education, and constant uncertainty about the future only intensify the psychological strain,” she explained.

“I couldn’t concentrate on my deadlines,” said Fizza (name changed), a 27-year-old graphic designer who works from home. “Every few minutes, I’d check my phone for updates, call my cousins, or step outside to see if things were still calm. The internet was unstable — and so was my mind. Kashmir has faced internet blockages before, and the thought of it happening again gives me chills.”

Fizza, a 27-year-old who works from home, said her work has suffered significantly due to her deteriorating psychological state.

(Photo: Syeda Sakeena)

But not everyone has the luxury to reflect on their mental state. Many, especially older people, simply dismiss it. Saniya, a 58-year-old teacher, put it bluntly:

“People here barely think about mental health. PTSD? Who has time for that? We’re more worried about putting food on the table, staying alive, and checking on loved ones near the borders.”

This is why Dr Zoya stresses on the importance of community-based support, especially in places where access to professional mental health services is limited.

“Checking in on one another, especially those more vulnerable to mental health issues, is critical. Sometimes, just listening without judgment or offering a few comforting words can be therapeutic,” she said.

“Using local wisdom, encouraging emotional expression, and creating a circle of support can help people find hope in even the most difficult times.”

Dr Zoya

(Syeda Sakeena is a freelance multimedia journalist from Srinagar, Kashmir. She covers culture, society, and the environment.)