A Feminist Linguist’s Take on the India-Pakistan Escalation.
The recent military escalation between Pakistan and India has drawn considerable interest from feminist linguists, not just for its geopolitical stakes, but for the language, symbolism, and gendered narratives surrounding it. These two nuclear-armed neighbours, long defined as “arch rivals,” have a storied history of tension, from the wars of 1965 and 1971 to the Kargil conflict and the Pulwama attack in 2019. At the time of those past confrontations, I was not yet immersed in feminist linguistic research, nor was I pursuing advanced academic study. I recall those events primarily through the lens of national discourse and media headlines, not through the critical tools I’ve since acquired. But the recent events, particularly the Pahalgam attack that left 26 civilians dead, have struck a different chord. They unfolded at a time when I am both intellectually and emotionally alert as a PhD researcher and feminist linguist. And what I witnessed in the aftermath has been as linguistically fascinating as it has been politically revealing.

Soon after the Pahalgam attack, Indian political and media rhetoric pivoted decisively toward a gendered framing. The victims, primarily men, were not described simply as civilians or tourists. Instead, they were repeatedly referred to as “husbands,” with their wives quickly brought into the spotlight as grieving widows. This subtle linguistic shift transformed a civilian tragedy into a melodramatic narrative, one that mirrored familiar Bollywood tropes of male heroism and female victimhood.

The loss was not portrayed as the killing of individuals but as the wounding of women’s identities, specifically their marital status. In Indian media and political speeches, the grief of these women was made central, echoing the cinematic figure of the “damsel in distress,” whose suffering must be avenged by a righteous male protagonist. Prime Minister Narendra Modi seemed to channel precisely this archetype. His rhetoric was steeped in emotional fervor, as he positioned himself as the grieving nation’s protector and avenger.

This cinematic framing reached its peak with the naming of the ensuing military strikes: Operation Sindoor. For those unfamiliar, sindoor is the red powder traditionally worn by married Hindu women in the parting of their hair, a visual signifier of their marital status. By naming the operation after this deeply gendered cultural symbol, the Indian state effectively recast a military response into a moral crusade, where the honour of widowed women became a national cause.

Yet this symbolism was not without consequences. On social media, the discourse quickly took a bizarre, and at times disturbing, turn. Sindoor became a trending metaphor, used by netizens on both sides of the border to feminise and humiliate the enemy. Posts proliferated showing soldiers “filling sindoor” into the symbolic scalp of the opposing nation, often represented by women. One particularly interesting meme depicted the Pakistan Army applying sindoor to an image of India personified as a submissive bride, reinforcing the idea that defeat is feminine, and therefore shameful.

Such portrayals not only trivialise a geopolitical crisis but reinforce regressive gender stereotypes. The weaponisation of feminine imagery, particularly marital symbols, reduced a complex conflict into a spectacle of hypermasculinity and nationalist misogyny. To reinforce the emotional and symbolic power of Operation Sindoor, Indian authorities took a notable step; they brought senior women military officials to the forefront of media briefings. While on the surface, this move may appear progressive, and in many ways, it is, it also seemed choreographed to reinforce the operation’s thematic branding. Women were deployed not just as leaders, but as embodiments of national resilience and moral righteousness. Unfortunately, the backlash to their visibility was swift and vile. As the operation failed to produce the anticipated results and Pakistan claimed tactical success, Indian women officers became targets of online abuse. Their presence, once lauded, was suddenly cited as a reason for failure. Misogynistic narratives resurfaced, portraying women as symbols of weakness, unfit to represent military strength or national pride.

This reaction laid bare the fragile foundation of performative inclusion. When women are showcased only as symbols of nationalism, their competence is readily undermined when outcomes fall short. As I observed the unfolding of this conflict, I couldn’t help but detect the fingerprints of Bollywood all over it, from the glorified framing of widows, to the emotional arc of vengeance, to the visual cues embedded in the operation’s very name. If one were to imagine a film adaptation, it would not be surprising to see Deepika Padukone or Alia Bhatt cast as “Soofia Qureshi,” or as the “sorrowful widow” whose tragedy propels the nation to war, with Ajay Devgan or Akshay Kumar stepping in as the valiant army officer leading Operation Sindoor to cinematic justice.

I urge my readers to momentarily step outside the cloaks of nationalism and consider this reflection from the perspective of gender and discourse. I am not here to pick a side based on region or religion. I write as a feminist linguist, someone concerned not with who “won” the battle, but with how the language we use in times of conflict reaffirms patriarchal norms and exploits female identities in political and military narratives to strategically serve power interests.

This war has once again shown us that in the theatre of nationalism, women are often cast in roles they did not audition for: grieving widows, symbolic brides, scapegoats for failure, and tools for propaganda.