After the Pahalgam massacre—where terrorists from Pakistan crossed the border and executed 26 people in cold blood—the usual geopolitical script began to unfold. India condemned, Pakistan denied, and the West reached for its thesaurus of euphemisms: “gunmen,” “militants,” “insurgents.” But something unusual happened this time. The sharpest rebuke didn’t come from New Delhi or Washington. It came from within Pakistan itself.
Not from TV anchors or ministers. But from everyday Pakistanis—with Wi-Fi in one hand, rage in the other, and no illusions left to break.
Take this tweet: “Jung karni ho to 9 baje se pehle kar lena, 9:15 per gas chali jati hai hamari.”
Translation: If you’re planning a war, please do it before 9am—we run out of gas after that.
It would be hilarious if it weren’t heartbreakingly accurate. Pakistan, a nuclear power, can’t guarantee a cup of tea in the morning.
Another tweet offered mock-condolences: “People of Karachi, Faisalabad, Multan, Islamabad—we are sorry.”
A citizen apologising not for terrorism—but for governance. Or the lack of it.
This isn’t your everyday political frustration. This is something more profound. More fatalistic. What we’re witnessing is post-collapse satire—not born from resistance, but from resignation. Not defiance, but detachment. Pakistanis aren’t mocking their military, politicians, or failing institutions because they’re angry. They’re doing it because there’s nothing left to do but laugh.
The timing of this public self-roast is revealing. Pakistan has once again been implicated in a cross-border terrorist attack. The victims were targeted for their religion. The attackers were affiliated with Lashkar-e-Taiba’s proxy, The Resistance Front. And while the world watched, Pakistanis didn’t take to the streets to support their “freedom fighters.” They didn’t protest Indian foreign policy. They turned inward—and began roasting the very state that enabled this tragedy.
Not because they were suddenly overcome with guilt. But because they’ve understood what the world still struggles to say aloud:
The real victim of Pakistan’s obsession with jihad isn’t India. It’s Pakistanis themselves.
Their fuel. Their food. Their currency. Their safety. Their dignity.
All sacrificed at the altar of “strategic depth.”
While generals polish their medals and issue denials, the public boils with a mix of exhaustion and clarity. There’s no electricity. Gas is rationed like contraband. Inflation hovers at 30%. The rupee is in freefall. The government runs on loans. And when Pakistan was supposed to host the ICC Champions Trophy, India refused to show up—forcing Pakistan to play on neutral ground in Dubai. The punchline wrote itself: even Pakistan can’t host itself without a connecting flight.
This level of civic self-awareness would have once been dangerous. A decade ago, a sarcastic tweet could get you disappeared. Today, the dam has broken. Not because the state has grown tolerant—but because the people have grown numb. The rot is no longer underground. It’s trending on X.
If memes are the last resort of a powerless populace, then Pakistanis are now full-time philosophers. Their humour is bleak, their metaphors are postmodern, and their sarcasm is indistinguishable from sadness. This is not the comedy of rebellion. This is the comedy of collapse.
After Pahalgam, the rest of the world looked at Pakistan with suspicion. But for once, Pakistanis looked inward—and they laughed. Not because they didn’t care. But because they’ve stopped pretending that anything will change. The state has lost the plot. The people have rewritten it as dark comedy.
And so, in the aftermath of yet another tragedy, it wasn’t India that needed to respond. The loudest condemnation came from within Pakistan. Not through op-eds or diplomatic cables, but through memes, tweets, and deadpan jokes. The only thing that still functions on time in Pakistan today is the punchline.
They mocked their inability to keep the lights on. Their dependence on bailouts. Their cricketing humiliations. Their rulers. Their uniforms.
It was gallows humour in a gaslit republic.
Albert Camus would’ve called it freedom—the moment you stop asking why and simply push the boulder again. That’s the Sisyphus Clause.
India, despite all its flaws, still chases Jefferson’s promise of happiness—through growth, dissent, and democracy.
Pakistan? It has stopped expecting anything. And in that quiet surrender, it has turned its citizens into jesters, philosophers, and unwilling realists.
They don’t protest anymore. They don’t revolt. They meme. Because in Pakistan, even tragedy comes with load-shedding. And the only thing that ever arrives on time… is the joke.
