Rarely have we seen fortunes reverse as rapidly as they just did.

The military’s standing has skyrocketed, and a long line will now form outside the general’s door of people and groups and parties waiting their turn to shower him with honorifics. Banners are going up in cities, ads in newspapers, by business and industry groups.

Let’s start with this. India’s aggressive intent regarding Pakistan has been made so clear now that there is no room left for debate on the need for defence preparedness. The J-10s that brought down the Rafales had been procured in 2022, the year Pakistan came close to default. In hindsight, it was a necessary decision. Remember the rushed summoning of a joint session of parliament in January 2022, during which the amendments to the State Bank Act were passed within minutes of being tabled? All that was done to hurriedly comply with IMF requirements that the government had spent the previous year resisting.

The second batch of six landed on Aug 30, literally days after the IMF Board approved another tranche of $1.1bn. And the subsequent batches all landed in the months ahead. At the time it was possible to ask questions about why a country that was struggling with husbanding its foreign exchange reserves should be buying such advanced fighter planes. But not anymore.

For someone who has been a peace dove all his life, who has advocated for redirection of defence expenditures towards peaceful, development purposes, these words are not easy to write. But reality is stubborn, and two things bring home reality better than anything else: war and the economy.

Both are enterprises ruthless in exacting the costs of folly and mistakes. Neither of the two can be wished away, spun into something other than what they are, or otherwise argued away.

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The reality today is that Pakistan faces an adversary to the east that requires the highest levels of preparedness to confront. Two nuclear powers have never before exchanged missile fire of this magnitude. No nuclear power has initiated hostilities against another on the basis of a casus belli manufactured out of thin air.

In the case of Pahalgam, no evidence linking Pakistan to the attack has been provided. Not even an iota. In fact, at the time the Indian authorities had started blaming Pakistan they could not even answer simple questions about the attack in Pahalgam. How many attackers were there? What weapons did they carry? How many bullets were fired? What route did they take to get to the site? What conveyance did they use? How did they leave the site? Were they in touch with any handlers during the attack? And so on.

This is irresponsible behaviour on the part of a nuclear-armed state. It was also extreme recklessness to use the dual-use, nuclear-capable Brahmos missile to attack Pakistani cities and air force bases during the missile exchanges. These actions — leaping to kinetic hostilities even before any evidence has come in, using nuclear-capable missiles for delivery of conventional payloads — belie a political intent behind the aggression.

It is hard to figure out what military objectives India sought to achieve through this war. It is easier to see that their political leadership is using a muscular assertion of military power to score political points back home.

Except it backfired. As per the political script, Pakistan was supposed to wilt in the face of such bellicosity and aggression. Instead, Pakistan fired back and they hurried to call for a ceasefire. Perhaps they thought that because Pakistan is strapped for cash and on an IMF programme, relatively isolated from the world, it will not be able to take fire for very long and will sue for peace early in the engagements.

Whatever the calculus at the other end, it is clear now that Pakistan has no option but to upgrade its defences and prepare for another round. India was once living proof that a pluralist democracy is not a luxury only rich countries can afford. But its democracy succumbed to demagoguery almost a decade ago. Now that the demagogue whom they have elected as their prime minister, a man who has told his citizenry that he is not naturally born but a divine being sent down with a mission, is consolidating his place and using war as entertainment with which to power his politics. Pakistan cannot take this threat lightly.

As the government prepares its budget for fiscal year 2026, it will have to keep in mind the elevated requirements that will come from the upgradation of its defences and replenishment of inventory consumed during the war.

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Everybody will seek to ride on the revitalised political capital of the military. Politicians and business leaders will compete with each other to sing their praises, and try to weld their own particular interests with those of the military. ‘You need dollars to maintain readiness, and we exporters can bring you dollars’, they will say. ‘But we need the cost of doing business to be brought down to be able to do so’, and so on.

The government, which was looking forward to a little more fiscal space in the year ahead compared to the year past, will have to postpone some of its plans to spend its way back into people’s hearts perhaps. And the opposition, the poor PTI, lost at sea as they already were after the collapse of their ‘final call’ last November, will struggle to find its voice amid the din of applause for the military. This is what the fallout of the war will look like.

The writer is a business and economy journalist.

Dawn News

Last week the International Monetary Fund (IMF) approved a $1bn (£756m) bailout to Pakistan – a move that drew sharp disapproval from India as military hostilities between the nuclear-armed neighbours flared, before a US-led ceasefire was unexpectedly declared.

Despite India’s protests, the IMF board approved the second instalment of a $7bn loan, saying Islamabad had demonstrated strong programme implementation leading to a continuing economic recovery in Pakistan.

It also said the fund would continue to support Pakistan’s efforts in building economic resilience to “climate vulnerabilities and natural disasters”, providing further access of around $1.4bn in funding in the future.

In a strongly worded statement India raised concerns over the decision, citing two reasons.

Delhi questioned the “efficacy” of such bailouts or the lack thereof, given Pakistan’s “poor track record” in implementing reform measures. But more importantly it flagged the possibility of these funds being used for “state-sponsored cross-border terrorism” – a charge Islamabad has repeatedly denied – and said the IMF was exposing itself and its donors to “reputational risks” and making a “mockery of global values”.

The IMF did not respond to the BBC’s request for a comment on the Indian stance.

Even Pakistani experts argue that there’s some merit to Delhi’s first argument. Pakistan has been prone to persistently seeking the IMF’s help – getting bailed out 24 times since 1958 – without undertaking meaningful reforms to improve public governance.

“Going to the IMF is like going to the ICU [intensive care unit]. If a patient goes 24 or 25 times to the ICU then there are structural challenges and concerns that need to be dealt with,” Hussain Haqqani, former Pakistani ambassador to the US, told the BBC.

But addressing Delhi’s other concerns – that the IMF was “rewarding continued sponsorship of cross-border terrorism” thereby sending a “dangerous message to the global community” – is far more complex, and perhaps explains why India wasn’t able to exert pressure to stall the bailout.

India’s decision to try to prevent the next tranche of the bailout to Islamabad was more about optics then, rather than a desire for any tangible outcome, say experts. As per the country’s own observations, the fund had limited ability to do something about the loan, and was “circumscribed by procedural and technical formalities”.

As one of the 25 members of the IMF board, India’s influence at the fund is limited. It represents a four-country group including Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Bhutan. Pakistan is part of the Central Asia group, represented by Iran.

Unlike the United Nations’ one-country-one-vote system, the voting rights of IMF board members are based on a country’s economic size and its contributions – a system which has increasingly faced criticism for favouring richer Western countries over developing economies.

For example, the US has the biggest voting share – at 16.49% – while India holds just 2.6%. Besides, IMF rules do not allow for a vote against a proposal – board members can either vote in favour or abstain – and the decisions are made by consensus on the board.

“This shows how vested interests of powerful countries can influence decisions,” an economist who didn’t want to speak on the record told the BBC.

Addressing this imbalance was a key proposal in the reforms mooted for the IMF and other multilateral lenders during India’s G20 presidency in 2023.

In their report, former Indian bureaucrat NK Singh and former US treasury secretary Lawrence Summers recommended breaking the link between IMF voting rights and financial contributions to ensure fairer representation for both the “Global North” and the “Global South”. But there has been no progress so far on implementing these recommendations.

Furthermore, recent changes in the IMF’s own rules about funding countries in conflict add more complexity to the issue. A $15.6bn loan by the fund to Ukraine in 2023 was the first of its kind by the IMF to a country at war.

“It bent its own rules to give an enormous lending package to Ukraine – which means it cannot use that excuse to shut down an already-arranged loan to Pakistan,” Mihir Sharma of the Observer Research Foundation (ORF) think tank in Delhi told the BBC.

If India really wants to address its grievances, the right forum to present them would be the United Nations FATF (Financial Action Task Force), says Mr Haqqani.

The FATF looks at issues of combating terror finance and decides whether countries need to be placed on grey or black lists that prevent them from accessing funds from bodies like the IMF or the World Bank.

“Grandstanding at the IMF cannot and did not work,” said Mr Haqqani. “If a country is on that [FATF] list it will then face challenges in getting a loan from the IMF – as has happened with Pakistan earlier.”

As things stand though, Pakistan was officially removed from the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) grey list in 2022.

Separately, experts also caution that India’s calls to overhaul the IMF’s funding processes and veto powers could be a double-edged sword.

Such reforms “would inevitably give Beijing [rather than Delhi] more power”, said Mr Sharma.

Mr Haqqani agrees. India should be wary of using “bilateral disputes at multilateral fora”, he said, adding that India has historically been at the receiving end of being vetoed out by China in such places.

He points to instances of Beijing blocking ADB (Asian Development Bank) loans sought by India for the north-eastern state of Arunachal Pradesh, citing border disputes between the two countries in the region.

Paris (Imran Y. CHOUDHRY) :- Former Press Secretary to the President, Former Press Minister to the Embassy of Pakistan to France, Former MD, SRBC Mr. Qamar Bashir analysis : When tragedy struck in Pahalgam on April 22, Prime Minister Narendra Modi seized the moment—not for justice or truth, but for electoral gain. Assuming the roles of victim, judge, and executioner, Modi promptly blamed Pakistan without investigation, forensic inquiry, or evidence. In doing so, he shielded India’s bloated security establishment from scrutiny and used the incident to ignite nationalist passions just ahead of elections.
On May 12, in his first national address since the escalation began, Modi resurfaced to glorify “Operation Sindoor” as a surgical strike on terror. He painted a picture of technological precision, national unity, and decisive leadership. He boasted of eliminating over 100 terrorists and destroying terror camps in Bahawalpur and Muridke, celebrating India’s new doctrine of proactive defense. But the actual events bore little resemblance to this narrative.
Modi claimed that Operation Sindoor had carved a new benchmark in India’s fight against terror, framing it as a new normal. What he didn’t admit was the colossal failure of India’s intelligence and defense apparatus, and the devastating retaliation India faced from a militarily and economically smaller Pakistan. Instead of acknowledging the risks he plunged the region into—and the global threat such recklessness posed—he offered a hollow narrative that concealed more than it revealed.
In reality, India’s multi-pronged strikes by air, land, and sea killed no terrorists. They destroyed civilian homes, mosques, and empty fields. No confirmed terrorist casualties were reported. It was a spectacle designed for optics, not justice.
Then came the shock: on the very first day of hostilities, six Indian fighter jets, including three much-hyped Rafales, were downed by Pakistan’s lean but precise Air Force. A smaller, resource-constrained Pakistan had exposed the hollowness of India’s military bravado. Indian forces launched waves of drone and missile strikes, but Pakistan’s air defenses stood firm. Retaliatory strikes by Pakistan targeted and damaged Indian military infrastructure, shaking the very myth of India’s invincibility.
Between his lines, Modi hinted at the scale of Pakistan’s retaliation. He admitted that Pakistani forces struck military bases, schools, temples, gurdwaras, and other sites—though framed them as attacks on civilians. He emphasized that India’s air defenses shot down Pakistani drones and missiles, but these assertions rang hollow against the verified losses and visible destruction within Indian territory.
What he deliberately omitted was the fact that several Indian missiles misfired and landed within Indian-administered Kashmir and East Punjab, killing and maiming civilians—a damning failure of India’s command and control systems.
Crucially, Modi ignored how India had to turn to Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and the United States to plead for de-escalation. While portraying Pakistan as the one seeking ceasefire, it was India—bloodied and embarrassed—that sought mediation. Modi attempted to mask this diplomatic retreat by saying it was Pakistan that “contacted our DGMO” and “begged for peace,” but the timeline and international reports suggested otherwise.
From May 5 to May 10, the Prime Minister vanished from public view. In those tense days of peak escalation, Modi chose silence. His disappearance was not tactical restraint but a tacit admission of miscalculation. When he finally returned to deliver his May 12 speech, it was less a declaration of victory and more an exercise in damage control.
His rhetoric turned to nuclear threats and pseudo-moral posturing. He vowed to respond to future attacks on Indian terms, claimed that India would no longer tolerate nuclear blackmail, and blurred the lines between governments and terrorists. He decried Pakistani officers for offering funeral prayers for those killed, presenting it as evidence of state-sponsored terrorism. Yet, the speech revealed more desperation than dominance.
He further championed India’s “Made in India” weapons and New Age Warfare capabilities, asserting that the operation validated indigenous defense manufacturing. However, it was evident to the world that India’s weaponry failed to protect its skies or maintain strategic superiority. Most ironically, some of those weapons malfunctioned and fell on Indian soil—a bitter embarrassment Modi dared not mention.
Perhaps the most overlooked and revolutionary aspect of this confrontation was Pakistan’s demonstration of indigenously developed soft warfare capabilities. Pakistan showcased its ability to launch effective cyberattacks, disrupt unmanned aerial vehicles midair, and induce critical errors in India’s missile command and control systems. Using precision electronic warfare tools, Pakistan successfully diverted, reprogrammed, and redirected multiple Indian missiles midflight, neutralizing their threat without conventional interception. Moreover, it identified and targeted high-value military assets in real time using its sophisticated soft skills architecture.
This capability—honed quietly over years—has now catapulted Pakistan into the ranks of countries mastering the next-generation battlefield. It may well be the first nation to have demonstrated such multi-domain, integrated, soft offensive capabilities in a live conflict. These assets played a decisive role in establishing Pakistan’s air, land, and sea superiority during the conflict, negating India’s numerical and technological advantages.
One particularly dangerous narrative that Modi had often championed before this conflict—the threat to divert rivers flowing from India into Pakistan—has now been permanently shelved. The harsh lesson taught by Pakistan during this war has ensured that weaponizing water will remain a non-option. The idea of choking Pakistan’s lifeline has backfired, permanently.
Despite his thunderous declarations, Modi could not undo the most significant outcome of this conflict: the re-internationalization of the Kashmir issue. For years, India had worked to suppress international discourse on Kashmir. But now, thanks to its own aggression, Pakistan gained sympathy, legitimacy, and diplomatic traction. U.S. President Donald Trump once again offered mediation, forcing India to confront the very topic it sought to bury.
Operation Sindoor, contrary to Modi’s celebratory framing, will be remembered not as a triumph but as a strategic blunder. It exposed the limitations of India’s military, the hollowness of its regional hegemony claims, and the perils of using warfare as an electoral tool.
India’s dream of uncontested regional supremacy has been reduced to rubble. Its myth of military superiority lies shattered. The chest-thumping nationalism that sought to project dominance has instead exposed deep vulnerabilities. From this humiliation, India may take years to recover—if at all. For now, the illusion of the subcontinent’s sole superpower has gone up in smoke, replaced by wreckage, remorse, and rhetorical retreat.