Celebrating a Decade of Joy: Honoring My Son’s 10th Birthday and the Happiness He Brought into My Life

On the 26th of May 2025, my son, Haider, turns ten years old. A decade ago, he came into my life as a beautiful answer to countless prayers. I was already blessed with two wonderful daughters, but deep in my heart, I had always asked God for a son—not because a son is more precious, but because I wanted my daughters to have someone to lean on after I am gone. Someone to protect them, to fill the void of my absence with strength, love, and support.

As my son’s tenth birthday approaches, my heart is overshadowed by a fear that is far greater than any fear I have ever known. The winds of war are rising again between India and Pakistan—nations whose histories, bloodlines, and memories are so deeply entangled. And in this rising tension, it is not the warmongers or the decision-makers who will suffer most. It is the innocents. It is the children like Haider, the daughters and sons of ordinary families, who will pay the highest price for conflicts they never chose.

War usually punishes the innocent. This simple truth is as old as humanity itself. War does not distinguish between the guilty and the blameless. It does not pause to consider the dreams of a child, the hopes of a mother, or the silent prayers of a father. War descends like a storm, and in its rage, it sweeps away the lives of those who only wanted to live in peace.

I look at Haider and wonder about the thousands of young boys and girls across my country—and across the border too—whose lives hang in the balance because of decisions made by those in power, decisions rooted in pride, anger, and historical hatred. Our soldiers, brave and selfless, are not faceless warriors. They are our brothers, our sons, our neighbors. Their sacrifices are sacred, but every life lost, every family shattered, every childhood stolen by the noise of guns and the fear of bombs, is a tragedy that the earth itself mourns.

The roots of this enmity trace back to the so-called two-nations theory—an idea that, once planted, grew into a wall of hatred that divided neighbors, friends, and even families. What began as one land, rich in its diversity and cultural unity, was ripped apart into two, and then into three, each bearing scars that time has yet to heal. Instead of learning from history, we seem doomed to repeat it, shackled to the pain and division of the past.

But must we always? Must we let the innocent suffer again and again for the mistakes of those long gone?

In every home, on either side of the border, there is a father like me, who prays for his child’s future. A mother who whispers prayers over her sleeping daughter. A child who dreams, unaware that the world outside may not allow those dreams to come true. We are the same in our love, in our fears, and in our hopes.

I do not want Haider to grow up in a world where his worth is measured by his ability to hate. I do not want his textbooks to teach him war; I want them to teach him peace, innovation, compassion, and friendship. I want his future—and the futures of all our children—to be brighter than our past.

As I watch Haider sleep, I realize that my prayers must grow louder. Not just for his safety, but for wisdom—for the wisdom of nations to choose dialogue over destruction, peace over pride, humanity over history.

May we find the strength to break this vicious cycle. May we, for once, protect the innocent rather than sacrifice them.

May Haider, and every child born into this world, inherit a future full of hope, not haunted by war.

Because war, always, punishes the innocent first—and often, the innocent most.