The Explorer of Miracles

Monday, 8 December 2025

Staying Fit After Retirement

💪 70 and Strong: The Science of Staying Fit Beyond Retirement

Introduction

Getting older doesn’t mean slowing down - it means getting smarter about health. If you’re in your 60s, 70s, or beyond and wondering how to stay active, this guide is for you. From simple strength moves to nutrition and rest tips, here’s how seniors can build lasting strength, boost energy, and enjoy life without limits.

🏋️‍♂️ 1. Your Muscles Still Love a Challenge

Here’s a little secret: muscles don’t care how old you are - they just respond to effort.

After 50, it’s normal to lose a bit of strength, but you can reverse that with light resistance training.

No fancy gym needed! Try:

Chair squats to strengthen legs

Wall push-ups for arms and chest

Resistance bands to tone without strain

Start with just 15 minutes a few times a week. You’ll feel steadier, stronger, and more confident quickly.

🚶‍♀️ 2. Walking: The Underrated Superpower

Walking is hands-down the best exercise for seniors. It’s easy on the joints, boosts heart health, and lifts your mood.

Try a 30-minute walk every day — preferably outdoors in morning sunlight.

Invite a friend, listen to music, or explore a nearby park. A little movement every day adds years of vitality.

(Bonus: Sunshine = Vitamin D = stronger bones.)

🥗 3. Eat Like You Mean It

To stay fit after 70, nutrition matters as much as movement.

Focus on protein-rich foods like eggs, dals, fish, dairy, or lean chicken — a little at every meal helps rebuild muscle.

And don’t forget water! Seniors often don’t feel thirsty, but hydration keeps energy levels up and joints flexible.

🧘‍♀️ 4. Keep the Mind in Motion Too

A healthy body begins with a healthy mind.

Activities that combine movement and focus — like yoga or dancing — boost both balance and brainpower.

Keep your mind active with puzzles, reading, or social chats.

Remember: friendships and laughter are as healing as vitamins.

😴 5. Rest Isn’t Laziness - It’s Smart Recovery

Muscles rebuild and energy returns when you rest.

Aim for 7–8 hours of quality sleep, stretch gently before bed, and follow a consistent bedtime routine.

If you ever feel dizzy or unusually tired, slow down and talk to your doctor. Listening to your body is a form of wisdom.

🌟 Strong Isn’t an Age - It’s an Attitude

Staying fit after 70 is about freedom - the freedom to walk, travel, play with grandkids, and live life on your terms.

Move daily, eat well, sleep deeply, and stay connected.

Because aging gracefully isn’t about avoiding change - it’s about growing stronger through it.

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Do share with a senior citizen who may find this helpful.

Tips for Senior Citizens for Mental Health

*Dear Senior Citizens,

*🦋 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 – 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝.

*𝙸𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎, 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑-𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:-

*"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎?"

*𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍: "𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜."

*𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍: "𝙽𝚘"

*𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍: "𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚣𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛'𝚜 (𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜)."

*𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍: "𝙽𝚘"

*𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛.

*𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍.

*𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜:-

*𝙳𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

*𝙸𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎.*

*𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 60 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚢, 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.

*𝙰𝚜 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍.

*𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜?

*𝙳𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

*𝙸𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘:-

*✅ 𝚂𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗

*✅ 𝙻𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

*✅ 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎

*✅ 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊 (𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗)

*✅ 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚊

*✅ 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑

*𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚎 60.

*𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢'𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 50%.

*𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜.

*𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢.

*𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗:-

*𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 60 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

*𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍.

*𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗, 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢, 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢'𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

*𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜:-

*1️⃣ 𝙴𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢.

*𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎:-

*✅ 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

*✅ 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜

*✅ 𝚃𝚎𝚊

*✅ 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

*✅ 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚜

*✅ 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛-𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚜 (𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗, 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚔𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚗, 𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚎, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚎)

*𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.

*2️⃣ 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜:-

*✅ 𝙴𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢.

*✅ 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

*𝙽𝚘𝚠, 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛?

*✅ 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜.

*✅ 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢.

*𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚗𝚜!

Received the above via WhatsApp

Water is very important for life.

Stay hydrated and healthy. Take care.

Sunday, 23 November 2025

Out of Range

Not many will abide or be satisfied; that's when there'll be a change-

There'll be new games & also artists drawing diagrams out of range!

New thinking by borrowing thoughts & ideas may seem strange,

Change is a part of life; not all moods or colours are melange.

The show must go on with actors new whether we like it or not.

What is cold or out of range for us, to another it's super hot!

It all depends on our perspective and belief systems, you see.

Our range is our range, and no one can experience that fully.

What do you say? Do you feel out of range?

Part of my comment on Tao Talk-

https://tao-talk.com/2025/06/05/dverse-oln-385-drawing-a-diagram-for-v2-0/comment-page-1/#comment-151085

The Silence of the Bombs

The poster was small, no bigger than a lunch menu, taped crookedly to the bulletin board outside the pathology lab. “Join the Caravan of Martyrs – JeM,” it read in green Urdu, a pixelated rifle printed underneath.

——

October 27, 2025. 7:14 a.m.

A third-year resident named Farooq noticed it while hunting for the duty roster. He peeled it off, folded it into his pocket, and forgot about it—until the CCTV footage landed on Inspector Vikram Rathore’s desk in Srinagar’s Rajbagh police station.

Vikram was forty-one, divorced, and allergic to daylight. He watched the grainy clip on loop: a tall boy in a white coat, face half-hidden by a surgical mask, pressing the poster up with two fingers. The timestamp read 02:11 a.m.

“Run facial,” Vikram told the constable.

By noon they had a name: Dr. Adil Ahmad Rather, twenty-seven, Anantnag, topper in surgery, currently interning at Government Medical College.

By dusk they had a locker key.

Inside locker 214: one AK-47 wrapped in a blood-stained bedsheet, three magazines, and a Samsung phone sealed in a ziplock. The phone woke up with a single encrypted message still glowing: “Assets for Delhi. Prepare the doctor.”

---

Saharanpur, Uttar Pradesh – November 6, 11:47 p.m.

Adil was finishing rounds at Famous Medicare when the lights went out. Not a power cut—something deliberate. The corridor plunged into engineered darkness. Two CRPF men in plainclothes stepped from the stairwell.

“Doctor sahab, aapka phone,” one said softly.

Adil’s hand trembled. The phone was already in evidence. He earned four lakh a month saving lives. Tonight, he would learn how much a life cost to take.

---

Adalaj Toll Plaza, Gujarat – November 7, 3:12 a.m.

A white Innova cut across three lanes and braked hard. Gujarat ATS surrounded it in seconds. Dr. Ahmed Mohiyuddin Saiyed, thirty-five, Hyderabad, MBBS plus a diploma in toxicology from a university in Wuhan, stepped out with his hands already raised.

In the boot: four litres of castor oil, a hot plate, and a notebook titled “Ricin – Yield Calculations.” He had underlined the line: “One gram aerosolized = 8,000 casualties.” He never got to the gram.

---

Faridabad, Haryana – November 9, 4:05 a.m.

The apartment in Dhauj village smelled of wet cement and fear. Haryana STF kicked the door. Inside: 350 kilograms of ammonium nitrate in rice sacks, thirty-one digital timers blinking 00:00, twenty-three detonators labeled “Made in Turkey.”

And Dr. Muzammil Shakil, assistant professor of community medicine, Al Falah University, sitting cross-legged on a prayer mat, reciting the plan like a bedtime story.

“Red Fort first. Then the temples—Hindu, Sikh, Jain. RSS shakhas. Sarojini Market on Sunday. Metro at rush hour. Twenty-five soft targets. Like Bombay ’93, but bigger.”

His voice cracked only once, when he said the date: 26/11/2025. Seventeen years to the day Mumbai bled.

---

Lucknow – November 10, 10:00 a.m.

Dr. Shaheen Shahid opened her clinic late. Patients waited for the gynaecologist who once lectured at GSVM Kanpur, who delivered triplets at 2 a.m. and still found time to pray five times.

NIA women officers waited too. They found fifteen lakh rupees in cash inside a baby-diaper box, an AK-47 under the ultrasound bed, and a voice note on her phone: “Jamaat-ul-Mominat is ready, sister. The girls will drive the cars.”

Shaheen did not resist. She only asked, “Can I finish my chai?” They let her. It was cold anyway.

---

Delhi – November 10, 6:30 p.m.

The Red Fort Metro station smelled of fried momos and panic. Commuters surged toward the yellow line. A white Hyundai i20 crawled through the chaos, hazard lights blinking like a dying heartbeat.

Inside, Dr. Umar Mohammad—MBBS, Al Falah, thirty—one hand on the wheel, the other clutching a Nokia burner. The last text he sent: “They’re inside the net. Allah forgive me.”

6:52 p.m. The i20 became light.

Thirteen people became memory.

Twenty-three more learned what shrapnel feels like in the lungs.

---

Shopian, Kashmir – November 11, 2:14 a.m.

Maulvi Irfan Ahmad was folding his janamaz when the IB team breached the mosque compound. Thirty-one years old, former paramedic at GMC Srinagar, now the voice that turned stethoscopes into detonators.

His Telegram channel—“Medicos for Khilafah”—had 312 members. All doctors. All silent.

He looked up at the rifles and smiled like a man who had already won. “Count the bodies you saved,” he whispered. “Then count the ones you didn’t.”

---

Epilogue – November 13, 2025

In a quiet room with no windows, Inspector Vikram Rathore finally slept. Fourteen hours straight. He dreamed of a notice board in Srinagar, clean and bare. No posters. No blood. Just a small handwritten note in black ink: “Thank you for noticing.”

Outside, Delhi woke to headlines that screamed failure.

Inside the files, the count was different:

2,900 kilograms of explosives that never left the ground.

Thirty-one timers that never ticked.

Twenty-three detonators that never sparked.

And thirteen graves that could have been fifty thousand.*

- From a WhatsApp forward

When We Have To Go

We will all leave when it is time.

There may be no reason or rhyme.

When we have to go, we must go.

No efforts can stop that flow...

Death follows life - that’s for sure.

No one lives for eternity here.

Wishing you a long life, my friend.

May we live; not think of the end.

Elaborating my words that I had shared in Rosemary's post as comment- https://enheduannasdaughter.blogspot.com/2025/10/i-contemplate-my-approaching-death.html

A Salute Across Skies

An obituary for a fellow fallen air force pilot can't get better than this. And it becomes at its finest when the words come from none other than your "so called" arch enemy. This is professional respect and camaraderie beyond borders of hate at its best.

This piece on Wing Commander Namansh Syal is written by a retired Pakistan Air Force fighter pilot, Air Commodore Pervez Akhtar Khan.

Here's the tribute-

———————-

𝘼 𝙎𝙖𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝘼𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙎𝙠𝙞𝙚𝙨

The news of an Indian Air Force Tejas falling silent during an aerobatic display at the Dubai Air Show breaks something deeper than headlines can capture. Aerobatics are poetry written in vapor trails at the far edge of physics—where skill becomes prayer, courage becomes offering, and precision exists in margins thinner than breath. These are not performances for cameras; they are testimonies of human mastery, flown by souls who accept the unforgiving contract between gravity and grace in service of a flag they would die defending.

To the Indian Air Force, to the family now navigating an ocean of absence: I offer what words can never carry—condolence wrapped in understanding that only those who’ve worn wings can truly know. A pilot has not merely fallen. A guardian of impossible altitudes has been summoned home. Somewhere tonight, a uniform hangs unworn. Somewhere, a child asks when the father returns. Somewhere, the sky itself feels emptier.

But what wounds me beyond the crash, beyond the loss, is the poison of mockery seeping from voices on our side of a border that should never divide the brotherhood of those who fly. This is not patriotism—it is the bankruptcy of the soul. One may question doctrines, challenge strategies, even condemn policies with righteous fury—but never, not in a universe governed by honor, does one mock the courage of a warrior doing his duty in the cathedral of the sky. He flew not for applause but for love of country, just as our finest do. That demands reverence, not ridicule wrapped in nationalist pride gone rancid.

I too have watched brothers vanish into silence—Sherdil Leader Flt Lt Alamdar and Sqn Ldr Hasnat—men who lived at altitudes where angels hold their breath, men who understood that the sky demands everything and promises nothing. At the moment an aircraft goes quiet, there are no nationalities, no anthems, no flags. There is only the terrible democracy of loss, and families left clutching photographs of men who once touched clouds.

A true professional recognizes another professional across any divide. A true warrior—one worthy of the title—salutes courage even when it wears the wrong uniform, flies the wrong colors, speaks the wrong tongue. Anything less diminishes not them, but us. Our mockery stains our own wings, dishonors our own fallen, makes our claims hollow to valor.

Let me speak clearly: courage knows no passport. Sacrifice acknowledges no border. The pilot who pushes his machine to its screaming limits in service of national pride deserves honor—whether he flies under saffron, white and green, or under green and white alone.

May the departed aviator find eternal skies beyond all turbulence, where machines never fail and horizons stretch forever.

May his family discover strength in places language cannot reach, in the knowledge that their loss illuminates something sacred about human courage.

And may we—on both sides of lines drawn in sand and blood—find the maturity to honor what deserves honoring, to mourn what deserves mourning, and to remember that before we are citizens of nations, we are citizens of sky—all of us temporary, all of us mortal, all of us trying to touch something infinite before gravity reclaims us.

The sky grieves without borders. Let us do the same.

Courtesy: WhatsApp forward