'Innocent suffer due to rogue state like Pak': Tears, anxiety as Pakistanis scramble back home

Pakistani nationals arrive at the Integrated Check Post at the Attari-Wagah border to move to their country. (Courtesy: PTI photo)

In a swift and sweeping response to the recent deadly terror attack in Jammu and Kashmir’s Pahalgam, which claimed several innocent lives, the Central government has cancelled all visas issued to Pakistani nationals currently staying in India. The move, aimed at tightening national security, has sparked grief and anxiety among more than 1,500 Pakistani citizens residing in Uttar Pradesh.

Across cities such as Bareilly, Varanasi, and Rampur, a grim scene is unfolding: women with tear-filled eyes and packed suitcases queue up at district administration offices and Foreigners Registration Offices (FROs), seeking clarity on their abrupt departures. Most had crossed the border for family events — to attend weddings, meet ageing parents, or welcome newborns — never imagining their visit would end in forced goodbyes.

“I waited 12 years for this moment... and now I am being sent back,” said Khanum, standing inside the Local Intelligence Unit (LIU) office in Bulandshahr, her voice trembling. She had come from Karachi to reunite with her maternal family in Narsena village. Her eyes welled up when an officer gently informed her she must leave India — the land of her birth — under the new government directive issued following Pahalgam massacre.

“Innocent people are suffering because of the misadventure of a rogue state like Pakistan,” said an official at the FRO, requesting anonymity. “We understand the emotional toll this is taking, but the directive is clear — national interest must come first.”

Khanum is one of more than 30 Pakistani nationals who were deported from Uttar Pradesh on Friday as the state government, acting on directions from the Centre, began a crackdown on foreign nationals—particularly Pakistanis—residing in the state. Around 1,500 Pakistani citizens are believed to be living across various districts in Uttar Pradesh, with the highest concentration in the western part of the state. Of these, 118 have been officially identified, and 32—many of them women visiting on short-term visas—have already been sent back through the Attari border.

Late Thursday night, Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath held a high-level meeting with Principal Secretary (Home) Sanjay Prasad and DGP Prashant Kumar to review the situation. Though no official list has been released, the Local Intelligence Wing (LIU) has been directed to collect detailed inputs from all 75 districts.

In Saharanpur alone, 12 of 18 Pakistani visitors—some of whom had arrived just days ago—were escorted to the border. A couple from Agra, who had travelled from Karachi to visit family in Tajganj, were told to leave just five days after their arrival.

“I thought I would finally be able to celebrate Eid with my in-laws after years,” said Maqsood Ali, a resident of Karachi. Married to Varda since 1983, he had come to Agra on April 20 after years of longing and repeated failed visa applications. “When I finally got the visa, I cried. And now I am crying again, but for the opposite reason.”

Ali voluntarily reported to the LIU office after hearing of the government’s decision. “It is heartbreaking,” he said. “My mother-in-law kissed my forehead when I arrived. Now, she is praying I can return before I die.”

In Bulandshahr, five Pakistani women who had come to meet their relatives on visitor visas also faced sudden deportation. As they packed their bags, many wept silently. Nasaba Khan, married and living in Karachi, had come to visit her brother and mother in Syana. “My father used to call me every year, but after his death, I could not come,” she said. “Now after six years, I finally did. But it seems our family is destined to live on phone calls and memories.”

One of the most heartbreaking scenes unfolded in Bareilly, where Shahnaz Begum—who had come from Karachi on March 24 to visit her ailing mother—lost her passport and visa during a train journey. Despite her 45-day visa being valid until May 6, she was served a notice to leave within 48 hours. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my mother properly,” she said as she was escorted to Delhi under police custody. “Everything I had—passport, documents, photos—was in that purse. I feel like I am being sent back with nothing.”

Her brother Talib accompanied her to Delhi. “We do not know when or if she will ever be able to return,” he said quietly.

In Agra, Pakistani nationals on long-term visas—many of whom are women married to Indian citizens—have been placed under constant surveillance. They have applied for Indian citizenship and had begun to build lives here. “We follow every rule,” said one such woman, requesting anonymity. “We just want a home, not politics.”

Police officers acknowledged the emotional toll. “They came here for love, for family, for reunion,” said an LIU official in Bulandshahr. “It is difficult to look into their eyes and tell them to go back, especially when they know they may never return.”

Fatima Sayyeda and her daughter Zoya Batool, who had travelled from Karachi on a 45-day SAARC visa to visit relatives in Amroha, had planned to go to Delhi and Aligarh. Instead, upon hearing the order, they quietly reported to the LIU office and left for Pakistan. “We did not want trouble,” said Fatima. “But my daughter had just started bonding with her cousins. It hurts.”

Senior officers say the action is part of a broader national security policy in the aftermath of the Pahalgam terror attack. However, for those being deported, the issue is not security—but separation.

“They got their visas after years of pleading and paperwork,” said a senior UP official on condition of anonymity. “And now, they are being sent back after just days. It is legal, yes, but it is painful.”

Maroof Khan, whose sister was asked to return to Lahore sums up: “The heartache of separation, the fear of never returning, and the deep yearning for family reunions now lost in the fog of diplomacy—these tales of the people serve as a somber reminder that behind every visa is a human life, longing to connect.”