Stories of cross-border love that once symbolised hope and harmony are now under a cloud of suspicion. Pakistani women who married Indian men and settled in India on long-term visas are facing increased surveillance from intelligence agencies in the wake of the recent terror attack in Pahalgam.
Following security alerts issued after the Pahalgam terrorist incident, the Union Government has intensified its scrutiny of Pakistani nationals living in India. While initial actions targeted those on short-term visas, the focus has now shifted to long-term visa (LTV) holders — particularly Pakistani women who entered India after marrying Indian citizens.
These women, mostly from cities like Karachi, Lahore, and Rawalpindi, came to India between the early 2000s and 2010s and settled in districts such as Bulandshahr, Varanasi, Gorakhpur, Azamgarh, Bhadohi, and Meerut. Having lived for years in Indian society—raising families, participating in community life, and in many cases applying for Indian citizenship — they are now being asked to verify their identity and visa status.
“I came to India in 2010 after marrying my husband in Lahore. For 14 years, I have lived in Meerut, raised two children, and never thought of returning,” says Nazma Khatoon (name changed). ‘Now we are being treated as suspects, and I don’t know how to explain this to my children.’
Officials from the Home Department confirm that around 50 Pakistani nationals on short-term visas have already been deported from Uttar Pradesh. Several others have reportedly left voluntarily. The current phase of the review is focused on long-term visa holders, with the majority being women who entered through matrimonial routes.
While authorities stress that this is a preventive step, not a crackdown, families feel a sense of insecurity.
“This is my home. My parents are gone, and my life is here with my husband and children. Why should I be forced to live in fear after all these years?” asks Farzana Bano (name changed), who lives in Bulandshahr.
A senior intelligence officer said the exercise is aimed at ensuring there are no overstays, fake documents, or misuses of the LTV category. “We are verifying records to identify individuals whose documents have expired or who may not have followed the proper procedures for extending visas or applying for citizenship. This is a national security exercise, not a personal one.”
The real challenge, according to
officials, is the lack of a consolidated database. Many of these women were issued visas years ago, and their files are scattered between local offices, district authorities, and the Ministry of Home Affairs. In some cases, delays in processing citizenship applications have left applicants in legal limbo.
For Indian husbands, the situation is deeply unsettling. Abdul Rahim, a carpenter from Azamgarh, says he feels betrayed by a system that once welcomed his wife. “We went through the proper legal process, submitted documents, and followed every rule. Now we are being asked to re-submit everything as if we’re hiding something.”
The verification process also includes discreet inquiries into the background of each woman and their families, although no terror-related links have emerged so far. Officials insist that those with clean records have nothing to worry about.
However, the psychological toll is growing. Many of these women, unfamiliar with political developments and legal intricacies, now feel alienated in the land they adopted as their own.
“We are not illegal. We are not a threat,” says one woman quietly as she walks her daughter home from school in Varanasi. “But right now, we feel like outsiders in our own homes.”