French Toast & Falling Drones: Meme War Behind Missiles
Asem Mustafa Awan
Islamabad: In May 2025, South Asia stood on the brink once again as a deadly blast in Pahalgam, Kashmir, claimed 26 lives and launched a barrage of accusations, airstrikes, and digital warfare.
India and Pakistan exchanged not only missiles but memes, misinformation, and military jargon—leaving the world equal parts horrified and amused. While the United States, led by Donald Trump, swooped in to broker a fragile ceasefire, the big question remains: will India actually honor it?
While missiles flew overhead, it was perhaps Indian television studios that launched the most chaotic volleys. Anchors doubled as generals, waving imaginary swords and drawing war maps that would make even schoolchildren snicker. Murree, a picturesque hill station near Islamabad, somehow got displaced to Sialkot.
Lahore—landlocked and lovingly known as the heart of Punjab—was gifted a fictional seaport by Indian media. Peshawar, far to the west and near Afghanistan, was apparently “flattened” in the east. Maps became satire, and viewers couldn’t help but wonder if facts were as fictional as the war victories being declared.
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While Indian citizens were told that half of Pakistan had been destroyed, Pakistanis responded with tea, memes, and an air of calm. Social media brimmed with humor: a burnt piece of toast stamped with a Rafale jet was dubbed “French Toast,” ridiculing India’s prized fighter jets that didn’t quite dominate the skies.
One viral meme showed the Indian Defense Minister performing elaborate rituals—complete with lemons, coconuts, and talismans—before a Rafale induction, only for a jet with that exact tail number to later show up as damaged. So much for divine protection.
India’s war hysteria wasn’t limited to TV studios. A mob in Hyderabad, India, ransacked the Karachi Bakery simply because of its name, unaware that the real Karachi was several borders and ideologies away. Meanwhile, across the border in Pakistan’s Hyderabad, the Bombay Bakery operated business as usual—proving that not all bakeries rise to the occasion of hate.
Perhaps the most viral story emerged from Sargodha, Pakistan. A civilian reportedly found a downed Indian drone, took it home, and let his kids play with it. The drone eventually made its way to a scrapyard where it was sold for Rs. 1300. When authorities came looking, the scrapyard owner smartly sold it back for Rs. 1500—a tidy profit in wartime economics.
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Even the skies weren’t safe from satire. A Chinese-language parody song titled “I Just Bought a Plane That Went Down” swept through TikTok and YouTube, lampooning India’s pricey Rafales. Millions tuned in, united by their love for schadenfreude and catchy hooks. Pakistan’s digital creators added their own flair: one meme showed citizens watching missile launches like fireworks, muttering, “Hope this one hits the right place. It’s expensive.”
India’s blackout order after sunset—meant to hide cities from potential missile targeting—led to neighborhood dramas. Residents screamed at each other to turn off lights, fearing they might become unwilling beacons. Meanwhile, Pakistanis strolled calmly in parks and uploaded Instagram stories with hashtags like #TooRelaxedToCare.
On the international stage, this wasn’t just a South Asian skirmish. It was a technology showcase. Pakistan used Chinese drones and precision missiles, while its JF-17s, developed with China, performed targeted strikes.
India rolled out its French Rafales, Israeli drones, and Russian Sukhois. The result? A fragmented tech faceoff that left neither side claiming absolute supremacy. In fact, it seemed like scrap dealers and meme creators won more than any military unit.
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India’s Prime Minister Modi added his own twist, expressing disbelief that Pakistan had the audacity to retaliate rather than join in eliminating terrorism. Critics, both at home and abroad, found the remark bizarre. Meanwhile, BJP’s narrative of “turning Pakistan into Gaza” revealed disturbing echoes of fascist thought. While some tried to frame the war as necessary, the subtext felt more like vengeance than strategy.
As ceasefire terms emerged, so did conflicting narratives. Trump boasted of diplomatic heroism, while India downplayed U.S. involvement, insisting it was their own backchannel efforts that calmed tensions. Neither version convinced the public, and both underscored the shaky nature of the truce.
Missiles have paused—for now—though narratives still clash and the internet remains divided between warmongers and wisecracks. Will India honor the ceasefire? That depends on more than just political will. It hinges on whether its media can tone down the bombast, whether military brass can resist provocation, and whether both nations can focus more on water-sharing under the Indus Waters Treaty than airstrikes.
This latest round of hostilities unfolded during Mother’s Day week—a painful reminder that while generals claim victory, it is the mothers who bear the true cost. If peace has a face, let it be hers.
The article is the writer’s opinion, it may or may not adhere to the organization’s editorial policy.
Asem Mustafa Awan has extensive reporting experience with leading national and international media organizations. He has also contributed to reference books such as the Alpine Journal and the American Alpine Journal, among other international publications.
