SRINAGAR/MUZAFFARABAD — In a sweeping new wave of digital censorship, Indian authorities have orchestrated the blocking of multiple Facebook accounts operated from Pakistan-administered Kashmir, dealing a severe blow to the already fragile cross-LoC communication lifeline for divided Kashmiri families. Among the prominent voices silenced is Atif Maqbool, founder and ex editor of The Azadi Times, the Jammu Kshmir’s only independent international news platform.
Several prominent digital activists, citizen journalists, and grassroots organizers from both sides of the Line of Control received stark notifications from Meta, the parent company of Facebook. The message was uniform and chilling: their accounts were being “restricted in India” due to a direct “legal request” from Indian government agencies.
The latest casualty list goes beyond Maqbool and includes high-profile names such as Nosheen Khawaja, a vocal human rights advocate, and an account operating under the regional moniker “District Kotli,” which served as a critical bridge sharing cultural and familial updates between the divided territories. Sources confirm that numerous smaller accounts, which played a vital role in connecting local communities, were also terminated without detailed public justification.
For Kashmiris, these platforms are not just social media; they are a digital lifeline. With physical movement across the heavily militarized LoC virtually impossible, Facebook and WhatsApp have for years served as the only “virtual J&K,” where separated cousins could meet, political opinions could be whispered, and a shared cultural identity could survive the barbed wire.
The Story of a Silenced Bridge
Atif Maqbool, who also serves as a member of the Jammu and Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee (JKJAAC), took to X (formerly Twitter) to break the news of his own digital incarceration. In a post that resonated with the collective pain of a partitioned nation, Maqbool did not just announce a ban; he narrated a tragedy of human connection being severed.
He wrote: “On the ground, we are already prisoners in our own homeland, but now they are erecting borders on the internet as well. This is a violation of basic human rights. The people of Pakistan-administered Kashmir and India-administered Kashmir share relatives, political ideologies, culture, and grief. We only shared this pain through social media. Now, they have locked that door too.”
His statement paints a vivid picture of the cruel dichotomy of the Kashmir conflict. While the world discusses geopolitics, ordinary families who have not embraced in seven decades relied on a pixelated video call to mourn deaths and celebrate births. The blocking of the “District Kotli” account, for instance, effectively silences an entire region’s digital identity, erasing the daily narratives of life in that district from the view of their brethren across the divide.
The Weaponization of Legal Requests
This is not an isolated incident of a tech company enforcing community guidelines. This is a geopolitical act executed through legal channels. By pressuring Meta via “legal requests,” India is effectively extending its territorial censorship laws beyond the Line of Control, imposing its digital jurisdiction on the residents of Pakistan-administered Kashmir.
Maqbool’s robust voice, amplified through The Azadi Times, has consistently focused on human rights documentation and the right to self-determination. The blocking suggests an intolerance for independent Kashmiri journalism that refuses to be a mouthpiece for state narratives. It exposes a digital “Iron Curtain” descending over South Asia, where algorithms are weaponized to enforce a narrative and isolate a people.
“The World Must Answer for This Tyranny”
In his poignant message, Maqbool did not appeal to governments but to the global conscience. “The world will have to answer for this oppression. History will never forgive this silence,” he stated, echoing the sentiment of a generation of Kashmiris who feel abandoned by international human rights mechanisms.
It is an attempt to crush a platform that was born to break silences. Yet, the act of silencing itself becomes a testament to the power of the truth being spoken. As Maqbool and his colleagues face this new digital imprisonment, the question lingers in the cold mountain air of the Himalayas: Can you truly disconnect a heart from its homeland, even if you unplug the router?
The Azadi Times continues to monitor this developing situation and stands resilient in its mission to report the unfiltered truth of Jammu and Kashmir. We refuse to be silenced.
Digital Iron Curtain in Kashmir: India Blocks Dozens of Facebook Accounts, Including The Azadi Times Founder Atif MaqboolDigital Iron Curtain in Kashmir: India Blocks Dozens of Facebook Accounts, Including The Azadi Times Founder Atif Maqbool
Broken promises and a long march: Kashmir’s unresolved 38-point charter
The lights went out in the conference hall just as a Pakistani federal minister began listing successes in improving the electricity supply. That unintended moment of darkness during a press conference in Muzaffarabad on Monday may have been a coincidence, but for many Kashmiris watching, it told a bigger story. Hours of talks between the Pakistan-backed Azad Jammu & Kashmir (AJK) government and the Joint Public Action Committee ended without a breakthrough, leaving a four-month-old agreement unfulfilled and a region once again on the edge of political confrontation.
On 4 October 2025, the Government of Pakistan, the AJK administration, and the Joint Public Action Committee signed a 38-point Charter of Demands. The agreement was meant to address longstanding grievances of AJK residents, including electoral reforms, power sector improvements, health card restoration, banking services, and the rights of migrants settled in Pakistan.
Under the deal, implementation was supposed to begin by January 2026. But according to committee members, May is now passing with little more than announcements and newly formed committees. The Action Committee has already announced a province-wide wheel jam, shutter-down strike, a long march from Bhimber to Muzaffarabad, and a siege of the assembly on 9 June.
On 11 May, federal ministers Engr. Amir Maqam and Tariq Fazal Chaudhry met AJK government ministers Qasim Majeed and Dewan Ali Khan Chughtai with Action Committee representatives Choudhry Imtiaz Aslam, Umar Nazeer Kashmiri, and Shaukat Nawaz Mir in Muzaffarabad.
According to sources familiar with the meeting, the most difficult discussions centred on twelve reserved seats for migrants from Pakistan, legal cases related to firing during a previous protest march, electricity infrastructure, the health card scheme, the Bank of AJK’s status, and the Kohori Tunnel project.
Speaking to journalists afterwards, Engr. Amir Maqam said progress had been made on most demands and several points were in final implementation stages. He confirmed that a constitutional committee would meet in Islamabad on 14 May to discuss the twelve migrant seats, and invited the Action Committee to participate. “Protests and strikes are not solutions,” he said. “Given current regional and international conditions, this region cannot afford a new confrontation.”
Within hours, the Action Committee’s core members rejected the government’s account.
“They have broken their promise on the 4 October agreement,” Umar Nazir Kashmiri told reporters at the Central Press Club in Muzaffarabad. “Every issue is met with delaying tactics. No clear timeline for implementation has been given.”
Shaukat Nawaz Mir challenged the government to produce a single PC-One or DWP document for any completed project. “Not one rupee has been paid to the insurance company for the health card scheme since January. The treatment system is effectively paralysed,” he said.
He also raised concerns about the Kohori Tunnel project, a critical route where landslides have repeatedly claimed lives. “Saudi funding is available, but now the government says a tunnel is not possible in this mountainous area. Yet the Neelum-Jhelum project tunnel was built in the same region. We fear the funds are being diverted elsewhere.”
On electricity, he stated that while Pakistan allocated 10 billion rupees for AJK’s power network improvement, the PC-One had not even been prepared since October.
The meeting also addressed legal cases arising from a previous public march. According to government representatives, several FIRs against Action Committee members have been closed, but approximately 15 cases remain pending in courts. The Action Committee argues that individuals named in cases involving firing on unarmed protesters should not be allowed to contest elections.
The government has given assurances that the constitutional committee meeting on 14 May will offer a platform to debate the twelve migrant seats. Federal Minister Amir Maqam said the committee could examine how removing or retaining those seats might affect the broader Kashmir political question.
The 11 May talks in Muzaffarabad ended without a final resolution. The government appears to be using negotiations and committees to keep the situation under control. The Joint Public Action Committee, however, shows no sign of backing down and says it remains ready to mobilise.
All eyes are now on two dates: 14 May, when the constitutional committee meets in Islamabad, and 31 May, the Action Committee’s self-imposed deadline for tangible progress. If no major breakthrough comes by then, the 9 June call for a long march and assembly siege could mark the beginning of a new and potentially turbulent phase in AJK’s political landscape.
Kashmir’s Bloody Betrayal: Minister Shakes Hands With Accused Killer
The streets of Muzaffarabad still remember. On 29 September, as the Jammu Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee (JKJAAC) led protests demanding rights and reform, violence erupted. Those who had taken to the streets seeking justice were met with bullets. Their only crime was that they were Kashmiris demanding their rights.
The toll was devastating. In the aftermath, homes across Pakistan-administered Kashmir were plunged into mourning. Fathers did not return. Children were left orphaned. The streets that had echoed with calls for justice fell silent under the weight of grief and gunpowder.
In the wake of the violence, Islamabad moved to negotiate. Amir Muqam, representing federal (Pakistani) interests, sat at the table with the Action Committee. The talks yielded an agreement—a peace deal meant to address grievances and chart a path forward. The committee expressed hope; the government promised change.
Yet beneath the formal handshakes, a more complex reality was unfolding.
It was what happened next—away from the cameras and the formal protocol—that ignited fresh outrage. According to widespread local accounts, Amir Muqam, the same Pakistani federal minister who had negotiated with the Jammu Kashmir Joint Action Committee, subsequently visited the residence of the individual accused of firing on protesters on 29 September. The figure in question had allegedly opened fire on unarmed Kashmiris, yet now received a ministerial visit while victims’ families still awaited justice.
For the Action Committee and its supporters, the visit represented more than a political misstep—it symbolized a profound moral failure. Here was a government negotiator, ostensibly mediating to address the grievances of slain protesters, extending courtesy to a figure linked to the very violence that had claimed Kashmiri lives.
The optics were devastating. “Talks by day, betrayal by night,” became the refrain circulating across local discourse. Activists argued that if individuals implicated in protester deaths could receive ministerial visits, then the negotiation process itself was exposed as hollow—a temporary measure to pacify public anger while the underlying power structures remained intact.
The controversy cuts to the heart of a deeper crisis in Pakistan-administered Kashmir: the question of who truly speaks for the Kashmiri people.
When a federal minister engages with protest leaders while simultaneously courting figures linked to violence against those same protesters, it reinforces a pervasive local belief: that the political elite serves multiple masters, balancing public pacification with private allegiances to power. The accusation is not merely of political opportunism, but of moral duplicity—of treating Kashmiri blood as a negotiable commodity in a larger game of patronage.
The person accused of firing on the people has reportedly joined the Pakistan Muslim League-N without fear or consequence. No accountability, no inquiry, no shame. This has led many to question: Was this the promised accountability? Was this the pledge of justice?
When an accused can join a ruling party, then talking of negotiations becomes outright deception. It proves, critics argue, that the Action Committee talks were merely a drama—a political performance to cool public anger while the real game continued behind closed doors.
For the families of those who perished on 29 September, justice remains elusive. No senior official has been held accountable for the deaths. No transparent investigation has yielded visible results. The figures accused of involvement in the violence remain politically active, navigating the territory’s landscape with apparent impunity.
This pattern—where violence against Kashmiri protesters results in neither accountability nor ostracism—fuels a growing conviction among activists that the state protects its own while dispensing platitudes to the governed.
In Pakistan-administered Kashmir, governance has long been criticized as a facade of local autonomy over a reality of external control. In this context, the negotiations and their aftermath fit a familiar pattern: crisis, followed by cosmetic concession, followed by normalization without structural change.
The visit by Amir Muqam—if confirmed in its details—would not be an aberration but a revelation: a glimpse behind the curtain at how power actually operates, where the architects of violence and the brokers of peace share the same spaces, and where Kashmiri lives are weighed against political expediency.
The streets of Muzaffarabad are quiet now, but the silence is uneasy. The Action Committee has made its position clear: such duplicitous and hypocritical actions are utterly rejected. They declare that Kashmiri blood is not cheap.
The question that haunts the valleys is whether justice is possible within a framework that denies genuine self-determination. When negotiators shake hands with both the victims and the accused, when the blood of protesters becomes a footnote in political calculations, the answer seems foreordained.
Until structural contradictions are addressed—until Kashmiris can genuinely chart their own political future without interference, until accountability replaces impunity—the cycle will repeat. The talks will come, the promises will be made, and the betrayals, subtle or overt, will follow.
And in the homes where fathers did not return, where children ask why their brothers never came home, the wait for justice will continue—measured not in diplomatic timelines, but in the enduring grief of a people who have learned that in the politics of this disputed land, blood is cheaper than power.
Neelum Valley on Edge Following Confrontation Between Locals and Administration
Neelum Valley (Pakistan administered Kashmir): Tensions have emerged in the district headquarters of Neelum Valley following a confrontation between local residents and the district administration.
According to local sources, a shelter structure was reportedly installed overnight on a contested piece of land under the supervision of the district administration. Local residents later dismantled the structure, calling it unauthorized.
The situation escalated afterward when, according to reports, an administrative response led to allegations of mistreatment of women. Authorities have registered two FIRs and taken five individuals, including both men and women, into custody.
Following these developments, anger has spread in the area, with residents reportedly holding consultations over protest plans. Local sources say the Neelum Highway may be blocked as part of the protest.
The situation remains tense, and authorities have not yet issued an official detailed statement regarding the allegations.
The Azadi Times will continue to follow developments.
The Best LED Lights for Any Room: A Complete Guide to Modern Room Lighting in 2026
The lights in your room do more than help you see. They shape your mood, your sleep, your productivity, and even how big the space feels. Yet most people treat lighting as an afterthought — a single ceiling fixture installed by a contractor and never reconsidered.
That is changing. In 2026, LED technology has made it possible to control color temperature, brightness, and even the direction of light with precision that was impossible a decade ago. The result is that room lighting has become a design tool, not just a utility.
Whether you are renovating in London, furnishing a new apartment in Dubai, or simply tired of a space that feels flat, understanding your options for LED lights for room design is the fastest way to transform how a room feels without changing a single piece of furniture.
Types of LED Lights for Rooms: What Actually Works
Ceiling Lights: The Foundation
Ceiling lights are still the starting point for most rooms. The key decision is between flush-mount fixtures, semi-flush mounts, and pendant lights.
Flush-mount LED ceiling lights sit close to the ceiling and work best in rooms with low ceilings — typically under 2.4 meters (8 feet). They provide even, diffused light that eliminates shadows. Modern designs have moved far beyond the boring white discs of the past. Today you can find geometric LED panels, ring-shaped fixtures, and starburst designs that function as art while they light the room.
Semi-flush mounts hang slightly lower — usually 10 to 20 centimeters from the ceiling. They add depth and dimension, and the gap between fixture and ceiling creates a subtle uplight effect that makes ceilings feel higher. These work well in rooms with ceilings between 2.4 and 2.7 meters.
Pendant lights and chandeliers are statement pieces. A cluster of three small pendants over a dining table, or a single oversized drum shade in a living room, creates a focal point. LED pendant lights now come in adjustable color temperatures, allowing you to shift from warm white (2700K) for dinner to daylight (5000K) for reading.
LED Strip Lights: The Game Changer
If ceiling lights are the foundation, LED strip lights are the secret weapon. These flexible, adhesive-backed strips can be installed almost anywhere — under cabinets, behind TVs, along baseboards, inside closets, or hidden in ceiling coves.
The effect is called indirect lighting — light that bounces off walls and ceilings rather than shining directly into your eyes. It is softer, more flattering, and creates depth that overhead lights cannot match.
For bedrooms, warm white LED strips (2700K–3000K) installed behind a headboard or under a floating bed frame create a hotel-like ambiance. For living rooms, RGB strips hidden in ceiling coves allow you to shift the entire mood of the room with a phone app — from energizing daylight blue to relaxing sunset orange.
Smart Bulbs and Connected Lighting
Smart LED bulbs have matured beyond gimmick status. The best systems — Philips Hue, LIFX, Nanoleaf — now offer reliable connectivity, intuitive apps, and integration with voice assistants like Alexa, Google Assistant, and Siri.
The real value is not in turning lights on with your voice. It is in scenes — pre-programmed combinations of color, brightness, and which fixtures are active. A “Movie Night” scene might dim the ceiling light to 10%, turn on warm backlighting behind the TV, and kill every other light in the room. A “Morning” scene could gradually increase brightness and shift from warm amber to cool white over 30 minutes to simulate sunrise.
How to Choose LED Lights for Each Room
Living Room: Layered and Flexible
The living room is the most demanding space because it serves multiple purposes — entertaining, relaxing, reading, watching television. The solution is layered lighting: three or more light sources at different heights and intensities.
Base layer: A dimmable LED ceiling fixture providing general illumination. Aim for 1,500–3,000 lumens for a standard living room.
Accent layer: LED strips behind the TV or media unit reduce eye strain and add depth. Wall-mounted picture lights or adjustable spotlights highlight artwork or architectural features.
Task layer: A floor lamp with a focused beam for reading. A table lamp on a side table for softer evening light.
Bedroom: Warm and Restrained
Sleep quality is directly affected by light exposure. Blue-rich light suppresses melatonin production, making it harder to fall asleep. For bedrooms, the rule is simple: warm light, dimmable, minimal overhead exposure.
Overhead: If you must have a ceiling light, use a dimmable fixture with a very warm color temperature (2200K–2700K) and keep it off after sunset.
Bedside: Wall-mounted reading lights with focused beams allow one person to read while the other sleeps. Choose fixtures with a switch on the head so you do not need to reach for a wall switch.
Ambient: LED strips behind the headboard or under the bed frame provide enough light to navigate the room without turning on overhead fixtures. Warm white (2700K) or even amber (2200K) is ideal.
Kitchen: Bright and Functional
Kitchens need high-output, shadow-free lighting for safety and functionality. The standard recommendation is 5,000–10,000 lumens for an average kitchen, achieved through multiple sources.
Overhead: Recessed LED downlights spaced evenly across the ceiling. For a 3×4 meter kitchen, six to eight fixtures are typical.
Under-cabinet: LED strip lights installed on the underside of wall cabinets eliminate the shadows cast by overhead lights on countertops. This is where you do your actual food preparation, so the light needs to be bright (4000K–5000K) and even.
Pendant lights: Over an island or breakfast bar, two or three pendants at eye level create atmosphere and task lighting simultaneously.
Home Office: Task-Focused and Glare-Free
The mistake most people make in home offices is relying on a single ceiling light. That creates glare on screens and uneven illumination across the workspace.
Overhead: A dimmable, diffused ceiling fixture set to around 3000K–4000K.
Desk lamp: An adjustable LED desk lamp with a CRI (Color Rendering Index) above 90. High CRI means colors look accurate — important if your work involves design, photography, or any visual task.
Bias lighting: A simple LED strip behind your monitor reduces eye strain by balancing the brightness between screen and surrounding wall.
Color Temperature: The Most Important Number
LED lights are labeled with a Kelvin (K) rating that describes color temperature. This matters more than brightness for how a room feels.
| Temperature | Color | Best For |
|---|---|---|
| 2200K–2700K | Warm white, candle-like | Bedrooms, living rooms, restaurants |
| 3000K–3500K | Soft white, neutral | Bathrooms, hallways, closets |
| 4000K–4500K | Cool white, crisp | Kitchens, offices, retail spaces |
| 5000K–6500K | Daylight, blue-white | Task lighting, garages, workshops |
The mistake is using daylight (5000K+) in living spaces. It feels sterile and clinical. Warm light (2700K) in a kitchen, on the other hand, makes food look dull and unappetizing.
For maximum flexibility, choose tunable white LED fixtures that allow you to shift across the range. Smart bulbs and many modern ceiling fixtures now offer this as standard.
What to Look for When Buying LED Room Lights
Brightness: Lumens, Not Watts
Old habits die hard. People still think in watts because that is how incandescent bulbs were rated. LEDs are rated in lumens — actual light output.
- 450 lumens ≈ 40W incandescent (bedside lamp)
- 800 lumens ≈ 60W incandescent (standard room light)
- 1,600 lumens ≈ 100W incandescent (bright task lighting)
For a living room of 20 square meters, you want roughly 3,000–4,000 lumens total from all sources combined.
Color Rendering Index (CRI)
CRI measures how accurately colors appear under a light source compared to natural sunlight. A CRI of 80 is acceptable. 90 or above is ideal for any space where color matters — kitchens, bathrooms, closets, and anywhere you apply makeup or evaluate fabrics.
Cheap LED strips often have a CRI below 80, which makes skin tones look sickly and food look unappealing. Spending slightly more for high-CRI LEDs is worth it.
Dimming Compatibility
Not all LEDs dim properly. Some flicker at low levels. Some buzz. Some simply shut off below 20% brightness.
If you want dimmable lights, buy dimmable-rated LEDs and pair them with compatible dimmer switches. The packaging should specify “dimmable” and list compatible switch types (trailing-edge dimmers work best with LEDs).
Lifespan and Warranty
Quality LED fixtures should last 25,000 to 50,000 hours — roughly 15 to 25 years of normal residential use. Be skeptical of claims beyond that. Also check the warranty: reputable manufacturers offer 3 to 5 years.
Budget Reality: What LED Room Lighting Actually Costs
LED lighting has become affordable, but there is a wide range.
- Basic LED bulbs: $3–$8 each
- Smart LED bulbs (Philips Hue, LIFX): $15–$50 each
- LED strip lights (5 meters, basic): $10–$25
- LED strip lights (high-quality, high-CRI): $30–$80
- Flush-mount ceiling fixture (basic): $30–$80
- Designer LED ceiling fixture: $150–$500+
- Smart lighting system starter kit: $100–$300
For a complete living room lighting upgrade — new ceiling fixture, LED strips, two table lamps, and smart bulbs — expect to spend $300–$800 depending on quality and brand choices.
The payoff is energy savings. A 10W LED bulb produces the same light as a 60W incandescent. Over 25,000 hours, the electricity savings alone cover the purchase price multiple times.
Installation: What You Can Do Yourself
Most LED room lighting upgrades are DIY-friendly.
LED bulbs: Simple replacement. No tools needed.
LED strip lights: Peel-and-stick adhesive backing. Most come with plug-in power supplies. The only challenge is hiding wires — tuck them behind furniture, under cabinets, or use cable channels.
Ceiling fixtures: If you are replacing an existing fixture, basic wiring knowledge is enough. Turn off the breaker, disconnect old fixture, connect new one (typically three wires: live, neutral, ground). If you are not comfortable with electrical work, hire an electrician. It is a 30-minute job that should cost $50–$150 in labor.
Smart systems: Setup is app-based. The challenge is planning — deciding which rooms to start with, which scenes to program, and how to integrate with existing switches.
The Bottom Line
The right LED lights for your room depend on what the room is for, how big it is, and what atmosphere you want to create. There is no single correct answer. A bedroom needs warmth and restraint. A kitchen needs brightness and precision. A living room needs layers and flexibility.
What is universal is that LED technology has made it possible to achieve professional-quality lighting at consumer prices. The fixtures are smaller, more efficient, and more versatile than ever. The only limit is imagination — and maybe your ceiling height.
SCOM Packages 2026: The Complete Guide to Internet, Call, and SIM Bundles in Gilgit-Baltistan and Azad Jammu & Kashmir
SCOM stands for the Special Communications Organization, a state-run telecom provider that is the sole source of 3G and 4G mobile services across Gilgit-Baltistan and Azad Jammu & Kashmir (AJ&K). Launched in 2004, SCOM made history by bringing the first 4G network to these mountainous regions, covering 450 cities and villages where private operators like Jazz, Zong, Ufone, and Telenor have little or no presence.
For residents, SCOM is not a choice. It is the only signal available. For tourists, trekkers, and anyone traveling through the region, a SCOM SIM is essential. The network’s monopoly is a structural reality shaped by geography, policy, and decades of underinvestment in telecom infrastructure across Pakistan-administered Kashmir.
That monopoly shapes everything — from what you pay to how reliable your connection is.
SCOM Internet Packages 2026
SCOM offers internet bundles across daily, weekly, and monthly cycles. Activation is done through USSD codes, primarily via *111#.
Daily Internet Packages
| Package | Data | Night Data | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Daily 200 MB | 200 MB | — | 1 Day | Rs. 20 | *111# |
| Daily Plus | 500 MB | — | 1 Day | Rs. 29 | *111# |
| Daily 500 | 250 MB | 250 MB | 1 Day | Rs. 28 | *151# |
| Daily Social | 1 GB | 1 GB | 1 Day | Rs. 28 | *198# |
| Daily YouTube | 1 GB | 1 GB | 1 Day | Rs. 17 | *171# |
Weekly Internet Packages
| Package | Data | Night Data | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Weekly 800 MB | 800 MB | — | 7 Days | Rs. 80 | *111# |
| Weekly Social Pack | 7 GB (social) | — | 7 Days | Rs. 80 | *111# |
| Super Weekly | 1 GB | 1 GB | 7 Days | Rs. 129 | *111# |
| Weekly Dhamaka | 3 GB | — | 7 Days | Rs. 150 | *111# |
| Weekly 6 GB | 3 GB | 3 GB | 7 Days | Rs. 170 | *751# |
| Weekly Social | 7 GB | 3 GB | 7 Days | Rs. 160 | *771# |
SCOM Monthly Internet Packages
| Package | Data | Night Data | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Monthly Starter | 10 GB | — | 30 Days | Rs. 500 | *111# |
| Monthly Smart | 25 GB | — | 30 Days | Rs. 1,100 | *111# |
| Monthly Gold | 6 GB | — | 30 Days | Rs. 449 | *111# |
| Monthly Premium | 10 GB | — | 30 Days | Rs. 549 | *111# |
| Monthly Premium (updated) | 25 GB | 10 GB | 30 Days | Rs. 799 | *3051# |
| Monthly Data Max | 35 GB | 15 GB | 30 Days | Rs. 999 | *3052# |
| Social Media Package | 7 GB (social) | — | 30 Days | Rs. 300 | *111# |
Other Internet Packages
| Package | Data | Night Data | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 3-Day Offer | 3 GB | 1 GB | 3 Days | Rs. 80 | *354# |
| 15-Day Offer | 10 GB | 5 GB | 15 Days | Rs. 340 | *755# |
| Fortnightly | 5 GB | — | 14 Days | Rs. 500 | *111# |
SCOM Call Packages 2026
SCOM offers dedicated call bundles and hybrid packages that combine minutes, SMS, and data.
Standalone Call Packages
| Package | On-Net Minutes | Off-Net Minutes | SMS | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 24 Ghantay (AJK) | Unlimited (family) | 160 | — | 1 Day | Rs. 15 + tax | *725# |
| Azadi Call | Unlimited (7 AM–10 AM) | 149 | 20 | 1 Day | Rs. 0.99–1.49/min | *725# |
| Kashmir Package | Unlimited | 149 | 30 | 1 Day | Rs. 0.99–1.49/min | *725# |
| Pura Din Baatein | Unlimited (6 AM–6 PM) | 160 | Free (6 AM–6 PM) | 1 Day | Rs. 8 LR | *725# |
SCOM Super Card / Hybrid Packages
| Package | On-Net | Off-Net | SMS | Internet | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Mini Card | 800 | 70 | 2,000 | 1 GB | 15 Days | Rs. 300 | *549*4# |
| Surprise Mini Super | 1,000 | 80 | 3,000 | 1.5 GB | 20 Days | Rs. 350 | *549*4# |
| Super Load Mini | 1,600 | 100 | 4,000 | 2 GB + 2 GB night | 15 Days | Rs. 350 | *549*4# |
| Super Load Gold | 4,000 | 200 | 5,000 | 5 GB + 5 GB night | 30 Days | Rs. 749 | *549*1# |
| Mega Monthly | 5,000 | 300 | 5,000 | 10 GB + 5 GB night | 30 Days | Rs. 849 | *549*5# |
| Super Card Gold | 3,000 | 200 | 3,000 | 5 GB + free Facebook | 30 Days | Rs. 550 | *111# |
| Monthly Ultra | 20,000 | 2,000 | 2,000 | 200 GB | 30 Days | Rs. 1,699 | *200# |
SCOM SMS Packages 2026
| Package | SMS | Data | Validity | Price | Code |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Daily SMS | 100 SMS + 1,000 on-net minutes | 50 MB | 1 Day | Rs. 12 | *725# |
| Monthly SMS | 3,000 SMS | — | 30 Days | Rs. 100 | *725# |
| Monthly SMS + WhatsApp | 20,000 SMS (FUP) | 300 MB WhatsApp | 30 Days | Rs. 50 | *725# |
| Student Package | 15,000 SMS | 1 GB + 250 on-net + 50 off-net minutes | 30 Days | Rs. 300 | *725# |
Essential SCOM USSD Codes
| Function | Code |
|---|---|
| Main menu | *111# |
| Check balance | *0# |
| Check remaining data/minutes/SMS | *124# or *125# |
| Activate call packages | *725# |
| Balance share (AJK) | *128*Amount*Number# |
| Balance share (GB) | *128*Number*Amount# |
| Islamic services | *786# |
The Monopoly Problem: Why SCOM Costs More Than It Should
On paper, SCOM’s prices look reasonable. A monthly package with 25 GB for Rs. 799 is cheaper than what many private operators charge in mainland Pakistan. But the reality on the ground is more complicated.
A Reddit user from AJK described their experience in stark terms: 15 Mbps fixed internet costs Rs. 3,400 per month with a 700 GB cap, while 100 Mbps costs Rs. 31,700 — plus a Rs. 40,000 “security fee” with no clear explanation.
The user noted that in the US, 100 Mbps starts at roughly $30 (Rs. 8,500) with unlimited data and no surprise charges.
The complaint is not unique. Because SCOM is the only provider in the region, there is no competitive pressure to lower prices or improve service. Users cannot switch to another operator. They cannot negotiate. They pay what SCOM charges, or they go without.
This is a classic monopoly dynamic, and it disproportionately affects a region already struggling with economic challenges. For students relying on internet access for online classes, for small businesses trying to operate digitally, and for families sharing a single connection across multiple devices, the cost is a real burden.
Coverage vs. Quality: The Trade-Off
SCOM’s strength is coverage. Its network reaches 450 cities and villages across Gilgit-Baltistan and AJK, including areas where no other operator has a signal.
For a region defined by mountainous terrain and scattered settlements, that coverage is genuinely valuable. But coverage does not equal quality. Signal strength varies dramatically with terrain and weather. In remote valleys, users report dropped calls, slow data speeds, and intermittent connectivity. The “night data” included in many packages is partly a concession to network congestion — speeds are often better between 1 AM and 9 AM when fewer people are online.
For tourists and short-term visitors, SCOM’s daily and weekly packages offer flexibility. But for long-term residents, the lack of alternatives means accepting whatever service quality is available.
What the SCOM Monopoly Means for Kashmir’s Digital Future
The telecom gap in Pakistan-administered Kashmir is not just an inconvenience. It is a structural disadvantage.
In India-administered Kashmir, private operators compete aggressively. Jio, Airtel, and BSNL offer 4G and now 5G services across the valley. Prices are lower. Data allowances are higher. The market, however imperfect, creates pressure for improvement.
In Gilgit-Baltistan and AJK, that pressure does not exist. SCOM’s monopoly is a policy choice — the result of licensing decisions that have kept private operators out of the region. Whether that is justified on security grounds, commercial grounds, or bureaucratic inertia, the effect is the same: residents pay more for less.
The consequences extend beyond individual frustration. Poor connectivity limits economic development. It restricts access to online education and telemedicine. It makes it harder for local businesses to reach national and international markets. And it reinforces the sense, common across both sides of the Line of Control, that Kashmir’s peripherality is taken for granted by the powers that govern it.
New Mirpur City: How Mangla Dam Wiped Out an Old City and Built a New One — And Why It Still Defines Kashmir’s Diaspora
In the early 1960s, the old city of Mirpur began to disappear. The Jhelum River was rising, slowly at first, then with terrifying speed. Villages, mosques, markets, and ancestral homes were swallowed by the reservoir of the Mangla Dam — one of the largest earth-filled dams ever built. When the gates finally closed, an estimated 280 villages had vanished, and between 100,000 and 150,000 people had been displaced.
For the people of Mirpur, this was not abstract development. It was the second uprooting in a generation. Fifteen years after Partition, they were being forced from their lands again — this time not by war, but by a dam built in the name of national progress. Families watched bulldozers tear through homes that had stood for centuries. Graveyards were relocated. Orchards were destroyed. Mosques that once echoed with the adhaan became islands before vanishing beneath the waves.
The government promised compensation and resettlement. In practice, support was uneven and inadequate. New housing colonies were built, but jobs were scarce, infrastructure was poor, and the pain of losing not just property but community was immense. For many, survival meant looking beyond Kashmir.
What emerged from this tragedy was New Mirpur City — and a migration that would reshape both Kashmir and Britain.
Building New Mirpur City: Resettlement as Urban Planning
New Mirpur City was not built from scratch. It was constructed as a planned resettlement for families displaced by the Mangla Dam, which was completed in 1967 as part of the Indus Basin Replacement Works following the 1960 Indus Waters Treaty.
The original dam displaced roughly 81,000 people and submerged approximately 67,800 acres of land.
The resettlement was one of the largest of its kind in the world at that time. New Mirpur City and five surrounding hamlets were developed at a cost of Rs. 240 million (approximately $50 million at the time).
The city was designed with roads, schools, water storage tanks, and public buildings — a deliberate effort to replace what had been lost.
But the resettlement was flawed. Many families allotted land in Punjab and Sindh could not settle there due to unfavorable conditions. Others never received the plots or compensation they were promised. The displacement of an entire population away from their culture and kin was, by most accounts, not a success.
Decades later, history repeated itself. The Mangla Dam Raising Project (2004–2009) raised the dam by 30 feet, displacing another 63,000 people.
This time, lessons had been learned. The new resettlement was planned in consultation with affectees, and all displaced families were relocated in close vicinity rather than scattered across provinces. A new city near Mirpur and four satellite towns — Islamgarh, Chakswari, Dadyal, and Siakh — were developed with modern infrastructure, vocational training institutes, and public utility buildings.
The compensation package was unprecedented: market-rate land payments plus 15%, replacement housing costs, residential plots, and skills training. Over Rs. 75 billion was spent on resettlement — far more than the dam-raising works themselves.
“Little England”: The Diaspora Connection
New Mirpur City’s story cannot be separated from the British Kashmiri diaspora. As the old city sank, Britain was rebuilding after World War II and facing severe labor shortages in its textile mills, foundries, and public transport. The Pakistan government negotiated with the UK to allow displaced Mangla families to migrate as part of a resettlement program.
Thousands of Mirpuris arrived in Bradford, Birmingham, Oldham, Sheffield, Derby, and Luton in the early 1960s. They came with little more than suitcases and the addresses of distant relatives. Their work was tough — long factory hours, cold winters, language barriers. But they brought with them values of hard work and community solidarity.
Today, there are an estimated 747,000 Mirpuris in the United Kingdom, forming roughly 70% of the British Pakistani community.
Mirpur itself is often called “Little England” — many shops accept the pound sterling, British products fill the shelves, and houses stand empty for much of the year, occupied only when owners return from Birmingham or Luton for holidays
.
Remittances from the UK became the lifeblood of Azad Kashmir’s economy. They funded schools, mosques, hospitals, and businesses. The diaspora transformed Mirpur from a displaced community into a prosperous town with strong transnational ties.
Modern Mirpur: From Resettlement to Real Estate Hub
New Mirpur City has evolved far beyond its origins as a resettlement colony. Today, it is one of the fastest-growing urban centers in Pakistan-administered Kashmir, driven by diaspora investment, infrastructure projects, and large-scale housing developments.
Mega housing projects are transforming the city’s landscape. Gated communities like Citi Housing Mirpur promise “waterfront luxurious living” with dam-facing plots, gold-standard amenities, and international-standard infrastructure
The project, spread across multiple districts including a Gold District, Business District, Eco Forest District, and Meadows District, offers plots ranging from 5 marla to 4 kanal.
Real estate prices in Mirpur remain lower than in Lahore, Karachi, or Islamabad, making it attractive to overseas Pakistanis seeking both emotional connection and financial return.
Commercial investment is also booming, with rental yields between 8% and 12% — higher than the national average.
The OPF Housing Scheme at Chittarpari, approved in 1981 and spread over 5,710 kanals (714 acres), created 2,957 residential and 195 commercial plots. Development works for all three phases are complete, and colonization is ongoing with over 170 houses already constructed.
Infrastructure That Could Change Everything
Two infrastructure projects could redefine New Mirpur City’s future.
The first is the Mirpur Dry Port, inaugurated in August 2022 after more than 30 years of demand. Built on a 110-kanal plot at an estimated cost of Rs. 815.8 million, the dry port is expected to become an industrial hub and serve the cargo needs of hundreds of thousands of UK-based expatriates.
Dry ports function as intermodal terminals connected to seaports, handling bulk cargo, generating employment, and alleviating poverty.
The second is the long-awaited Mirpur International Airport. In late 2025, the Pakistan government greenlit the project, with the Pakistan Airports Authority commencing technical feasibility studies including site identification and environmental assessments. Authorities expect the feasibility study to be completed by December 2025, with construction to begin in the current financial year.
The airport is a direct response to pressure from the British Kashmiri diaspora — British Members of Parliament wrote to Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif urging its construction.
Currently, travelers to Mirpur face a journey of over 120 kilometers from Islamabad International Airport. The new airport would provide direct air access, reducing travel time and stimulating economic growth.
CPEC and the Special Economic Zone
Mirpur’s strategic importance extends beyond diaspora ties. Under the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), a Special Economic Zone (SEZ) is planned for Mirpur, spread over 1,078 acres of mixed-industry land.
The SEZ is situated just 22 km from GT Road and 140 km from Sialkot, and would connect to the main CPEC route via the Mansehra-Muzaffarabad-Mirpur-Mangla Expressway (M4).
The M4 expressway, stretching approximately 200 km at an estimated cost of Rs. 264 billion, will be the shortest route from Central Punjab to CPEC through Azad Kashmir. It includes four tunnels totaling 3 km, 122 bridges, and 260 culverts, with a designed speed limit of 120 km/hr.
The road will reduce travel time between Muzaffarabad and Mirpur from six hours to approximately three and a half hours.
For the SEZ, Mirpur’s diaspora connection is seen as a unique advantage. Over half a million overseas Mirpuris, primarily in the UK, form the backbone of an informal garment industry already rooted in the city. With the UK-based Kashmiri diaspora as the chief target market, the industry is estimated to be worth 8–10 million rupees per annum. The SEZ could transform these informal units into formal industrial operations.
The Unfinished Story
New Mirpur City is a city of layers. Beneath its modern housing schemes and commercial plazas lies the memory of 280 submerged villages. Behind its prosperity is the labor of a diaspora that rebuilt their lives in British factory towns. Its future depends on infrastructure projects — an airport, a dry port, a CPEC corridor — that have been promised for decades.
The Mangla Dam gave Pakistan water and electricity. It took from Kashmiris a landscape of belonging. New Mirpur City was meant to compensate for that loss. Whether it has succeeded depends on who you ask.
For the elderly who remember watching the Jhelum rise, the city will always be a reminder of what was taken. For the diaspora who return each summer to houses built with British wages, it is a bridge between two worlds. For the investors buying waterfront plots and commercial plazas, it is an emerging market with untapped potential.
What is clear is that New Mirpur City is not just a place. It is a story — of displacement and resilience, of loss and reinvention, of a community that was forced to leave its land and then, across an ocean, found the means to rebuild it.
Ranbir Penal Code: The Kashmir Law That Survived 87 Years — And Why It Still Matters
The Ranbir Penal Code (RPC) was the criminal law of Jammu and Kashmir for nearly nine decades — from 1932 until its repeal in October 2019. Named after Maharaja Ranbir Singh of the Dogra dynasty, it was Kashmir’s answer to the Indian Penal Code (IPC), drafted by the same British colonial framework but tailored to the princely state’s administrative and cultural needs.
Unlike the IPC, which governed the rest of India, the RPC was protected by Article 370 of the Indian Constitution. That provision gave Jammu and Kashmir autonomy over its internal laws — including its own penal code, its own constitution, and its own flag. The RPC was not merely a copy of the IPC. It contained key differences: stricter provisions on cow slaughter, omissions of maritime and extraterritorial offenses, and unique sections on corruption in public contracts.
For Kashmiris, the RPC was more than a legal text. It was a symbol of the region’s distinct constitutional status — a status that was unilaterally revoked on 5 August 2019.
Why Kashmir Had Its Own Penal Code
The RPC was enacted in 1932 (Samvat 1989) under the reign of Maharaja Hari Singh, though it drew its name from his predecessor, Ranbir Singh, who had consolidated civil and criminal laws during his rule from 1856 to 1885.
The code was modeled closely on the IPC of 1860 but adapted for local governance. It replaced “India” with “Jammu and Kashmir State” throughout its provisions and added sections that reflected Dogra-era priorities — most notably, Sections 298A to 298D, which criminalized cow slaughter with penalties of up to 10 years’ rigorous imprisonment.
After 1947, when the princely state acceded to India, the RPC remained in force. Article 370 shielded it from automatic replacement by central laws. While the IPC was amended dozens of times over the decades, the RPC saw far fewer updates — a fact that later drew both criticism and scholarly attention.
The code’s longevity was remarkable. For 87 years, it survived India’s partition, three wars over Kashmir, the insurgency of the 1990s, and multiple constitutional amendments. It outlasted the Dogra dynasty that created it, the monarchy itself, and even the state of Jammu and Kashmir as a political entity. That endurance was not accidental. It was a direct consequence of Article 370, which carved out a legal space for Kashmir that no other Indian state enjoyed.
Key Differences Between RPC and IPC
Several provisions set the RPC apart from the IPC, and these differences carried real legal consequences for Kashmiris:
| Feature | Ranbir Penal Code | Indian Penal Code |
|---|---|---|
| Cow slaughter | Sections 298A-298D: Up to 10 years imprisonment | No equivalent provision |
| Sextortion | Section 354E added in 2018 | Added later in national reforms |
| Cheating in government contracts | Section 420A: Specific provision | No direct equivalent |
| Maritime/offshore crimes | Omitted | Covered under IPC |
| Dowry death | Not explicitly defined | Section 304B |
| Adultery | Section 497 (struck down by Supreme Court in 2019) | Section 497 (also struck down) |
| Rape punishment | Minimum 8 years imprisonment | Minimum 7 years imprisonment |
| Rape causing vegetative state | Minimum 25 years imprisonment | Minimum 20 years imprisonment |
| Driving license cancellation for rapists | Mandatory | Not applicable |
The RPC’s Section 354E, added in December 2018, made Jammu and Kashmir the first Indian jurisdiction to explicitly criminalize “sextortion” — the abuse of authority for sexual favors. This was a progressive step that, ironically, came just months before the code itself was repealed.
Conversely, the RPC lacked several IPC amendments that had modernized criminal law elsewhere in India, including provisions on dowry deaths and cybercrimes targeting Indian computer resources.
Perhaps most striking was the RPC’s approach to sexual violence. Research published in 2020 found that the RPC was actually more rigorous than the IPC in punishing rape. Where the IPC prescribed a minimum of seven years, the RPC mandated eight. For rape resulting in permanent vegetative state, the RPC imposed a minimum of 25 years — five years more than the IPC. The RPC also uniquely mandated the cancellation of driving licenses for convicted rapists, a provision absent from the IPC.
Yet the RPC also contained regressive elements. Its Section 497 on adultery, mirroring the IPC’s version, treated women as property of their husbands and was ultimately struck down by the Supreme Court. The RPC’s Section 190A gave the government sweeping powers to punish anyone circulating material deemed “forfeited” — a provision critics argued undermined press freedom.
The Repeal: 5 August 2019 and What Changed
On 5 August 2019, the Indian Parliament abrogated Article 370 and passed the Jammu and Kashmir Reorganisation Act, 2019. The RPC was repealed effective 31 October 2019, and the IPC was extended to the newly formed Union Territories of Jammu and Kashmir and Ladakh.
The transition was abrupt. Thousands of cases pending under the RPC had to be adjudicated under a new legal framework. Courts faced questions about whether offenses committed under the RPC could be prosecuted under the IPC, and whether procedural changes would affect ongoing trials.
In a notable case, the Supreme Court struck down Section 497 of the RPC (adultery) as unconstitutional on 2 August 2019 — just three days before the code itself was replaced.
The ruling cited violations of Articles 14, 15, and 21 of the Indian Constitution, but its practical impact was limited by the imminent repeal.
The Reorganisation Act was not merely a legal technicality. It repealed 153 state laws and extended 106 central laws to the newly formed union territories.
The scale of this legislative overhaul was unprecedented in Indian constitutional history. No other state had seen its entire legal framework dismantled and replaced in a single parliamentary act.
Legal challenges followed immediately. Petitions were filed by members of parliament, former bureaucrats, advocates, and activists. The Jammu and Kashmir National Conference challenged the presidential orders and the Reorganisation Act in the Supreme Court, arguing that the downgrading of Jammu and Kashmir from a state to a union territory violated constitutional federalism.
On 11 December 2023, the Supreme Court upheld the act as constitutional but directed the central government to restore statehood “as soon as possible”.
From IPC to BNS: Kashmir’s Laws Keep Shifting
The legal upheaval did not end with the IPC. On 1 July 2024, the IPC itself was repealed nationwide and replaced by the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS), 2023 — a new criminal code that also applies to Jammu and Kashmir.
The BNS introduces community service as a form of punishment and removes the colonial-era offense of sedition, replacing it with a broader charge of acts endangering India’s sovereignty. For Kashmir, this means the region has now moved from the RPC to the IPC to the BNS in less than five years — a pace of legal change unmatched in any other part of India.
What the BNS does not restore, however, are the RPC’s unique provisions. The explicit ban on cow slaughter, for instance, is no longer part of the general penal framework. In July 2020, an NGO petitioned the Jammu and Kashmir High Court to reintroduce such protections, citing both environmental and religious concerns.
The BNS also does not replicate the RPC’s tougher sentencing for sexual offenses. The driving license cancellation for rapists — a distinctive RPC provision — has no equivalent in the new code. For women’s rights advocates in Kashmir, this represents a step backward disguised as legal modernization.
Why the RPC Still Matters
The repeal of the Ranbir Penal Code was not just a technical legal change. It was the erasure of a legal identity that had defined Kashmir’s criminal justice system for 87 years. The RPC represented:
Constitutional distinctiveness — a visible marker of Article 370’s autonomy. For decades, the RPC was proof that Kashmir was not just another Indian state. It had its own laws, its own legal traditions, and its own approach to justice.
Local legal evolution — adaptations to Kashmir’s specific social and governance needs. The RPC’s provisions on cow slaughter reflected the agrarian realities of a livestock-dependent economy. Its Section 420A on cheating in government contracts addressed corruption in public works — a persistent problem in the region. These were not abstract legal curiosities; they were responses to real conditions on the ground.
Historical continuity — a direct link to the Dogra-era judicial reforms. Maharaja Ranbir Singh had established regular courts and replaced feudal arbitrariness with codified law. The RPC was the culmination of that project, a legal framework that outlasted the monarchy itself.
Its replacement by the IPC, and now the BNS, reflects a broader centralization of Kashmir’s legal framework. Whether this brings greater legal uniformity or diminishes region-specific protections remains a subject of debate among jurists and rights observers.
For the legal community in Kashmir, the transition has been fraught. Lawyers who spent decades mastering the RPC had to relearn an entirely new code. Judges faced cases filed under one statute that now had to be decided under another. The abruptness of the change — with no transition period, no training, no consultation — drew criticism from bar associations across the region.
For ordinary Kashmiris, the practical impact has been mixed. Some provisions of the IPC and now the BNS offer stronger protections — particularly around cybercrimes and modern forms of fraud. But the loss of the RPC’s unique provisions, especially its tougher stance on sexual violence, has left gaps that the new codes have not fully filled.
The Bigger Picture: Legal Identity and Political Control
The story of the Ranbir Penal Code is ultimately a story about legal identity and political control. Laws are not neutral instruments. They reflect the values, priorities, and power structures of the societies that create them. The RPC was born in a princely state seeking to assert its sovereignty against British colonial encroachment. It survived because Article 370 gave Kashmir a constitutional space to be different. And it died because that space was deemed unacceptable by a government determined to enforce uniformity.
The question now is whether uniformity serves justice. The BNS applies equally to all of India — but India is not uniform. Kashmir’s history, demographics, and political circumstances are not those of Gujarat or Tamil Nadu. A criminal code that ignores these differences may achieve legal consistency, but it risks sacrificing relevance.
For journalists, researchers, and anyone seeking to understand Kashmir’s legal history, the RPC remains essential reading. It tells the story of a region that once wrote its own laws — and what happened when that power was taken away.
The RPC may be repealed, but it is not forgotten. Its provisions live on in the case law of Kashmir’s courts. Its principles continue to inform legal scholarship. And its history serves as a reminder that Kashmir’s relationship with India was once defined by autonomy, not absorption.
