The sun-kissed, soft sands and the pristine waters of the Tasman Sea around Bondi Beach, that iconic stretch of Australian paradise, turned into a madhouse on December 14, 2025. What began as an exultant Hanukkah gathering — over a thousand individuals dancing, lighting candles, embracing the spirit of light amid winter’s early dusk — erupted into a bloodbath. A father-son duo, armed with what one of the witnesses described as “the biggest guns I’ve ever seen," unleashed terror on the crowd. Sixteen lives were snuffed out, including a 10-year-old girl whose only crime was celebrating her faith, and a British-born rabbi whose wisdom would never grace another sermon. Blood of innocents stained the waves, their screams pierced the salty air, and Australia’s worst mass shooting terror attack in nearly three decades shattered the illusion of safety in one of the world’s most laid-back nations. Before they could realise that the threat of Islamist extremism and terror is real, it already took Australia by storm and how. The attackers, who had recently travelled to the Philippines for military-style training (as per reports), targeted Jewish revellers with chilling precision, a stark reminder that hate doesn’t respect borders or beaches.

As the island nation mourns and vows tougher gun laws, the question lingers: What poisons minds to such gory sanguinary acts? Peeping into the Muslim mindset, especially through the lens of Indian Muslims, reveals a troubling mosaic of denial, nostalgia, and selective outrage. In India, where Muslims form a significant minority, the community often grapples with an identity tethered to medieval glory rather than modern realities. Hamid Dalwai, the fiery reformer from........

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