Mohsina Malik, TwoCircles.net
New Delhi: On the night of June 13, a deafening explosion jolted Iran’s capital of Tehran, awake. Among those startled from sleep was 23-year-old Zulkarnain Shah, a fourth-year medical student from Srinagar, Kashmir. “The whole building felt like it was trembling. I ran to my roommate, grabbed whatever we could and rushed to the basement. The lights, the noise – it was terrifying. Since that night, even after returning home, sleep has become a distant memory. I keep having flashbacks; they haunt me,” he recalled over a crackling WhatsApp call.
Shah is one of around 1,500 Kashmiri students studying medicine and allied health sciences in Iran, scattered across cities like Tehran, Qom, Tabriz and Isfahan. As hostilities escalated between Iran and Israel, these students suddenly found themselves caught in the crossfire. Following Iran’s missile and drone attacks on Israel, and Israel’s retaliatory airstrikes across Iranian territory, more than 2,000 Indian students, many from Jammu and Kashmir, were stranded in an increasingly dangerous conflict zone.
One day they were in classrooms; the next, they were ducking for cover. “Missiles streaked through the sky. Air raid sirens echoed across Tehran and Tabriz. We saw missiles and we heard the bombings. Our building shook. It felt unreal – like we were in the middle of a war movie,” said Mahnoor Siddiqui, a final-year MBBS student.
The airstrikes came in response to Iran’s retaliatory attacks on Israel after the latter challenged Tehran’s sovereignty and killed its top military commanders and nuclear scientists. In the days that followed, blasts echoed across cities – Tehran, Mashhad and even near the sensitive Natanz nuclear facility.
Third-year MBBS student Afshan Fayaz spoke of long, anxious nights spent fully dressed, her bag packed, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. “We slept in shifts. Some of us even kept our shoes on, just in case. Every sound made us jump. We only had one thought in mind – to get out, to go home. The trauma is something I will carry for a long time,” she said.
Their ordeal extended beyond bombings. Students faced frequent power cuts, dwindling food supplies and medicine shortages. “Water at the dorms was rationed. Grocery stores were half-empty. Pharmacies had little stock,” said Jamsheed Ali, a medical student in Kerman.
Making things worse, the internet was heavily restricted. Connecting with families or even the Indian embassy became difficult.
“We had to use unreliable VPNs just to send a quick message. We could not share videos or call properly. Back home, our families were panicking,” said an engineering student.
In Srinagar, Mohammad Afzal, whose son is studying in Tehran, said, “We did not sleep for days. Every blast there echoed in our hearts here.”
At Tehran’s Hujjatdost Ali Hostel, a blast shattered windows and left two Kashmiri students injured.
“They were hurt by glass shards, but the mental scars run deeper. Every single day, we lived with the fear that the next bomb could land right on us. During our journey to Armenia, we saw a missile fall from the sky. Everyone on the bus screamed. We truly thought we were going to die.”
As fears grew, families in Kashmir demanded immediate evacuation. Many questioned the delay, especially when comparing it to Operation Ganga during the Ukraine conflict. “Why was not there a quick plan to rescue our children?” Afzal asked.
Under mounting pressure, India’s Ministry of External Affairs (MEA) set up a 24/7 control room. On June 16, External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar announced that more than 110 Indian students had safely reached the Armenia border. Iran had opened land crossings, and Norduz-Armenia was marked as the safest route.
Still, many students felt trapped in a state of confusion. “We were moved from Tehran to Qom, then Isfahan – without any clear plan or updates. Nobody told us what was happening. It only made things worse. Even the Indian embassy said, ‘We are trying our best; we are also stuck,'” said one student, requesting anonymity.
On June 19, first group of 110 students, most from Urmia University, crossed into Armenia and were flown to Delhi under India’s Operation Sindhu. Many Kashmiri students reunited with their families at the airport, breaking down in relief.
“We were hungry, sleepless and terrified. Hugging our families made all of it bearable. We were among the first to leave. The situation in Iran is critical – missiles overhead and destroyed buildings. I hope no student ever experiences what we did,” said Nazish Mir.
By June 20, more than 600 Indian students, nearly 500 of them from Jammu and Kashmir, had reached Mashhad, near the Iran–Turkmenistan border, after a grueling 15-hour bus journey from Qom. They arrived in India on June 21, some late at night, others into the early morning hours. Most chose to fly home, while a few continued their journey by bus.
“We did not sleep during the journey – not from fatigue, but disbelief. We could not believe we were finally out. The past week felt like living inside a nightmare,” said Uzma Syed, a second-year MBBS student.
She added, “Initially, we thought the tensions would pass. But then came the drones, the thick smoke and the bombings. It only escalated. Rumors started swirling about Iran closing its borders. That is when we truly felt trapped.”
Her university has since announced a one-month closure, but Uzma remains uncertain. “Everything is unclear. Do we transfer? Do we wait? What happens to our degree?” she asked.
For many, the psychological toll is far from over. “Even back home, the sound of fireworks makes us flinch. Some of us have not told our families everything, it is just too much to relive,” said Mahnoor.
The trauma extends to the parents too. Uzma’s mother, Hajra, remembers vividly the night her daughter called after a nearby explosion. “She said, ‘Don’t worry, I am okay.’ But how could I not worry? I had no way of knowing if she was truly safe. All we could do was pray,” she narrated the trauma.
Now back in Kashmir, students are facing difficult decisions. While some hope to return if classes resume, others are looking into transfers, either within India or to universities abroad. “We have been told our degrees will still be valid and classes may restart after a month. But nobody is giving clear answers. Will we study online? Will Iran reopen for students? Everything hangs in the air,” said Mahnoor.
This crisis has exposed the urgent need for India to have better mechanisms in place for students caught in global conflict zones – be it quicker evacuations, access to mental health care or academic alternatives in emergencies.
The financial strain is another harsh reality. Many families had invested everything – some even sold land or took loans – to send their children to Iran for an affordable medical education. “It is not just the trauma, it is also the fear of losing an academic year. That kind of loss is devastating in every sense,” said Nasir Hayat, a first-year MBBS student.
For these students, the war has delivered a harsh lesson that even the most promising plans can be turned upside down overnight. “We went to study medicine, not to survive missile attacks. Now that I am home, I realise how lucky I am. So many others are still waiting,” said Nazish.
“We did not choose this war. All we wanted was to study. Now, all we want is to feel safe again,” she added.
Until every last student returns, hundreds of families remain locked in that same dreadful wait, hoping, watching and praying.