When history books are written about Operation Sindoor, they will likely devote a chapter to Pakistan’s military humiliation, another to India’s strategic audacity, another one to homegrown defence systems that added edge to India’s combat capabilities, and perhaps an appendix just to catalogue the nonsense spewed by Director General Public Relations of the Pakistan Air Force, Aurangzeb Ahmed. After all, it’s not every day that a man attempts to reframe total defeat as “tactical brilliance” using phrases like “centre of gravity” with the fervor of a juvenile who just discovered Clausewitz.
But let’s begin with the facts—those stubborn things that tend to ruin press conferences in Rawalpindi.
On May 7, 2025, India launched Operation Sindoor, a precision military campaign that destroyed nine terror launchpads deep within Pakistani territory and subsequently, 11 Pakistan Air Force (PAF) airbases. It wasn’t just a retaliatory strike—it was a rewriting of the Indo-Pak playbook. For decades, New Delhi had exercised restraint in the face of Pakistani provocation. Not anymore. Operation Sindoor marked a seismic shift: from strategic patience to surgical escalation.
The Indian Air Force (IAF) didn’t just strike—it walked through Pakistan’s air defences like a knife through butter. In what is now officially confirmed by the Indian government, the IAF successfully jammed and bypassed the Chinese-supplied JY-27A and HQ-9 air defence systems deployed across key Pakistani installations. This wasn’t just a tactical win—it was a geopolitical humiliation. Beijing, whose military hardware is often touted in Islamabad as a shield of divine proportions, watched in silence as its technology was rendered useless by Indian counter-electronic warfare systems and superior aviation strategy.
But the story doesn’t end with destruction—it truly begins with denial.
Leaning on Pakistan’s national struggle with English to cover up military’s glaring failures
Enter Aurangzeb Ahmed, PAF’s new poster boy for post-defeat spin. Faced with a military reality that couldn’t be dressed up, Ahmed reached for buzzwords. At a press conference, he claimed—without evidence—that Pakistan had struck back by hitting Indian jets, liberally throwing in “centre of gravity” phrase to mask Pakistan airforce’s utter failure to stop decimation of terror camps entrenched deep into their territory and convince an audience and millions of Pakistanis watching him comfortable with jihadi doctrines but not with English vocabulary.
And whose “centre of gravity” was Ahmed referring to? Apparently, India’s Rafale jets, which he claimed had been targeted while they dropped their payload to wreak havoc on terror hubs across Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. No satellite images. No wreckage. No proof. Just vibes.
And it didn’t stop there.
A few days later, in what can only be described as a TED Talk for the terminally confused, Ahmed doubled down. He claimed Pakistan had “taken out” the S-400 air defence system stationed at India’s Adampur air base—perhaps the most ludicrous lie in the entire charade. Unfortunately for him, reality arrived with camera crews. Prime Minister Narendra Modi visited the Adampur base just a couple of days later and got himself photographed standing right in front of the very-much-functional S-400 unit. It was an image tailor-made to haunt Ahmed’s PowerPoint slides.
To his credit, Aurangzeb Ahmed seemed painfully aware of what Pakistan is truly grappling with—beyond hunger, inflation, and the delusion of strategic parity with an economically stronger, militarily superior India. It’s the national struggle with English comprehension, a predictable outcome in a country where a vast population is raised on jihadi pamphlets rather than textbooks, courtesy of a madrassa network where even child abuse scandals like Bacha Bazi are disturbingly normalized.
For a vast number of Pakistanis, English remains an uphill battle—thanks to an education system dominated by Urdu-medium madrassas that prioritize dogma over critical thinking. The result? A population ill-equipped to recognize when someone with a better command of English, like Aurangzeb Ahmed, strings together empty jargon—such as “centre of gravity”—to pass off gibberish as strategic brilliance.
Exploiting Pakistan’s widespread struggle with English, Ahmed casually dropped the term “centre of gravity” to cloak his drivel in a veneer of intellectualism—hoping that jargon would pass for substance and his audience wouldn’t dare question what sounded vaguely militaristic terminology.
Aurangzeb Ahmed’s baffling use of ‘centre of gravity’ turns him into a social media meme
On social media, the mockery was swift, surgical, and unforgiving. X (formerly Twitter) exploded with memes and satire. Social media user @being_humor, known for his hot takes on political developments in the country and geopolitics, shared a raft of memes mocking Aurangzeb Ahmed and his tendency to meaninglessly use ‘centre of gravity’ to muddle painful facts gnawing at him.
“PAF Aurangzeb gets another medal for successfully saying “ Centre of Gravity,” he tweeted, along with a picture of Aurangzeb Ahmed receiving an award.
🚨 #BREAKING: PAF Aurangzeb gets another medal for successfully saying “ Centre of Gravity”. pic.twitter.com/1ywTUsCXtU
— maithun (@Being_Humor) May 13, 2025
In a video of Ahmed going viral on X, the PAF officer could be seen explaining how “targeting S-400 is easy but difficult to identify and locate S-400 system.” And why was it difficult to identify S-400 air defence system? Ahmed’s profoundly baffling response is because it has got “centre of gravity.” Apparently, in his version of military science, radar signatures and satellite imaging take a backseat to abstract metaphors.
Pakistan Air Force's Aurangzeb might have got a lot of fan following in Pakistan, but he erred on Adampur. His claims on Adampur, that got busted today by PM Modi's visits: pic.twitter.com/KVKNinDpvj
— Sidhant Sibal (@sidhant) May 13, 2025
Joining the chorus of mockery was popular tech influencer @technicalguruji, a.k.a. Gaurav Chaudhary. In a viral video taking a witty jab at PAF officer Aurangzeb Ahmed, Chaudhary quipped, “Why are flat-earthers suddenly experts on ‘centre of gravity’?” His dig was aimed squarely at the hardcore Islamist fringe—those who still cling to the belief that the Earth is flat, yet somehow speak with authority on complex military concepts.
Centre Of Gravity…#TGFamily 🔥 🔥 🔥 pic.twitter.com/1as6CJnfxV
— Gaurav Chaudhary (@TechnicalGuruji) May 14, 2025
Using word salad to mask a generational humiliation
But beneath the humor lies a serious truth: Pakistan’s military establishment, long used to the comfort of impunity and international indulgence, is now grappling with something it hasn’t seen in decades—an India willing to escalate. And Operation Sindoor wasn’t an anomaly; it was doctrine in action. Indian defence officials have made it clear that future provocations will be met with overwhelming force, with no geographical sanctuary assured to Pakistan’s terror infrastructure.
The message is stark: terrorism will no longer be answered with dossiers and statements, but with payloads and precision.
What’s equally significant is the silence from China. Despite its defence partnership with Pakistan and its strategic interest in the region, Beijing has offered no statement defending the performance of its air defence systems, perhaps because even it knows the embarrassment is too obvious to manage. The IAF’s jamming of Chinese radar and tracking systems exposed their vulnerabilities—not just to India, but to every nation considering Beijing’s military exports.
In contrast, the Indian government’s communication has been minimal but pointed. No boasting. No gloating. Just facts, delivered with chilling precision, just like their military payloads.
While Ahmed scribbled military fiction at the podium, India released photographs of devastation caused by its precision airstrikes to friendly foreign missions and media, quietly shutting down any attempt by Pakistan to manufacture sympathy.
Back in Pakistan, the consequences of the defeat are already visible. PAF morale is in tatters, public trust in military leadership has taken a hit, and social media censorship is at an all-time high. Still, Ahmed persists, perhaps because denial is the last refuge of a regime that cannot afford introspection.
What remains most absurd, though, is how Pakistan thought it could outmaneuver an India that no longer plays by the old rules. The days of the “nuclear umbrella” shielding proxy war are over. The myth of parity has been shattered. And all that’s left is Aurangzeb Ahmed, spinning “centre of gravity” theories while standing in the smoking crater of his own credibility.
In the end, Ahmed didn’t just lose a war of words. He lost the luxury of being taken seriously. And that’s a serious setback for a military personnel whose force had endured one of its biggest losses in 5 decades.
And that is something no press conference can fix.
