Ugly Game of Chess

It’s an ugly game of chess. Pawns move forward and keep on dying. Some are replaced. Meanwhile, the King remains safe.

When one B was exposed in 2020 by the same Noor, the pawn in power – PTI – defended him and gave him a clean chit within days. No FIA. No trial. No Court. No dragging anywhere.

Now another B has been exposed by the same Noor, and the whole new cabinet of pawns – PDM – is defending him. The previous pawns are replaced with the new ones to defend the King.

The irony here is that the pawns were supposed to be behind the King and the King was supposed to defend the whole chessboard.

Defending the defenders of their wrongdoings and getting oneself clean in the later part is a sad fate of this nation. One pawn – who is not in power – blames and begs the King simultaneously.

The other pawn – currently in power – did the same thing until he got his dummy power of premiership again. Everyone wants to be a dummy pawn here because intellect is dead and there is no horse to make a strategic 2.5 move to halt the King and his key agency, the Queen.

It’s as ugly as our famous literature we proudly claim to have read. Like Shahab Nama. After spending all his life as a pawn to the King, he became pious when he had no post left to undo is wrongdoings. He blamed all others and awarded a piously clean chit to himself with a ghostly figure of 90. The book even sells today and makes a philosophical and intellectual impact on the reader. Sigh!

Misery all around. From opening a book to hiding books.

Hence, here we are. Struggling all our lives and paying installments to get a plot to sell it in the later half of our lives to make something out of it for the next generation. Meanwhile, the King and his Queen get plots worth of billions with offshore assets with pizza dough in their own pizza shops all over the world.

And once the game is over for the King with the claim that he gave all his life to defend the chessboard, he leaves the chessboard and settles in another chessboard because the one he defended all his life is not secure enough to live the rest of his life.

Irony. This game is ugly. Boring. Takes a lot of time. And it’s always about the bad moves and motives.

And the other bad move is His Highness intended to write the first four small paragraphs. An open wound bleeds profusely.

Stand up. Turn around. And dare to burn the citadel down.

We don’t know the authenticity of the news but let’s stand on the right side.

There was news of a slap in April 2022.
There is news of a slap in November 2022.

Whatever side you take, the receiver was a Prime Minister of this country. In both scenarios. Your PM or not your PM but the PM.

And ideally, such hands who had the audacity to be raised on a PM, just because of an institutional power of uniform; must be held, twisted, and broken by the shoulder. Or maybe amputated.

Must be settled once and for all.

Some were hanged. Some were shot down. Some died mysteriously. Some were martial lawd. Some were thrown out of the country. And now this news of slaps.

Must be dealt with without shaming and shaking.

By the way, if you enjoyed it once out of the two times, you are a hypocrite. And if you enjoyed it both times, you are an illiterate.

As someone remineded His Highness of his own words:
Stand up. Turn around. And dare to burn the citadel down.

Hopeless and Hapless

Toshakhana. March to the capital. TV programs on old scandals. Gogi’s corruption. Smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors.

On the other side – other than these loose talks – Pakistan is on the verge of financial collapse. It’s almost bankrupt.

Let’s move gradually. International rating agencies have already downgraded Pakistan. IMF is with a knife on our jugular vein. Funds from Saudia are not coming. They said no. No from China too after messing with CPEC for years, particularly under Pizza Bajwa’s reign of terror. ADB funds of $1.5 billion – which we received weeks back – have already been dusted.

$1.5 billion is almost Rs.333 billion. I’m sure not a single billion has floated in the flooded regions of the country. Apropos, flooded water is staying this winter. The situation is going to get worse but it’s fine. If you change your TV channel, things change. Nothing happens if you switch.

Cricket is over. No problem. Switch to FIFA. Useless indulgences never end. Never. Even then, Messi must win the World Cup. It’s vital.

Anyway. We have wrong priorities. Wrong men. Wrong place. Wrong time. Perfectly dark comedy.

The Joker in the PM House has no clue. He is clueless. He thought he can walk here and there like he used to do in Punjab, and with a couple of suspensions, things will be fine. He brought Miftah and failed. The elder Joker sent his Dar home to do magic. Daronomics. Dark comics. Failing again.

One reason for being here today is Dar. Not a sole reason but surely a reason.

The blame is not on one individual or political party. Pakistan has been trying and testing big names in the Finance Ministry, but all have failed. They all failed because they all were rich elites. They all had their eyes on the wrong side. And that view never had public-at-large in perspective.

Asad Umar – who was promoted as the Financial Messiah from 2013 to 2018 – took three months to fail. He was a complete lie in himself. As a CEO of Engro from 2004-2012, he made a cartel to increase the prices of Urea from Rs.850 per 50 kg bag to Rs.1,580 in 2010 (an 86% increase). CCP fined Rs.8.6 billion on Fauji Fertilizer and Engro Fertilizers on making this cartel. Now imagine, Asad Umar actually working for poor, lower, and middles classes of this country. He can’t.

Same were the other stories. Shamshad Akhtar. Hafeez Sheikh. Hammad Azhar. Shaukat Tarin. Miftah Ismail. And then ultimately to the point from where it started, Ishaq Dar. A complete vicious circle.

Before all these, we had Shaukat Aziz too. He messed things uglier than all these.

The point is, the country is crumbling and there is no one to save. And no one can. These rich Finance Ministers have nothing to lose. And they have no idea of how the system works for the wellbeing of the public. All they know is to keep on asking more and more from outside.

When Khan was on right track – long before coming to power – he had a clear narrative of not borrowing. And that narrative can work, as it did in other countries. It can work anytime in this country with right priorities on agenda and cutting useless costs.

Even now, in all provinces of Pakistan, there are development schemes which are utilizing billions of rupees only to cut ribbons for the sake of future elections. The parliamentarians keep on bugging Administrative Departments to have something in their locality so that they can cut ribbon before elections. Sometimes, even empty rooms and buildings are constructed for nothing. Keeps on happening. Continuously. Billions going in drain.

And Administrative Secretaries – my gorgeous bureaucrats – are so pathetic in their big seats that they can’t sustain with ‘no’. They say ‘no’ to powerless. ‘Yes’ to powerful. ‘Testicular Massage’ to the absolute powerful. Bureaucracy is a hierarchy of bastards. That functions around lickable testicles, even when there are no testes involved. Remember Marla had testicular cancer?

Hence, even public servants cannot represent public.

The system needs an overhauling. Coming back to Nawaz, Zardari, Khan in a loop is not going to solve the problem. Coming back to Dar after testing dumb old guys in Finance will never solve a problem. They are all businesspeople. They are bourgeoise. No proletariat is there to represent you.

Now coming to the crux. Even these all are not to be blamed alone.

Intelligence agency has already started examining bureaucrats. So, the one who lick best are given higher priorities. So that they may keep on licking. And intelligence is part of the dumb boys. The boys who rule and keep a string attached to everyone single politician and judge. It’s a militarized cage with no escape in sight.

It’s like a brothel. The prostitutes are inside, providing service to the public that can afford. A pimp outside is keeping an eye on all the guests and keeping track on the financial matters. And above all of them is a Naika – with the noticeable absolute power. But no. The SHO in the police station in the adjacent street is the man with absolute power. Apparently, he is safeguarding everyone, but actually, he is the Pimp-in-Charge of every fuck that happens around.

There is no solution. Not in the short run. Not soon.

The shackles of these attached strings to the private videos and calls needs to be shattered. Blackmailing shouldn’t be able to blackmail and blackmailers should be exposed. Puppet politicians and their puppet leaders should be defeated at polls. New and your politicians with a vision, manifesto and narrative must be tried. But that isn’t going to happen. Not any time soon. Because the SHO won’t let them win.

Nothing’s going to change. May be, another Summer will help to dry the flooded lands. But aren’t Monsoon to knock again during Summers? May be in another life. When we don’t have to born again.


You will be the King, Simba!

By the time they’ll reach Islamabad to demand elections, the time for elections would already be there. What will they demand then? Delayed elections?

And if they are still moving for F, then F would be very much eFFing angry because November is half way done. It’s surrender more than November.

What if they are marching for the sake of marching? What else to do? There’s nothing much.

Meanwhile, the brothers Grimm embraced each other in London. Kisses on the cheeks. Typical. Italian’s kinda stuff. For what? For chief? That’s cheap. Apparently, they also have nothing else to do except to decide about the next boy.

With November falling, ideas are falling too. B is on his way to his unnatural exit. The extension – approved by all the puppets together who never were together ever for anything except this extension – proved to be nothing but an embarrassment. For all.

The other B – who never became a chief and never went into extension – proved to be better off. He made pizzas and established a billion dollar empire without even providing any receipts. Clever. Not that clever but clever enough.

Anyway, it’s boring. There’s no more drama at the moment but there’s this suspense about the new boy. Who will be the king? Every Mufasa has a Simba who is destined to become the king of the jungle. We have 6 Simbas. But here lies another problem. This is jungle – yes it is – but there are no lions to rule. Some cunning jackals and that’s all.

You can wait till the end of the month. Mute your screens. Nothing credible or informative there. Just bickering of the same bickerings in a loop. Wait.

Wait for the boy to be selected so he may select the government and the vicious circle of selection may play on repeat forever and ever.

Steel knife in windpipe

As Eminem said:

I can’t tell you what it really is,
I can only tell you what it feels like.
And right now, there’s a steel knife in my windpipe,
I can’t breathe, but I still fight while I can fight.

This is how it feels after vomiting – anything and not just spaghetti – when clean smoke passes through your throat after burning – not Rihanna’s burning of inside flames – of paper wrapped between your fingers. Politely. Elegantly.

Obviously. Throat is temporary. Smoke is permanent. Or vice versa! Smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors.


Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?
Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts.
Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie.


You are always a spectator. Even in your personal life.

In a crowd. Among a mob. In traffic. At a jalsa. In an accident. Always a spectator.

At a movie. Watching news. Waiting to be served. Even when served. At parking lot.

In events. At functions. At sessions. In weddings. Even in your own wedding. Or weddings.

At hospitals. Watching doctors and nurses moving around. This medicine and that. A spectator.

At home. Outside home. For home. Private matters. Personal stuff. A spectator. Always.

Sometimes, you even die as a spectator. While watching a movie. Seeing a leader. In traffic. At home.

Sometimes, while being a spectator, you have a heart break. Sometimes, it leads to a heart attack. Sometimes, to the hospital. To the grave. You are nothing more than a collateral damage.

And even after that, you remain a spectator. Watching the legacy of the mess you leave behind. From up in the air. Seeing the true souls behind people you served all your life.

Spectacular douchebags!

You are always a spectator. From public to private life. From life to death. From your bed to your bath. A spectator.

You are invited. You are not invited. You are incited. You are not even counted. Nothing changes the fact that you are a mere spectator in every possible scenario.

You have nothing of your own. Even your anger is imported. Your ego is purchased. And your whole self is for sale. Depending on the right price.

In the end, you have nothing. Because you have nothing. What you got now was part of some other spectator. Now, you have that and you are the spectator for the time being but ultimately, you have nothing.

Even your grave becomes a spot for other spectators who awe in loathing while being thankful that they ain’t dead. You are. And they won’t be dead. They all think exactly the same way.

That’s all. Spectator!


After the ouster, the loudmouth base became anti-establishment. Putting on the seat is fine. Kicking out isn’t.

It’s national hypocrisy but not debating that for now.

Only that the loudmouths are just dumbfucked how the boys can be against their own people.

Ironically, the boys are dumbfucked exactly the same way; like how these dumbfucks got against dumbfucks.

The two sides of the same strings are just curved enough that the mouth is in direct stare with the anus. Without blinking. Yes. Can’t blink.

But that’s not all.

In this war of duffers with idiots, there is another species wandering in between the two to pick some leftovers. That species is not dumbfucked right now. They are just doing what they agitated for 3.5 years in reverse mode. That’s all. No mind. No narrative. No blame to be dumb.

Meanwhile, the mess is being thrown all over the land, through fan of mismanagement. Flood victims remained victims. Their generations will remain victims. No money for them. Meanwhile, boys got an additional Rs.30.8 billion.

Yes. Stay patriotic even if you have to wash your dirty laundry with dirty water.

Missing people, who the loudmouths are talking about these days, are being ignored by those who were talking about them when they were not in power.

It’s simple. Missing people are road to power. And missing the issue of missing people is the road to sustain in power. Like the ex-Minister did.

Now, she talks about raids in her home and unidentifiable identified men not in uniform as potential abductors on CCTV. When she was in power, she was not ready to be blackmailed. She’s so good.

Anyway. This is all so dumbfucking. I can go on and on and on and you may like the way it is going on but that’s not amusing.

Two solutions. One is to lie down in front of the tanks and lay down your lives and live happily ever after in heaven. Because, this land ain’t going to change.

Second is to wait for a Messiah, unlike these compromised ones, to take you out of this mess; and keep waiting because that ain’t gonna happen. So, die waiting and land in heaven and…

Honestly, just wanted to write the first four paragraphs. Not even that. It’s much boring. Waiting for Wednesday to mess things up with you all.

Like a Random Dead Body

The ultimate tragedy of the incident was the man who died on the spot. Just randomly. His three little kids tried to wake him up for a long time but he was gone.

Gone too far. Never to come back to hug his kids again. Never to come back to walk home again. Never to take his kids out again.

Gone. With a bullet. A bullet of hate in a widely polarized society where religion and politics – together – play a mayhem of blood and bodies. Dead bodies.

A generation is lost. A home is lost. He may not be even a supporter or a hater. He may have been there just to see the political circus. To let his kids enjoy; only to end up dead for the final sorrow.

This world is harsh and ugly. And it’s too random. Kids can lose parents and parents can lose kids just like a ticker scrolling horizontally on your TV screen without you bothering to read it. Missed a ticker? Who cares?

But it’s not a ticker. It’s a home. Gone and missed forever.

That was the only tragedy that we all missed tonight. Like usual. Like another dead body.