Random Numbness (May 2021)

RANDOM NUMBNESS – May 2021

Happy late Labor Day! Nothing to be happy about being labor or the day. It is what it is. A holiday for the bourgeoisie.

Maulana Tariq Jameel has joined the business and is celebrating labor day too. Now he will be selling what he never brought. It happens in business and business is not the issue. The issue is the discretion you allow yourself when you want to make some bucks.

The world, which was a useless place a while back, with lust of money and graveyard of sins; is suddenly a market now. Not a dead cow anymore. A cash cow.

Anyway. He has always been a Maulana of the bourgeoisie. Not the proletariats. Maulanas have markets too. Some have a niche and a unique selling point. Some have nothing but hate and discrimination. Whatever sells. Whatever makes you sit and listen to them.

The other day, NA-249 happened. Like shit happens. Vawda left the seat for his post as Senator, because he was unqualified to be an MNA. Strange. But his legacy was simply unmatched. The winner of 2018’s PTI was not even in the race this time. Ugly Vawda. Ugly legacy. But who cares.

Iremember his one big demo where he brought a boot in a TV show to present the complete political history and present of Pakistan. Rightly so. For that, he deserves to be a Senator. An untouchable senator, nonetheless. His service – of that TV show – will always be remembered.

But the ugliest part was a banned outfit contesting the elections. The state banned it. The state let it have a re-run. How a state can be so dumb and dummy is beyond comprehension. The whole episode of banning it and letting it contest in the by-polls happened in a mere couple of weeks.

No wonder that GSP+ status granted to Pakistan is in question. It was always in question due to blasphemy cases and attacks on journalists; but this banned TLP’s contest in by-polls must have been a trigger.

But thank goodness we have a PM who understands the West.

His boasting of knowing the West in every single presentation is becoming a nuisance. Same speech. Be it any city. Be it any issue. He has the same stance. In a single speech, he goes from Riyasat-e-Madina to Chinese Model to Scandinavian Welfare System to a mixture of everything and a final touch of religion.

A little Nawaz. A little Bhutto. A little past. A little religion. Then boasting. A lot of boasting. Then some more religion. Then more Nawaz. Then the West. Then filtering of the West. Adding the East with patriarchy. A little salt of the latest debacle – which can be blasphemy, rape, sugar crisis, corruption, inflation, something, anything – and then again some Nawaz and then some religion. The dish is ready to be served.

However, the dish is not selling anymore. It didn’t sell in Daska. It didn’t sell in Karachi.

The fall is evident but it doesn’t matter. The selectors will have the final say and it can be anything. It can be the PM again. And again. And again. Because he’s so good.

In other news, Chief Justice of Lahore Higher Court, Mohammed Qasim Khan took the stage to be the new voice in town against the fascist. He took the actual land mafia by the collar and dragged it for a whole day in his courtroom. He called DHA as illegal and tagged them as the biggest land mafia. He was so furious that he mentioned that even 50-kanal of land of Lahore High Court has also been grabbed by the boys.

Boy on boys. Wow!

Dr. Israr Ahmad once mentioned Punjab and its army as a British stooge. He was elaborating the difference between Sindhis and Punjabis and lambasted Punjabis for always siding with the one in power. He said Sindhis must be proud of their history as they took brave stands and were never in service of serving the masters. He praised G. M. Syed and Bacha in the lecture.

Rightly so. Punjab must admit. Like Habib Jalib did. Punjab needs to rise above its selfish interests to become a voice of the weak people. It must. It must nurture brave warriors like Asma Jahangir.

Oh! An Asma Jahangir from the other side of the border – Arundhati Roy – has just jolted the whole system with her article in The Guardian. She took the Modi Sarkar by the collar and reminded her government that not long ago, Modi was running an election campaign with “Shamshan! Shamshan!” just to oppose “Kabristan”.

And, here is India: a giant Shamshan because the government was shamelessly unprepared.

I will share fragments from that long article of Roy in a day or two. But don’t get goosebumps just yet. We have our own Sarkar with similar stupidities and blunders. We have our Modi. We have our Amit Shah. And we have our Yogi Adityanath.

The only difference is of spectrum. And that they have an original cast while we have mannequins.

Pardon me, but we don’t matter. In South Asia, the general public doesn’t matter. We hate each other because this is what our TV screens tell us to do, but we are genuinely living in the exact same shithole. Be it that side of the border or this.

They have public crisis. So do we.
They have drought. So do we.
Their farmer is looted. So as ours.
They have Dalits. We have minorities.
They have business mafia. We have land mafia.
They have blasphemy charges. We have blasphemy laws.
They have hunger, thirst, illiteracy… and we have exactly the same problems.

Yet, the poor classes hate each other just because they are on the other side of the border. Equally poor. Equally illiterate. Equally extremist. Equally misinformed. Equally malnourished.

Equally unequal.

Hush, His Highness!

Back to Islamabad.

Qazi Faez Isa won by 6-4. 6 were traitors. 4 were lickers. Depends on your side of bias. The thing is, the President Alvi – being a puppet – made a mockery of himself and his government. There was absolutely no need to file a reference.

Faez Isa gave a verdict. A very significant and far sighted one. But as he hurt the boys – one boy actually – so he was dragged and insulted. Only if we would have taken Faez’s verdict with some sense, TLP’s recent episode could have been avoided.

But no.

We play politics with religion, blasphemy, fire and the mob. Because the proxy version of politics is the key version to have power in Pindi and not in Islamabad.

Well, what else do you want?
His Highness will have His Sehri now.

The Third Wave & The Third World

The prime minister – who didn’t follow SOPs during his corona days – is lamenting the nation for not following SOPs.

A same counterpart is in the neighborhood.

Both the neighbors are prime examples of not only illiteracy and poor health, but also extremism, intolerance, religious violence, mob justice, bigotry and blasphemy.

But both have weapons of mass destruction worth millions of dollars.

The man whose limbs were visible due to hunger, is proud that his country did a successful missile experiment.

The man whose kids are not getting proper education, is happy that his side of the soldier raised the leg higher than the other side.

And those who will die like insects in public hospitals, are happy that they have a mighty arsenal and a stock of atomic bombs.

Hence, mob. Crowd. Religious fanatics. Patriots. Nationalists. On both sides of the border.

Imagine, how much better would have been health and education infrastructure in these countries if they wouldn’t have wasted money in Kashmir, Kargil, LOC, wars, stupid show-off at Wagah and routine firings at the border?

Ah! Business.

Imagination is an art. We imagine Ghazwa-e-Hind. They imagine Greater India. Imagining such dreams on ventilators would be a sight of its own. But here’s a shortage of ventilators. And oxygen too.

But no shortage of morons.

One is dying due to lack of oxygen. The other not giving a shit about anything.

This part of the world is an insane part of the world. Let’s hope it’s cleansing in process.

Right

In battle of left and right, you need to stand ‘right’. Corrected, I mean. It’s not a battle of left and right, but some words should be written rightly.

The state has a higher responsibility than any mob. It has the responsibility of law and order. And the state is to blame when blood is spilled due to negligence or poor decision making.

A few examples:

Lal Masjid Operation was wrong.
Akbar Bugti’s Operation was wrong.
7 May riots of Karachi were wrong.
Model Town incident was wrong.
Various military operations in Balochistan were wrong.
Distribution of funds to TLP members was wrong.
Allowing a violent / extremist outfit to contest election was wrong.
And now, the current brutal operation against TLP members is wrong.

The state – be it PPP, PML-N, PTI, or the all time military establishment – was wrong in all the above instances.

The state cannot mimic and claim methodologies of a mob or an outfit. TLP members hurt policemen and the public. In return, the state cannot justify such brutal actions.

There are situations when operations are needed in the end. But they should always be the last resort.

Washington’s Capitol Hill was attacked by a mob. The state remained in utmost senses and did a fine job in tackling the crisis. Various past examples from around the world can be seen under such circumstances.

But, dictatorial regimes always opt to show power. They don’t surrender to their public (pun intended) and they don’t have much sense of politics and peace.

So, here we are. Wrong again. Wronged again. But the words should be right.

And that shouldn’t be an argument for miscarriage.

Democratically speaking, PTI and Imran Khan should complete their term. I know, they are not even ruling but even the worst democratic setup is better than a direct dictatorial regime.

Who is Prime Minister Imran Khan, anyway? We – including His Highness – make fun of him but he is not even to blame in most of the matters. Apart from his tongue and his uncompromised selfishness to stay in the PM House, there is nothing wrong with the guy because he has nothing to do any harm.

Nonetheless, the government should complete its term democratically.

Lastly, Qazi Faez Isa said all of the above mentioned words of wisdom in his judgement. He told the state and deep state to behave and mend ways. But ‘mend your own house’ was a sin back then. Treason. Hence, he is facing his consciousness in court. Dragged but not dirty. And the only ‘right’ man in town.

P.S. His Highness has used the word ‘right’ with different intentions in different statements. I hope you won’t get confused. Or – let His Highness get it ‘right’ that ‘right’ has always been a violent pain in the arse of various countries around the world. But here, we feed and nurture right. To stay right in power. Right?

Pimp Service of Pakistan (PSP)

Imagine the hostility of circumstances that people are saluting the police. Sigh! The police which has been providing pimp services with violence and fear.
 
Sahiwal massacre was a police job.
Rao Anwar is a police product.
Rape cases of kids in Kasur were protected by police.
Kids in madrassahs got raped and remained unnoticed because police are impotent.
 
All the wrongdoings – major ones or minor ones – have police custody inside the station and outside, within the vicinity.
 
A guy gets killed. His brothers file an FIR. And then police intimidate them to take the case back, otherwise they will also be killed by the rivals. Instead of serving justice, they work as brokers. Like pimps.
 
FIR. First Information Report. Where a person has to pass through trauma, humiliation and insult in the hands of these men in uniform.
 
Have you visited a police station ever? Let me narrate some first-hand information. You can buy and smoke hashish and other drugs in the station easily. Prostitutes come and provide services – blackmail and rape actually – free of cost. At least one transgender is in custody in the station all the time, to serve and fulfill power needs.
 
There are two types of people in custody. Rich and poor. Rich stay in the Inspector’s room. The poor sleep on the prison floor.
Rich pay through money. Poor pay through their bodies.
 
Anyway.
 
The situation is ugly. One uniform created this mess of TLP to enhance their political power – which they always had. The other uniform is just consuming and digesting their crap. These two uniforms have always worked together, against the public; and rarely had a clash.
 
But the grace of uniforms has fallen so low that we are saluting Pimps Service of Pakistan i.e. Police.
 
This is the same police which makes us uncomfortable and unsafe as soon as we see them.
 
So stop saluting. This is their job. And they are hardly providing any outcomes. I know, this is not their mess but yes, they are part of our mess. And whatever is coming back is nothing more than karma.
 

Of all the filth around, Qazi Faez Isa was the one man who was correct. You got offended on the gutter thing. Don’t worry. Cockroaches evolve sooner than later.

They – unapologetically – are looking forward to salutes. Undeserved and unearned salutes. For all their corruption. Violence. Bribery. Injustice. Ugliness. And pimping.

Nah! Uniforms haven fallen low. Not the salutes.

Un-saluted.

Opium

Have you ever wondered why people have to come out and save the religion every once in a while?

Why is the religion in danger?

Like the state? Security state, actually.

Why do the saviors and defenders of this religion promote it in two ways? One day, they tell us that this religion will remain till the Judgement Day; and the next day they are out on the roads trembling that their religion is on the brink of collapse.

How come a divine message becomes vulnerable?

Sometimes, the religion is damaged by a word. Sometimes by a sketch. A poem. A couplet. A novel.

A few days back, a nurse in Faisalabad almost destroyed the religion of 1.5 billion people by removing a half-torn sticker on a cupboard. She, single handedly defeated the Ummah.

How do you buy that?

From which side of the brain do you get that?

I want to smoke that religious opium too.

Of course, it’s Dunhill talking. It’s the longest gap since last Ramazan and things are dull and foggy.

But again. Wonder. Whether it is ‘I, dependent on the religion’ or ‘the religion, dependent on me’?

Oh! Let me set both free.

Walli – In the Name of M. (Part-II)

It is about the pain which gave his words meaning. It is about Walli who writes in red ink. He writes and bleeds. He humanizes his pain, to decorate your bookshelves, which you put in the history section. 

It is about the pain which kills your organs gradually inside you, like cancer, but cancer is nothing; comparatively speaking. 

It is about cancer inside itself. Cancer has a chance. And cancer is inside you and is yours. You own it. It grows inside you like a child in a womb. 

How do you suffer chronologically? 

There is no chronology to Walli’s life. Lives actually. I have narrated fragments of his life in different eras. 

He drank the poisoned hemlock to be Socrates. 

He went astray once – not actually – and shouted Ana al-Haq to be Mansur. 

He rebelled once and his rebellion was so harsh that his own brain ate himself. He declared ‘God is dead’ to be Nietzsche. 

The world is Walli’s stage. An ugly stage, for experimental purposes. Sometimes a million die because of a bad experiment. 

And there is no chronology. How can a story be narrated when it has neither a beginning nor an end? 

For example, in the year 2014, on this very same day, the sun was embracing his skin like a usual April sunshine. She arrived around Zuhr and the journey of separation started. 

In the year 2015, it was exactly 246 days of separation between the two. 

In the year 2016, her 2nd birthday was celebrated in a family court. 

Since then, it’s a journey in a black hole. 

Is there a deadline?

The life, as we know it, is an illusion. The pains, the gains, the rewards, consequences; everything is an illusion. Tangible illusions. Perhaps your dreams, when you sleep, are the reality. You only wake up to sleep again. You work hard to sleep better. You get your health checked to have uninterrupted slumber. Sleep is the cause and dreams are the reward. Simple.  

But Walli hasn’t slept in ages. During his first birth around 470 BC, he was conscious before coming out to the world. He was ready to be delivered to the world of pain. A world with questions and no answers. Hence, experiments. Bad ones mostly, causing terror and havoc. 

What is love?

What if I tell you that your soul-mate – apparently – has said “I love you” to his/her ex more times than you? Will this objective information be useful? What if you haven’t heard “I love you” not even half the times of the ex? Does it matter? 

Where does your existence fall exactly?

And what if you have never said “I love you” to the person you love the most? 

Love is an illusion too. Delusion, to be accurate. Walli didn’t say “I love you” to the person he loved the most. He didn’t. Yet he is travelling. Coming again and again, in different shapes, in different times, to die, again and again. 

Drinking the poisoned hemlock. Rebelling to be killed. Writing to be blasphemous. Fighting with his own self. Getting defeated every time, to be resurrected again and again as victorious. 

One time, in 1974, he chose another path of rebellion. He wanted to take the kings by the collars to hang them. He roamed around with his sword to kill the rulers. The hunger he has always cherished. He went so far that he became incorruptible. The incorruptible Maximilien de Robespierre. And in standing corrected, he got executed. He was executing to get executed. He did. People don’t see that. They see history. Walli writes that. He sees the other way. 

Who is Walli actually?

Imagine a big war – like World War II – where bombs are being dropped from planes and you are lying in a field with an injured leg. And you look in the sky and think about the war and your potential death. You think about the person – who you have never met – for whom you have sacrificed your life. Your life. Your family.  Your children. For what? For a land which is going to bury you. That’s all.

So, where are you actually? One among the million dead soldiers. One of the soldiers lying in the field. Looking at the sky and absorbing the color blue, while painting the field red with his wounds. A no one. Mr. nobody. This is the part of history which no one writes. And this is Walli; but no one knows. 

And like Socrates, who smiled before taking the final sip, because he knew everything – before and after – was nothing more than a piece of crap. 

And like Nietzsche, who proclaimed that God – God forbid! – is not anymore, and you are Übermensch. Like Walli. 

Let the drums beat. Let the sand of the desert shiver with the coming army of Saladin. Let the hearts burst with fear. Let the swords rise high in the air to dissect. Dissect arms. Dissect bodies. Kill at will. For the Promised Land. But that doesn’t matter. Who wants to get into the Promised Land to die? The bar has two sides. Richard’s side and Saladin’s side. But it is exactly the same bar. And Walli doesn’t want to die in the field, looking at the sky, thinking of nothing. That will happen after 8 centuries. 

Here lies the final question for us. Why is he roaming around times and creating havoc everywhere? Because he has a reason. He was torn apart once. The system, the world, the people, the dots, the plays, the characters; everyone took from him his most valuable presence. His part. To whom he never said “I love you”. 

So, let it burn. Let the world burn. Turn everything into ashes. Because nothing exists; and what exists doesn’t matter.

For him, she is the world.

This is the part of history no one writes about.

But Walli is history himself. 

And that is all in the name of M. In the name of Maryam.

For him, the Promised Land has no promise and nothing to offer. Not to him at least. So, he has been enjoying. While sitting in the desert, he watched the giant approaching army. Drums were making a beautiful rhythm. A little rustle in the wind. A little vibration in the sand. With a chilled Coke can and a Dunhill, he has been having his time of rest. 

Now you must be wondering that there wasn’t Coke and Dunhill in 1187. Right. Doesn’t make sense. But you should be asking whether he was Saladin or Richard at that time. Well, none. He was sitting in the desert. With a Coke can. And a Dunhill. 

Makes sense? Doesn’t matter. 

Walli – An Old Conversation

“I will kill you,” said the voice on the phone. “I will kill your whole family. I don’t care about a single fucking thing. I will fucking kill you all.”

“Okay. But talk to me with respect,” Walli replied calmly.

“You don’t know me. I have abused lots of people in my time. I was known for my terror,” said the voice again.

“I know. I don’t care and I am not afraid of anything,” Walli replied with the same steady tone, while a storm was beginning to brew.

“Nothing will be left for you. I will pay 15 lac 20 lac and all will be done,” the voice threatened.

“I am not afraid of death,” Walli’s voice rose a little, “I am more afraid of life perhaps. And to die in the pursuit of my daughter would be an honor. You do what you can do and then I will do what I can.”

“What do you want?” The voice finally quieted down.

“My daughter.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You don’t deserve your daughter,” said the voice, causing the winds to blow more angrily.

“Well a person who knows nothing but lies will say that,” replied Walli in an unusually loud tone. “I am not going to justify myself. My Lord will do that as He has promised me. What I promise you is that I am not going to back down. I am not going to be silent. I am not going to be blamed again. I sacrificed everything that I had. I gave up my name. My reputation. My money. My honor. But now it is my daughter. I am not going to give up my daughter. It may cost me my life. So be it.”

In the ancient times of Walli, it hadn’t been like that. Back in the times of Great Africa, everything was normal. Parents were not denied of their children. During the Caliphate, parenthood was respected.

Now times had become tough. All those centuries, Walli travelled to see his daughter. And just when he saw her, she was taken away from him by her mother. By a conspiracy. By a series of events.

Walli never thought that lies consistently told for months ultimately become the truth. He himself was a victim of blame games and horrible lies and half-truths.

Now Walli doesn’t mind. He answers when you ask. He won’t answer when you won’t ask.

But his daughter is not a person for him to compromise. His daughter is not a tool of revenge for him. He has been abused. He has been tortured. But he hasn’t ceased to smile as soon as he sees her. Even in his dreams.

Walli never realized that life is threatening until he got death threats. Life has more to mourn. Death has a charm. He was here for a purpose. For an eternal mission. Death was a holiday for him till he was born again and came back.

“I repeat,” Walli continued in the same high tone, “You have done a lot of damage for years. I remained silent. I’m not silent anymore. I am going to courts. I am going to police stations. I am doing it the just way. I can do all these things the other way too. But I won’t. Because it is a matter of a future generation. It is a matter of my daughter for whom I have given everything already. Next time when you address me, you talk to me with respect. Otherwise I will wipe the slate clean.”

The voice on the other end started to shudder. The threatening tone became threatened. The sun started to rise from the dark clouds of this age.

Yet the storm continues to brew.

Random Numbness (April 2021)

Welcome. It’s been a while since numbness; so this will be a long one. Fasten your seatbelts and brace for impact.

The PM was on TV a few days ago. Uttering crap and bickering like usual. Selling religion, as it sells. But then he went farther and talked about rape, parda, fahashi, and stuff. Don’t want to go in details as you must have heard and digested that already. Some of you must have agreed with him as well.

Don’t want to get personal with him, and won’t; but this man is the finest hypocrite we have ever produced. The finest. He can bend in any direction for his selfish reasons.

Right now, he is not even a PM but he is having the media time, PM house, and other benefits of the PM. That is all that he has wanted for 22 years. 22 years he sold something and in the end was purchased by those who were the ugliest in his (earlier) view.

Ugly man to sit on top. Loves lecturing. A tasbeeh in hand. Pictures of offering Namaz. Talking about state of Medina. And that’s all that he has to offer.

What he said about rape and temptation was his ugly side of consciousness. I bet he doesn’t believe it himself because this is not the way he lived and this is not the way his kids are living.

Kids – both genders – are not safe here. Kids under the age of 5 are raped and murdered routinely here. Graves are not safe. Dead bodies are not safe. How come parda as an argument? Temptation?

What we need is a complete re-hauling of our education system. We need to teach sex education with evolutionary syllabus which will offer different content to students of different age groups. We need actual history to be part of the curriculum; where we need to accept our mistakes. We need curriculum on inter-faith harmony to make this land more feasible to live for humans.

Anyway. No one can talk sense here except the senseless men.

Do you know how much the establishment of a hospital costs? A state-of-the-art – well equipped –public hospital of 200-beds costs around Rs.4-5 billion. That’s the same amount which was wasted on a parade of 23rd March. On 25th March. The day was 24th March.
And it wasn’t a defense day. Anyway. It was a Republic day. But then the constitution was torn out and Ayub happened who undid Fatima Jinnah.

Too fast for historical duffers.

And that was all intentional, but my description is numb – under anesthesia – and is unintentional.

The other day, National Assembly – Patriotic Assembly – approved a bill against ‘intentional’ disrespect of forces. Intentional. Like PM’s temptations.

Do you know when such bills are needed? When you are pathetic to the core. Now tell me, what can we talk about? Cement? Cereals? Serials? Songs? Movies? DHAs? Construction? Logistics? Textiles? Sugar? Fertilizers? Housing schemes? Parade? War? Missing people? Not missing people? Half buried people?

You can talk unintentionally only. Mumble. Act as if you have dozed off and are talking sense while not in senses. Like a Guy Ritchie character where you are absolutely unnecessary.

And what about those who lick all day?

I have a friend – in disguise – who defends the government and its selectors like a rotten soul. Shouldn’t he get some award? Like Tariq Jamil and Mehwish Hayat were awarded – though for opposite reasons? I wish my friend gets some award.

Medal of honor se yaad aya that SSP Jawad Qamir got Sitara-e-Shujaat for his work. He killed a family after all. Remember Sahiwal massacre? Yes, that guy was awarded too. This is approval of state terrorism. Just when you think this stage can not fall further, it does. Next year, they may award Rao Anwar for good use of bullets and Ehsan Ullah Ehsan for his escape. Who knows?

And Ali Zafar was awarded too. He is, till now, accused in a sexual harassment case. His award should have been deferred at least. But we have this mockery of stuff. We have awarded those who didn’t deserve it. Hamayun Saeed got it too. Why not my friend?

By the way, POTUS did wrong. They invited 40 PMs and ignored ours who did the billion tree – bullion tree – tsunami bluff. Maybe they do some research. Like satellite images and comparative data. Cacophony though. PM and I, both were not happy with that.

We need investment of Rs.1 billion for marketing of 1 billion trees. That’s the plan now.

And the mockery doesn’t end here. PM approves a thing as a PM and then rejects it as someone else. Then he asks himself and talks to himself and then comes up with a final decision. But one thing is there. Kashmir is discarded. Militarily and officially.

Now remember you standing in the sun after Jumma prayer for the sake of Kashmir. Remember those days? It never was about you or Kashmir.

Kashmir is a business.
A cash cow.
Cash for Pakistan.
Cow for India.

A little about PDM.

It has fallen from grace. They stood for something which is the root-cause of all the problems in Pakistan. They took pizza by the name and threw it off the shelves. They stood tall against threats. But then, PPP stepped back. PPP has always done that since the murder of Z. A. Bhutto. The legacy it has, since 1988, is of a sell-out. They sold Karachi to Rangers and made it a perpetual burning hell – where generals like Naseerullah Babar and SSPs like Rao Anwar – went on killing sprees without a show-cause.

A day will come when tables will turn. See, PPP is in the lap now. Like PTI is. Like PML-N was. Like PML-Q always is. So, tables will turn. Though the lap will remain the same. And all the current NAB and FIA cases will be closed, and new ones will open.

The day Imran Khan will take a stand – the same stand he had for decades till he sold himself out – will be the day he is taken to the courts. He will be taken for his foreign funds, BRT, tsunami, and every single blunder he has made. Dozens of cases are ready to make his life miserable, if he will take a stand. So, he won’t. But he may.

No one knows what comes to mind and what is uttered after a snort.

So, the lap is the same and it’s all about the lap and lap dance.

Have you seen an actual lap dance, by the way? I have. Once. That too in Dam Square of Amsterdam.

Next time, His Highness intends to ask the dancer to come in uniform and dance on my lap. And history will witness His Highness, as the first one who will change the lap.

Official Soliloquy

PM: Who told you to open trade with India?
FM: ‘High’ness! you asked me to do so 2 weeks back.
PM: [looks upward]
[Background track: Tasbeeh phiri te dil na phirya]
PM: Is this real?
FM: No sir, it’s the matrix.
PM: And this all is illusion?
FM: Yes sir.
PM: Who are you?
FM: You.
PM: I am talking to myself.
FM: Yes.
PM: Am I talking and negating you.
FM: No, you.
PM: Are we still running the state?
FM: The state is running on its own. On its own people. Don’t ask.
PM: Then what I am here for.
FM: To speak. And to un-speak.
PM: To learn. And to un-learn.
FM: To become what one is capable of.
PM: To be the one.
FM: To be or not to be.
PM: Easy.
FM: What?
PM: Running the affairs.
FM: Yes sir.
PM: But who told you to open trade with India?
FM: Let’s go for Jumma.
PM: Jumma Mubarik.
FM: Let’s pray.
PM: And forget.

Local Dramas & Our Script Writers

What can you watch on TV while having dinner or breakfast? Morning shows? Dramas and soap operas? News? I prefer BBC or Aljazeera. Or Animal Planet. But what actually do we have locally?

I had an opportunity to witness the disaster for quite some days.

While the world is in the 21st century, we are at least a century back. That too in Hijri calendar.

Our dramas and films have only a couple of scripts which are telecasted again and again and again. And you enjoy them every single time with a different taste.

Because there is no learning and no burden on mind. Nothing is like Interstellar, Inception, Fight Club, Lunch Box, etc. where you have to go deep and think to get the story.

Anyway.

Let’s look at ALL the scripts we have.

Script 1:

Love triangle. A confused person, a pakeeza woman and an evil one. The guy will roam from one post to another and in the end will settle with the pakeeza one. The pakeeza one has a very specific role. She will be crying all the time; miserable. If married, she would rather die than be divorced. She will suffer and accept every misery thrown by the pathetic writer. In the end, she will have happiness. Sabr ka phal kinda stuff.

Script 2:

Rich, elite and gentry. The guy, highly successful without any apparent reason, is ready for marriage. He wants to marry A. Parents want to get him married to B. Both A and B are equally shy, good looking, fair and pakeeza. The story will again be of football moving from one post to another until it settles. It is to note that the rich guy is liberal but not liberal. He is conservative but not conservative. He is confused but not confused. Just like he is ultra-rich and we don’t know why. The writer is definitely an arse.

Script 3:

If there is one male protagonist – slim, fair and handsome – then all the female cast will be in love with him. If there is a female protagonist – slim, fair and handsome – then all the male cast will be in love with her. As simple as that. In the end, one wins the trophy based on a knee-jerk script.

Script 4:

Divorce. A woman – divorced or soon-to-be-divorced – will be seen roaming on the roads and in parks and offices. She will suffer, cry and panic. She will lose all her charm and beauty that she had in the beginning of the drama. She will suffer till another guy will come and rescue her. Superman. That superman – slim, fair and handsome – will in the end marry her or will become a very close friend. Close does not mean friends with benefits. But sometimes, the drama hints that way. The message will be clear that women should never get divorced and men shouldn’t worry in any case.

Script 5:

A bad man transforming into a good man through love or religion or both over the series. He can be a murderer or a harasser or a criminal in the beginning of the serial. In the end he will be transformed 180 degrees. The audience will fall in love with him. And if the girl will reject him in the end, she will be a bad woman nonetheless. This script is widely accepted in Pakistan since the 1970s. Ashfaq Ahmad made such dramas. This idea is so worshipped by the country that even the Prime Minister promotes himself along the same lines.

Script 6:

Bad elderly women – phuphos, mamis and saas – throwing tantrums and creating scenes around the script. Blackmailing men. In the end, they all – or at least the major ones – transform and drama ends with all the other above mentioned endings. In the same drama, some good elderly women will be seeing crying all the time.

Script 7:

Sex. This one is part of almost every other script. Even the expressions are horny and lusty in cases. Sometimes incestuous stuff is shown consistently. And the whole drama has this one aspect not for a message or critic or to educate the society; but for sole purpose of rating. Sex sells. Though we don’t accept but yes, it sells here. In morning shows, in news and in dramas.

Script 8 and random:

Love stories of crying. One partner crying and crying and crying till the end of drama. Umera Ahmed stuff.

Misogynist plays with men-in-charge of everything except their emotions.

Property issues. Where the whole cast is trying to snatch a fortune. The one who is not trying, get the fortune in the end,

Nationalism and establishment stuff. Some stuff to keep your goosebums alive. I wrote goosebums. Whatever.

Religion. Whenever a drama is unable to get a grip on the script, religion happens. Miracles. Sufism.

And that’s all.

There may be some scripts – like Indian-copied horror stories – with women as snakes and men as magicians-cum-perverts. Horror story is also based on sex. Nothing else.

There can be some dramas on street life or college life but the script remains intact. Love triangle and misery and tears.

In the end, every single story is the same. Same dilemmas. Same climaxes. Same endings. Everyone is having parties and divorces and properties and extra-marital diggings and stuff. Then another drama. Then another.

I don’t mind parties. Or properties. Or divorces. Or diggings. But that’s not all. And it is not entertainment when it is bogus. Aren’t you tired of these Bermuda-triangles of love, hate and loathing?

If you will dig deep – I mean scripts – every single drama is about sex. This way or that way, it is about sex and unhappiness.

There is no philosophy or intellect involved.

There is no discussion of actual problems.

There is no drama on extremism, intolerance, politics, or even culture and social norms.

There is no drama on real heroes. Nothing historical.

There is no criticism on the prevailing issues, let alone constructive criticism.

Moving forward to awards. The same writers and directors and producers are going to be awarded for showing the exact same stuff again and again. Nothing creative, intellectual or critical wins awards. Followed by speeches of big words.

I don’t know why only Khalil-ur-Rehman Qamar is (in)famous. All the writers are doing the same ugly job. Maybe he is a loud-mouth ambassador of the rotten society. And his tone and egoist arrogance. The thing is he is loved. He banging every other journalist with harsh words because he is expected to do that. He does. What else he has? Pathetic scripts and stories.

Maybe the time of intellectualism is over.

Gone are the days of good music. All we have are remixes now. Major hits of Velo Sound Station were remixes. No new good poetry. No new good books. Everything has been sung and written already.

Devolution?

Sometimes I wish they would copy stuff. Make a movie on “The Count of Monte Cristo”. Or copy the content of Rang De Basanti or Swades or Pk. Or make a drama like Bourne, where one of our own Jason Bourne goes rogue. Would be fun.

But we have poor writers who sell patriotism, religion, blasphemy, nationalism, martyrdom, and stuff. They have nothing else to offer. Such content gives them money, cheap fame, and ratings; without an iota of intellect.

Like our morning shows, our dramas are flimsy and lack substance.

Our news – where actual issues are hushed and no one talks about missing people, mutilated dead bodies, dissent, uniformed corruption, etc. – is all about parliamentarians fighting and offering nothing.

Switch off your TV. For news, follow twitter. For entertainment, get Netflix or use other means. Locally, you have nothing but repetitive, mind-numbingly boring and mediocre scrap.