Category: Pakistan

You get hired. You get brainwashed. You get commissioned.

Over the years, you become patriotic only to sell patriotism with a gun in hand.

Step by step, you rise on echelons of barbarity until you become the chief of barbarians.

Then you kill. You kill people in hundreds and thousands. Here and there and everywhere. For rupees, as well as for dollars.

You even start killing those who were made by your predecessor. You sell Jihad the other way around. You bring a whole bloody war at home.

Then you rent. You rent the land and the air to kill more. You abduct. You torture. You make mass graves for mutilated dead bodies.

You get land. You get real estate. You get money in all the possible forms for your services against humanity and fellow nationals.

After you are done with blood and have accumulated your share of blood money, you retire.

Then you leave the very country for which you sold patriotism and nationalism for decades.

You never come back to the land of pure again, even when the law calls you to payback. You don’t come back.

And then – like everyone – you die. You die as a billionaire in another country. Not in a drone strike. Not in a mass grave. Not in an unidentified torture cell. You die an elite death for which everyone works.

But you die. Your legacy of violence don’t but you do.

May you meet all those you killed before time.
May you be abducted on the first door up there.
May you be taken in chains.
May you suffer.
May you rot in hell – if hell – for the rest of your existence.

No rest in peace for you Mr. Musharraf!

Ishaq Dar gave us a hint of his failure a few days back. He used religion. He remembered God.

It’s typical. People in power do that to stay in power after failures. Imran Khan excelled this and propagated it dangerously.

Khan’s own home was regularized for pennies in Islamabad while the poor were thrown out and their homes were bulldozed from Islamabad to Karachi. But tasbeeh never felt. Quran and Hadith remained his source of inspiration to tell you guys.

This is a way to drug you. This is a way to snatch your home, your food, and sometimes your kids too – to keep you calm.

It’s just like killing 144 students and labeling them ‘martyrs’ to make things holy and spiritual.

It’s just like the army chief visiting the dilapidated homes of dead soldiers – to hug the old parents – and lessoning them about Jihad and Paradise; so that the drugged parents keep on producing more poor soldiers to die in vain in chain.

Reject that.

Don’t respect that b

Because religion has nothing to do with the state. The state will only use it to abuse you. perpetualy.

Don’t snooze anymore.

Hate Modi for mass murder.
Acquit Rao Anwar for the same.

Free Ehsan Ullah Ehsan, the murderer.
Jail Ali Wazir, the victim.

Weep for Palestine.
Supply military for Yemen.

Cry for Kashmir.
Ignore Uighur.

Make Taliban.
Kill Taliban.

Rent yourself to free Afghanistan.
Rent yourself again to capture Afghanistan.

Ban the politicians from live transmissions.
Let the boys deliver political press conferences.

The opponents are ruling.
The rulers are the opponents.
All with the same falling.

No food on the table.
No oil for the vehicles.
No electricity for the poor.
No security for the people.

This land has been through this before. In 1800s when the Raj was imposed. When Bengal was starved to death. When Jalianwala Bagh was massacred. When 1857 was revenged.

But this land never died. Never.

Lads came. One after another. To shout. To starve. And to be hanged. On repeat. One after another.

Bhagat Singh. Azad. Bose. Mangal Pandey. Tilak. Savarkar. Bismil. Rani. Khan. Sukhdev. Udham. Begam Mehal. And more. So many more.

So, here’s the calling of the land again. Not the whole land though. And not the same Raj either. But it’s’s time. When food is robbed and basics are snatched, it’s time. When there is no freedom to think and write, it’s time.

The whole system is upside down with clowns.
And the only way to downside up is;
To burn the citadel down.

P.S. It’s like the movie ‘Cloud Atlas’. Throughout history, people have struggled. Against powers and superpowers. No time in history was without struggle because there was always some power. Weak are meat, and powerful eat. But the struggle never ceased. In all centuries. In all times. From the womb to the tomb.

When they are in apparent power, they rejoice arrests of opponents.

When they themselves are opponents, they talk of freedom of speech and civil rights.

Nonetheless, they all got naked within a span of a year. Some months. They all.

Last time they were all united was for Extension of the Chief.

First time they were all united was for 21^st Amendment in the Constitution for Military Courts.

They all know who unites them.

They all know who divides them.

They all know who operates them.

They all know who uses them.

They all know who disgraces them.

They all know who flushes them.

And they all know who gags them.

Yet, all these puppets look forward to them. They all.

How pathetic and how miserable they are all?

Now, one is arresting. The other one is protesting.

Just like a year back; arresting one was protesting and protesting one was arresting.

How to take a side among insects?

How to define a principle when there’s nothing to differentiate?

How many times this page has mentioned Rao Anwar? May be 444 times. Or more.

Anyway, congratulations. The judicial brothel, where judges sell themselves for some price, have acquitted Rao Anwar. No wonder, the murderers are always safe here. Like Ehsan Ullah Ehsan was.

This is a big nexus. Rao Anwar is police. Judges are the judiciary. Orders came from Rawalpindi. Landlords were safeguarded. This is a whole nexus that the judiciary has maintained today.

Anyway. There are some methods to kill.

One is, kill and pay. It takes some time, but it works. Always work. It has some religious support as well. Don’t Aww!

Two is, kill and don’t pay. Kill more. And more. Countless. Now, you cannot pay all the families of victims. Like, you cannot pay families of 444 murdered ones. In such cases, trial will be long, but you will be acquitted. Because you are an asset. An asset that keeps the violent machine of the state greased.

So, the brothel has done its job for another butcher. Or butcherer. The two words are confusing. Isn’t it mate? Don’t mate!

Hundreds of thousands died in 1971 and not a single person was blamed or punished.

70,000 died during the military experiment during War on Terror and no one was blamed or punished.

144 students got murdered in broad daylight in a school and no one was punished. Parents were shutdown. The mastermind was kept in a safehouse and was strategically freed.  

So, 444 killings and nothing happened. Simple analogy. Simple history. That’s why history is important.

Congratulations again. The naked dance in and around Islamabad and Rawalpindi is the reason that this country is in a pathetic state of affairs. No wonder, just like before 71, a lot want to get rid of it. A lot.

Now a hint.

Remember those who proudly put badge of the national flag on their dresses. Mostly officially, behind their large desks, in luxury offices. Or on their uniforms. Remember them. Because they are the exact culprits with bloody hands of civilians. This country has given them so much.

Even blood and flesh. To fill their thirst and hunger.

Given them land to make mansions. And bury the useless ones.

To make huge towers. To avoid the poor ones.

To raise a breed of dogs. To avoid a breed of humans.

Remember them.

Because, when you will be out – and you will be soon – you must not go into collateral damage. You must know where to strike and who to put down. To burn the citadel down.

No satire. His Highness is like James Bond, going ‘all-in’ in poker.

His Highness actually wants the country to default. No pun. He wants power outages or blackouts for permanent. He wants hundreds of ships and cargoes lined up in Arabian Sea for months for clearance. He wants the whole economy to go down into the final depths like Titanic.

Only after the complete disaster, will come the actual reincarnation.

A new constitution, not this garbage.

A new Penal Code, not this colonial leftover.

A new administrative setup without idiot in the hierarchy of bastards.

A new police system of humans with repercussions to face for every failure.

A new public setup without twitter queens and kings.

A new military minding its business precisely. Not that business. No. You get it?

Or a Public Private Partnership (PPP) kinda model through which defense and some other burdens can be outsourced. To China perhaps. Let it be. Even in worst case scenario, it would be better than this. THIS.

Anyway, the point was, no satire here. This blackout is beautiful. Waiting for the night with a clear sky to see the stars and their faults.

Life is beautiful without complications of electricity, water, gas, inflation, and dumbs-in-charge.

Wheat crisis isn’t a political failure. It’s a bureaucratic failure.

This hierarchy of bastards of bureaucracy lives in cocoons where they can’t see or smell the poor. The vehicles are guarded. The whole hierarchy is guarded. And they themselves are never short of any kind of food as it arrives at the door step on its own. In different forms. Gifts. Thanks. Favors.

So, they are clueless. They are clueless about the situation as much as they are clueless about their jobs – where they keep on swinging from one department to another until they are retired and completely retarded.

Such crises will keep on surfacing till this colonial setup is going to sustain. It’s wheat today. It will be sugar, rice, and other stuff in future. Near future.

Just know the problem rightly.
It’s a bureaucratic failure.
Not a political failure.

That wasn’t a joke that the state is a brothel. With new revelations, the whole state is running on asses with asses onboard.

Safe houses. A new term where ‘deals’ and ‘deeds’ are ‘done’. And recorded. With men in charge for men to discharge.

From PM house to CM houses to all the big guarded buildings to the boys hidden behind barriers and barracks – it’s a brothel. Like cloud computing. Not an actual cloud. Not actual computing either.

Biology. Sucks.

So, it wasn’t just Faris Shafi’s lyrics or Orya’s philosophy of life or Khalil-ur-Rehman Qamar’s dramas or afterlife lecture of some Mullah – the entire state is running on dicks. With dicks. Around ducks.

Too bad. You cannot meet in a park and cannot even book a room without nikah nama.  But they can have all the facilities in the most sacred places of the state.

Bloody civilians. Too bad. You cannot even afford yourself in a brothel.

No wonder, everyone is pious here. Yet, everyone is a hypocrite. From snorting to escorting with beads in hand and a whole new sensational world in mind.

That’s why there is no debate that tires a mind further. Masturbation is fine. Mental masturbation isn’t.

In the name of the constitution. Article ABC. Section D. Sub-section E. Paragraph ii/ante. States. The state has power. Authorized by the sovereign. That sovereignty belongs to God. So, challenging it is treason.

Torn apart. Abrogated. Need of necessity. Sensitive times. Security state. Secured. Dismissed.

Heathenism!

Adjourned.

Dismissed. Closed. Ordered. Need of time. In the name of unforeseen circumstances.

Constitution this. Article that. Section this. Sub-section that. Para number X with unknown ante in your arse. Did you get this? No one gets this.

I don’t get the judgments. And the orders. And their jargon. Colonized English. Outdated rubbish.

Disgusting.

“You are out of order. This court is out of order. This whole trial is out of order. The verdict is out of order. The judge is out of order.”

“Order! Order! The court can put you behind bars.”

“You order me? I order you. You and your order is out of order. And the bars… In your arse.”

Sometimes, it feels like His Highness is buried in that office-cum-tomb of the un-Civil Secretariat of Lahore. With Anarkali. Where bulks and bulks of old gazettes, journals, nothings, and orders are placed to provide evidence that nothing has changed since 1857.

Not even noting. Please. Put up. Urgent. Amend. Seen. Submitted pls.

O’ shut up please!

“Anarkali! How you doing?”