“Sakoon sirf qabar main hai.”
Nope. No peace in grave or graveyard either. The young girl who died three days back in Gujrat, couldn’t find peace there either. She was abducted from her grave, raped and left naked. The dead was robbed by the ones who lived.
————— Part I —————
How to blame the victim in this case? Could she have done something to prevent what happened? Other than her existence of being a woman with a body? But she didn’t even exist at the time of incident. She was dead. The whole graveyard was dead. Except those who were not dead, were dead.
Does this call for security for the dead ones too where the alive are not secure?
Does this call for a committee of the dead?
Does this call for the brotherhood to have a long discussion with the dead?
Manhood. Brother. Man. Hood. That’ the problem!
No you cannot secure all the graveyards. And who will guard the guards? Eye on an eye!
The problem is power and objectification. Some randy dogs got to know that an object is buried inside the grave, so they dug to find gold. And they thought they had the power to do this. The audacity. The show.
The problem is lack of education, empathy, understanding, and intellect. The distance between the two genders is so wide that one in power doesn’t even understand that the other exists. Manhood is in denial of womanhood. Manhood is disgusted by womanhood. Womanhood is merely an objectification for manhood. Scoring. Hitting. Beating. Empowering. Reproducing.
Don’t blame lust here. Lust is as intelligent as anger. It knows where to flow. You don’t dare to raise your eyes or voice on people – women – when you know you are lower in social or power hierarchy. Your lust and anger know boundaries clearly and vividly.
Back to the graveyard.
So, even when they – women – die, the body remains. At least for some hours when it stays fresh. Like a plucked flower. Doesn’t matter if the body is warm or not. Doesn’t matter if the heart’s beating or not. Doesn’t matter if the air passes or not.
Instant justice is punishment. Beat the dogs so the remaining breed may behave.
For the long-run, the first step would be to understand that women exist. The second step would be towards equality. The third step would be towards understanding each other by removing barriers of communication. The fourth step would be to consistently educate men. Men need education with or without a beating.
————— Part II —————
The Local Graveyard Committee of the Dead was called before dawn, not unusual as graveyards work in moonlight. It was an emergency case, though not a new one. The elders thought it was enough.
The eldest of the graveyard cried that they were unable to do anything even when they could see that all happened in front of them for hours. That too in the broad night when all the dead were awake.
After a long discussion, the committee decided to decay themselves rapidly with a foul smell to keep men away. The amendment was passed unanimously.
But the dead-women and kids retaliated. A dead-boy accused a dead-elder of sodomy in life. A dead-woman accused a dead-elder of rape in life. A dead-girl accused her teacher. A dead-male accused his qari for raping him and his class fellows. The whole graveyard erupted in chaos.
The eldest of the graveyard cried again. He asked the heavens to fall and prayed to God to have mercy. He raised his hands and cursed the dead society of the graveyard that lightning may strike the ugliest one right here and right now to set an example.
The heavens made a move. Lightning thundered to prepare for a feast of the dead souls. The wind made a move from one grave to another to choose the most cursed one. Serial rapists. Harassers. Sodomists. Killers. Abductors. Who was to be struck down with lightning from hell?
The angels made a decision and inferno’s thunder falls on a grave, making a heatwave of a bomb. The whole graveyard fell in shock. The wind stopped. The thunder went back to the open sky. And the beastly angels from Hell came down to pick the most cursed soul to be transferred. This was the soul of the eldest of the graveyard. He was punished for knowing what was happening inside the madrassah; not with one kid or two but many, while he kept praying for himself.
Eid Greetings
Breathe without air. Beat without blood. Feel without pain. Hear without sound. Cry without tears.
Happy Eid!
But who has it happy?
Broken people, broken dreams; some with health issues, some breeding cancer deep inside, and some just having another Eid but nothing like the previous one when that particular loved one was around and sitting right across the sofa. Where do they all go?
Where has the father gone? Where is the mother? Open the old cupboard and sniff and try to get that one shot of their scent. Long and slow breaths and you will travel through the time frames to a hug that you have been missing. Smell has a memory. We don’t realize it until the perfume is gone.
Where is the aunt? The uncle? And the old man who used to sit at the bus stop?
And where are the kids? Sons? Daughters? Eid Mubarik? The parents who lost their parenthood cannot be happy for a moment. They can be seen laughing and smiling but they are not those laughs and smiles. No eid or happiness can bring back their joy of life ever again.
Only kids can have a happy Eid till they are carefree and clueless. But not all kids. Naru cannot have a happy Eid. His mother died in pursuit of his father who is missing… like other missing people… in the deep hell of this deep state.
So many holes. So many pains. Yet, we stand and embrace and hug each other like we are actually smiling with happiness. Maybe we do! After all, we are all born with hypocrisy. I know. Wrong word.
Some are financially weak and Eid makes them even more vulnerable. The better-off offering more Eidi to the kids and the weak ones being exposed around. Happy Eid!
And those old folks who made us, and the old lady who kept us warm in her belly for nine months, and the sofa with a missing spot and the cupboard with the scent, and the bricks in the house, and the leaking tap in the bathroom… everything has a missing. Everything has a missing point.
Some of us run away from the bricks and the cupboards and the sofas as we don’t want to travel through time while time itself is sneaking away right through our hands like a fistful of desert sand. Mirage! This is all a mirage. Tell me, how many years since 2018? I can count to 2. See! We are a missing point.
Anyway.
This is how we are supposed to carry on the burden of legacy and humankind. Evolution. Reproduction. Death. Decay. Without a choice. Without consent.
So, Eid Mubarik! With all the pains, nostalgia, time travels, and missing points. The Sofa across you is empty today. Your sofa will be empty tomorrow. And you think you two will meet afterwards when both the sofas will be empty and that’s the point where…just kidding. Let’s not open the pandora box today.
Not today Zarathustra!
Greetings!
I am Jack’s broken consumer
Buy a shirt or a trouser and then go into self analysis on what the f*ck have you done with this expensive purchase. This consumerism is depressing with this current inflation trends.
Brands are expensive. Non-brands are unreliable. So, the obvious choice is brands. Because you intend to live in this packed trouser for next 5 years.
Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Here. In this trouser. And shirt.
I don’t let go of things. Things finally give up.
Price of this shirt multiply by 5 years and then getting into per day cost. No i don’t do that. But i was thinking…
This post-consumerism analysis consumes you even more. How the hell are people purchasing all this shit? Most of the stuff is not even needed.
Things you own, end up owning you.
Deep. Depression.
But in the end, His Highness himself is a brand. Isn’t it? You may hate or disagree but you can’t ignore!
Go consume yourself?
Charismatic without Ethos, Pathos & Logos
The followers were happy when he entered through help. But they became extremely angry when he was asked to leave through the same corridors.
The followers became radicals. Already radicalized became a cult. Suddenly they started to see missing people and silencing of voices too.
But they couldn’t see logic or reason.
The speeches are the same. Without ethos, pathos and logos.
Yet the followers are electrified. What was the outcome of the last 3.5 years? No questions.
What are the achievements? Ah! and Ums!
What about meeting Americans now? Shut up.
What is the offer? Any change of plan? Any new finance minister to market like Asad Umar? No.
Did killers of Shaiwal massacre were given justice or were they silenced like Model Town incident? Or do you have only Jokhio at hand to play your political games?
Were you not ‘blackmailed’ twice? One recently by the opposition and establishment. And the other time by the dead bodies of Hazara.
Was DPO of Pakpattan not changed on personal grudges? Didn’t your own star IG of police resign because of your own hypocrite policies?
Did Balochistan or Hazara or any marginalized society felt safer in your tenure?
Were parents of APS massacre given voice? Or justice? Or some room?
Wasn’t Ehsan Ullah Ehsan freed in your tenure?
Did we achieve anything for Kashmir or was it just a political game?
Kashmir went to India without a hurdle when you went to the US. Wasn’t that a conspiracy?
Did you ever voiced for Muslims of Yemen or Uighurs, or were they ignored because of your ‘sovreign foreign policy’? Didn’t you support Arabia against Yemen militarily?
Corruption went down or reached new heights in your 3.5 years? Wasn’t ‘corruption’ the mantra? It is even a slogan now.
Did you bring back $200 billion corruption money? Did you categorically and clearly put a single bureaucrat or political behind bars? Or did you play the game with your corrupt men against their corrupt men and hence, no one was taken to the cleaners in the end?
How many ordinances were promulgated by your President? Wasn’t that the worst era of ordinances, beating martial laws too?
Offers are like a populist fascist. Religion. Superiority. Greatness. Propaganda. I. Me. I. Me.
I know there is no substitute. I know the cliché of “lesser evil” but that is not even the case here. It’s the exact same evil with higher velocity of madness and propaganda.
Yet, the crowd is here without questions. Just following a persona, a charisma.
The times they are a-changin’. The world has a number of such leaders today who brush logic and reasoning under the carpet and no one sees or asks.
One – Modi – is in the neighborhood too.
And the followers of one idiot don’t like the followers of another idiot. Playing with the same sentiments of religion, nationalism, and superiority. Abusing each other. In the mirror. Forever and ever.
Without ethos, pathos, and logos.
P.S. In the end, no one matters except boys. Remember RTS? Daska? Any other election? Good!
Perween Rahman’s Karachi
Parween Rehman tried to do – and did to a valuable extent – which we cannot even think of because we are too cowardly and lazy to be a fierce warrior like her.
Apart from development issues, her main struggle was for water for the poor neighborhood of Orangi in Karachi. And what did she get? Bullets. She fought for Karachi and Karachi killed her. As easy as in Balochistan.
The mismanagement – of water, nullahs, land, and buildings like Nasla Towers – are all rooted in the bureaucracy of Karachi. The babus who came and sat on the district and provincial administration of Karachi, have ruined Karachi. They made water a tradable business. Stole water from the poor and then sold it in tranches in trucks.
Perween’s investigation revealed that over 160 illegal hydrants were operating in Karachi, which was over 41% of water of the city, stolen from the poor neighborhoods. That was 270 million gallons a day. That was like a $500 million business per year.
This is an organized nexus, managed through fear. With PPP in power (since 2007) in Sindh and MQM having a fair share of power in Karachi, the system works with a nexus of bureaucracy – which includes administrative services of the city and top echelon of police. These are suited-booted robbers who love lecturing us, and have made this whole cartel against public through public offices. Blood is spilled regularly. Unidentified murderers. Ambulances rush. Postmortems are done. And then mothers and wives spend the rest of their lives in pain and terror.
A while back, Rangers came to halt this, apparently. People were killed by men in uniform as ruthlessly as police. Both the uniforms worked hand in hand against public. Things got even worse when Rao Anwar came to the surface with 444 encounters. Grasp this. 444 murders. Even Supreme Court succumbed to his tactics because he was a boy of the Boys.
While blood never dries in the city, people wait for days for water. Sometimes, water pumps are opened weekly, and sometimes fortnightly. While the rulers of the city are busy in toppling the rulers in the capital, no one is in-charge of the mess. Because those who cared are either murdered (like Perween Rehman) or already buried (like Bilquis Edhi) by the city.
Saturdays Redefined
Saturdays have never been better. Live action every weekend from 10 am to 1 am next morning.
What else can one demand in life? I’m so fine with this. This culture. This mob. Inside parliaments. This is too good for Netflix.
You don’t even need a subscription. It’s free. Choose a side and enjoy.
Every Saturday is like a new season. You have new villains and no heroes. Only hoes.
My favorite episode was from last weekend. That prison van and Bajwa doing all the constitutional stuff and courts opening in midnight to change one hybrid regime with another hybrid regime on the behest of one man, Bajwa, against another villain, Khan. Loved that.
My second favorite was DJ ISPR. He was so good. Even his expressions were as confused as his content. He was bickering live comical stuff with so many doubts. But never stopped. Embarrassingly. Loved that character.
And today is another dish being cooked live since morning. This time it’s Punjab’s parliament and goons are having a day. Chilling, beating, sleeping, all live.
No doubt the Cartoon PM couldn’t bear our happiness with TV screens and took our Saturdays away. Shameless!
After Alpha Bravo Charlie, this is the finest production by ISPR. Can’t deny that. His Highness always gives credit where it’s due.
The Coward and His Cult
“Did I ever break the law?“, he roared. “No!!!” the crowd shouted in reply… and the whole city was submerged under a dense smog of dumbness.
“Yes, you did. You violated the Constitution“, said no one.
Because cult following has a thing: It’s of idiots. Always.
Let’s recap – brief history of not-so-homo-sapiens:
Right after independence, Jinnah sensed power hunger among top military officials – including Ayub Khan. However, Jinnah left soon and things became easier for the men in uniform.
Then came Bhutto in the 1960s, who became Bhutto because of General Ayub Khan. However, when he had a falling out with Ayub, he stood up and fought against him. He fought against General Zia too until he was jailed and hanged.
Break Time: Two cents for idiots – There are still people who believe that in 1971, Bhutto (not in power) was able to overpower General Yahya (in power) so that Mujeeb (man with majority mandate) couldn’t form his Government. It was the military which didn’t come to terms with the fact they have to follow East Pakistan.
Anyway, During General Ayub’s time, Fatima Jinnah also stood against him in 1965. She was also labeled as ‘traitor’ and ‘agent of India’. These treacherous games are not new.
Then came Benazir in 1988, who stood against consistent military interventions with jail-time, until she was assassinated in 2007. She named General Musharraf in her life as conspirator against her. She paved her way back to
Pakistan through dialogues and was the co-founder of the 18th Amendment which devolved power to provinces.
Then came Nawaz for this third turn in 2018 – after two past failures through military. When he was ousted, he took names of generals in Lahore and Gujranwala. Didn’t shy away.
Now come to Imran Khan, who became PM in 2018. He remained powerless until he was adopted by General Pasha and Co. in 2010-11. He is in power in KP since 2013. In 2022, he was ousted by Bajwa, through the same old court tactics. However, Khan couldn’t name names.
Among all the civilian prime ministers, or puppets, he’s the most coward one – yet the loudest ones – who blames other puppets even when he was humiliated and thrown out by someone else.
Fatima Jinnah took names. Bhutto took names. Mujeeb took names. Benazir took names. Nawaz took names. All of them took names when they were hurt. But Khan – No. Too coward for that and too dependent on the military for his future.
Let me elaborate. Yesterday, he named Raymond Davis in Peshawar jalsa and blamed it on courts. Well, Davis was escorted by General Pasha himself from the court to the airport. But Khan couldn’t name him. He just brushed it under the judicial carpet.
He blamed courts for his ouster too. Well, yes, courts were opened at midnight; but not for imponents of PMLN or PPP or PDM. Everyone knows who opened the courts. Yet, Khan couldn’t name.
He is pulling a cult of thousands of people wherever he goes, yet he has nothing else to offer except that same old rhetoric of 2011. But idiots don’t get it. You sometimes keep on listening to the same song on repeat, even when the lyrics sucks, just because the music is good.
Now come to cults. Yes. You, idiot!
Just kidding. Not now.
Thank you Chief!
Those who believed “missing people” is a hoax, were protesting with posters of Vigo last night.
Those who said “PTM is against the state”, were against the state like PTM yesterday.
Those who used to say “must have done something”, were tweeting “what have they done?” this weekend.
Those who believed elections were “free and fair” in 2018, were shouting against “neutrality” in 2022.
Those who believed it’s the ugly politicians and clean establishment, were against ugly establishment for clean politicians in massive crowds.
Thank you Chief! You did what others couldn’t do. I mean, they did. But they did not. Acres and acres of lands were gone and billion-dollar pizza empires were raised and no one had a clue.
And look at you?
Thank you!
Walli – In the Name of M. (Part-III)
Walli’s timeline of resurrections is as smooth as a tragedy. A tragedy that lives inside a being forever.
Remember that story of Musa asking the shepherd to pray properly as directed by God and not commit blasphemy? The shepherd stopped talking and loving God the way he did. He adopted Musa’s directions of praying as defined by the religion. But God didn’t like it and told Musa that He liked the unorthodox way of the shepherd; which Musa ruined.
O’ Musa! What have you done?
Musa went back and found the shepherd after a long struggle and told the shepherd about what God had said. The shepherd smiled, and left. There was no way to go back.
A smile. A smirk. It has always been like that.
And long after Musa, Walli realized how Musa did him wrong, and not only disrupted his one life, but the whole timeline of resurrections… as smooth as one tragedy that lives inside. Like cancer. It runs through your body like blood. Hurting your heart. With every beat. Thump. Thump.
A gradual painful death but not death. You wish for death and when you get it, you are born again to pass through the same corridors of hell.
O’ Musa! What have you done?
Do you even know what hell is? It is here. It is now.
O’ Musa! That was not blasphemy. It was loved by God. Dwell deep down and you will find that there is no ONE WAY. There are ways. Even preaching (tableegh) is not allowed the way you think. If preaching was allowed, then why did God disapprove of your preaching to the shepherd?
I am the shepherd. That shepherd.
I am the wanderer who was loved by God when he was not following God’s path.
I am the being who was approved and the Prophet was disapproved.
I am the blasphemy. That sweet blasphemy that was endorsed by the Creator.
I am Walli. That Walli.
She’s eight years old today. The last time they met was on 30th June, 2016 in Family Court of Lahore.
2,110 days. 5 years, 9 months, 11 days. 69 months, 11 days. 50,640 hours. Whatever. Does counting even matter? Does preaching matter? Does blasphemy matter?
I matter. You matter. Pain matters.
With a smile. A smirk.
Any guilt? No. Anger, yes; but no guilt. This pain and this distance has been nurtured to evolve into an übermensch of pain. How can one opt for devolution?
From Socrates’ drinking of poisoned water with a smirk.
From Mansur Al Haj’s blasphemous death with a laugh.
From Neitzsche’s brain eating amoeba with ecstasy.
From Hussain’s sacrifice for every single blood drop of the family against fascism with a cool breeze blowing from the heaven.
From that shepherd’s love who was blessed by blasphemy and ruined by religion.
To Walli. To here and now. This. Feel this. Today. Never-ending today and the pain which ignites blasphemy, an approved blasphemy by God.
People die. Men die. History vanishes. But pain remains. It’s not Walli’s body but his pain that resurrects again and again.
And again.
Till it’s all over with the Judgement Day. And that Day will be a deliverance for all except those who created pain. You shall see. The day that has been promised. You shall see.
And who created pain in the first place? That’s where it ends. That’s where it starts. That’s where Walli commits blasphemy and a Prophet comes to ruin his life. One life at a time.
That moment of life is stuck. Handing M. over to her mother, never to happen in reverse. To wait for 496 days to meet again. And then with episodes of meetings in the visiting room of the Court for 6 months, the waiting was initiated again. 2,110 days and counting.
Come down dear Lord! Come down for a day. Live in pain for a day. Feel the thumps of a dying heart for a day. Come down and wait for someone you love. Experience what waiting feels like. Come down and wander across the timelines of people who have lost their kids – for a day or forever – and feel this and then let the heavens fall for the Judgement Day. Let this be the end.
Or the beginning of blasphemy. Send someone – a Prophet – again and legalize blasphemy. In the next resurrection of Walli, let it be the century of blasphemy so that pain can be given its due words.
With a smile. A smirk.
You shall see!
Youthopia
4 steps to greatness:
Pre-requisite: Tasbih. It’s handy.
Step 1: Make a story that West is against you and America has purchased traitors to oust your government.
Step 2: Sell it. Market it. Advertise it daily. Tell people your life is in danger too.
Step 3: Use Constitution to breach Constitution and dissolve the government. Do what America was trying to do. Oust yourself. Conquer your fear.
Step 4: Back to Step 2. Sell and market yourself. Daily. Take fake phone calls. Quote Medina, Islam, Hussain, Rumi, and whoever you know. Keep speaking.
Meanwhile –
Idiots before Step 3: West is trying to oust the government of Pakistan.
Idiots after Step 3: Khan has ousted the government himself. One ball, three wickets.
One.
Ball.
Dialogue –
Government: America tried to change the government of Pakistan.
Russia: Yes.
America: No.
China: What?
Sheikh Rasheed: What?
ISI: What is happening?
Mian Channu: Nothing. Keep recording tapes. Who with who for how long…
Gill: Randi!
Deputy Speaker: Article 5. All rise! All sit! Leave!
Opposition: Let’s play. Ayaz! Sit and make me the PM.
PM: A country, America, Oh! Haha! WTF! Not America! Yes, America!
Aurat March: Is he insane?
Shireen: See! Foreign powers are after me?
Idiots: [cheering with dance moves]
PM: You topple me? I topple myself.
Idiots: Check-mate! Kaptaan!
UK: What mate?
Fawad: Foreign powers. Foreign powers. Foreign powers.
America: You just did what we were supposed to do?
Qureshi: Raymond Davis!
[a creak among the woods of Margalla… hogs with wigs rising from slumber… and big bellies… Suo Moto]
Judge: You don’t wake us up on a lazy Sunday after a sneezy Saturday, where we match bellies and wigs with all the vulgarities of the capital. We need time…
Gill: Dallay!
Judge: What?
Gill: Oh! Allow me to explain linguistics at my home your honor!
Epilogue of Naya (Beta Version 2) –
I promised you new homes. 5 lac. 5 million. So, here I bring you my finest offer – ex-Chief Justice Gulzar of Pakistan – who took homes by cranes and the residents by trousers.
Gee Gulzar sb! Aik ghazal?
Welcome to Youthopia.
This is your home.
I know geography.