The Return of the Blog
Anyone who has read my blog would know that what I try to do is point out how ridiculous some of the things we do in Pakistan are (try being the operative term here). There are attempts to inject humour into these situations and try to observe them as what they really are: astoundingly stupid.
Unfortunately, things stopped being funny (at least to me) some while back. It all started with the Taseer assassination. What followed, in terms of media and public reaction is, what I hope, the lowest point in our nation’s history. May we never sink to those depths again.
But the point I’m trying to make is that the lens through which I was viewing things changed. News articles started propping up on the death of liberalism in Pakistan (a patently strange idea, since liberalism had already been killed and was at the time of Taseer’s assassination already a zombie. Now it’s one of those zombies without a mandible that can’t even bite some unsuspecting asshole to transfer the zombie strain to them. That’s how pathetic we are now.)
The subsequent Shahbaz Bhatti assassination was my white flag moment. ‘They’ were on a marauding rampage, and nothing was being done to stop them. A new status quo had emerged, which can be summarized thus, “shut the fuck up chootiya kaafir.” Being both a chootiya and a kaafir I acquiesced. “Yes sir. May I tell you that your flowing beard looks particularly ravishing today, I hope you’ve been using the Katrina Kaif approved Pantene on it.” The response, I imagine, would be, “Why yes I am chootiya kaafir, thank you for noticing. Seen those Slice juice ads with her in them? We’re getting those banned soon.”
In the midst of my permanently bent over position where I was taking and loving it, this whole Raymond Davis saga exploded. Some fat ass decided he was going to Jason Bourne his way out of a double murder. Fat ass did not realize that a) he was a fat ass who doesn’t have parcour knowledge, and b) Lahore traffic is not amenable to car getaways. So, he got his ass landed in jail.
Suddenly, all we could talk about was diplomatic immunity and to borrow terms that I increasingly detest the “Ghairat Brigade” and “Middle Class Mentality” had begun salivating at the mouth. We got the Amreekan. He’s in jail now. We’re going to hang him and then have a big party.
And so out came the Ansars, and the Mirs The Saleem Bokharis, and the Orya Maqbools. Clasping their hands together and acting very Three Witches from Macbeth like. A bubbling cauldron in their middle (peppered with some Shan nihari masala I hope) prepared to slowly braise a Raymond Davis calf or thigh. A tandoor had been set up in the environs too, because White Man nihari without roghni naan is unthinkable. (Just ask those two Punjabi cannibals. Borderline blasphemous.)
But, out of nowhere and from the unlikeliest source, the humour came back. Our lords and masters in their starched uniforms, polished boots, and sometimes lathay-ka-shalwar-kurta-because-plain-clothes-are-important-too pulled the rug from under our Nihari preparers. Some cheered, other booed. I laughed. I laughed until my sides hurt. The same people so convinced that they were running the country came to learn of the status quo themselves. It can be summarized as thus, “Shut the fuck. And resize your britches. Your hips look enormous in those.”
And thus the humour returned, and everywhere I look I see ridiculousness. The PPP and the PMLQ’s waltz, the PMLN’s soiled panties at the sight of Imran Khan, Imran Khan and the MQM kissing and making up, Imran Khan leading massive (for him) political rallies.
Yes. Pakistan is back. It’s ridiculous again. Certainly, it’s also a very sad place still, if the Sakhi Sarwar attacks and the Supreme Court verdict on the Mukhtaran Mai case are anything to go by.
But the menace, the all encompassing menace.
I don’t feel it anymore.
And so, I shall return to the blog.
Thanks for listening. Now shut the fuck up chootiya kaafirs.