So there I was a few days ago trying to find reasonably hot pictures from the Pakistan Fashion Week (yes, so apparently Pakistan had its own fashion week; for someone like myself who grew up looking at fancy pictures of skimpily-clad Pakistani models in fashion spreads, this was a most joyous moment!) that I realized two things:
One, there was no nipple slip that came to my attention. This is sad because the authenticity and prestige of any given fashion week is usually judged by how many nipple slips it contained, or how scandalous, if at all, said nip-slips were. My friends across the Line of Control usually conjure nip-slips on a regular basis, and this is directly related to how many orders their designers are getting from international and regional buyers. By the way, allow me to complain that my search for above-mentioned reasonably hot pictures from the Pakistan Fashion Week was quite useless – the results were totally insipid and not hot. No one has done a good enough job of taking, collecting and uploading high resolution pictures, or hasn’t informed me at least even if he has. The only collection of pictures I came across were on the media gallery of Dawn, a media network that continues to defy logic as to the reason for its existence and continues to remain pointless and fucked up. Like, seriously, are you trying to copy BBC or something? Get over yourself, you English-speaking fucks.
Second, one normally doesn’t have such shenanigans in countries that are fighting a war (!). And not to sound like that idiot Mr. Stating The Obvious, but we are fighting one. This leads me to conclude that the Fashion Week was staged as a wonderfully well-executed distraction from the war currently engulfing the poor wretch that is our beloved homeland. This is both fascinating and sad. It’s fascinating because we have a wonderful and enviable ability to oversee the obvious problems, de-prioritize the priorities and allow ourselves to inhabit, if briefly, la-la-land where dreams come true and Nomi Ansari is king. It’s sad, however, because we have a wonderful ability to oversee the obvious problems, de-prioritize the priorities and allow ourselves to inhabit, if briefly, la-la-land where dreams come true and Nomi Ansari is king.
Now, yes, of course, it’s not so simple because the said war that we are currently engaged in is obviously bordering on both the pointless and the boring. It’s a boring war because there is no clearly defined enemy, there is no glamour that is usually associated with just and righteous resistance to aggression, and there are no empowering patriotic songs to get everyone excited. (Yes, Abrar-ul-Haq has indeed come up with a new song/video concerning the above (which can be viewed here), but I am quite sure my Pathan brethren are not too happy at being depicted as the only evil, money-hugging, conniving bastard-villains in the storyline, especially when Punjabis redeem themselves. Well, it’s not my fault that’s the fucking truth, you gibberish-speaking cavemen!) Further, wars are simply not the same amount of fun without a powerful neighbor whose butt you can try to kick and get away with. No India, no game. Lastly, of course, there is the small matter of, you know, killing our own countrymen. And that’s obviously no party. Thus, this is a very, very boring war, and distractions like the Pakistan Fashion Week are an adequate response to this dilemma.
Now let me explain why this war is pointless. There are two arguments often given: one, that we are making a colossal mistake, that this is not our war and we should not be following Washington’s orders by massacring our own brethren when we can easily negotiate with them to stop bombing us due to a small misunderstanding and instead focus all their efforts on liberating Afghanistan from foreign occupation; second, that this war is unwinnable – it is like beating a garden animal into his hole, whereby he will pop up from a new hole, and this will repeat until you get tired. This argument makes sense because when we attacked them in Swat, they ran away to somewhere unknown, when we attacked them in South Waziristan, they ran away north and further south (yes, sadly, the grand “fight to the finish” ala ISPR spokesman Major-General Athar Abbas has failed to materialize), and when we will attack them again, they will run away again, and so on and so forth. Stretching this strategy to its logical end, we will end up starting military operations all over the country to root out militants spread all over, until we reach the point that General Kayani and Hakeemullah Mehsud will be squaring off in a swordfight duel to death in front of WAPDA House on the Mall Road in Lahore.
And no one wants to see that. (Although considering how uber-hot Hakeemullah is, as established here, I’d buy a ticket to see him wield a sword like it’s supposed to be wielded. Yum.)
So, the war is pointless and boring, which necessitates that we distract ourselves through an indulgence such as the Pakistan Fashion Week.
Sadly, however, this is not our only current distraction. Instead, we as a nation are engaged in a plethora of activities that can only qualify as efforts to quell the yawns that follow hearing about the military’s supposed advances in previously-unheard-of places such as Kabal and Makeen. Some of these activities are listed below.
1. Indulging in political speculation
This is and has always remained our favorite pastime, and nothing has changed ever since the war started. One can, in fact, deduce the importance the public attaches to a given national issue by looking at the strategic placement of news items related to the issue on the front page of the daily paper. Thus, on a day when PM Gillani made some nonsensical statement about the NRO and the military entered the crucially important Taliban stronghold of Sararogha (another previously-unheard-of place) and killed a fair number of militants along the way, the former news item was splashed across the front page with an accompanying picture (always a plus when the picture subject is dashing PM Gillani) and a minor, 3-inch long box containing information on the latter.
Other important speculative questions that are probably being asked on a daily basis include, but are not limited to, the following:
- How tight did Nawaz Sharif tie the naala on his shalwar today? What effect did it have on his bowel movements? Consequently, depending on the presence or not of constipation, how did he deal with President Zardari’s latest offer of reconciliation?
- Which finger did Altaf Hussain use to scratch his beer belly in London today? Did he use the middle finger? If so, was it an implicit fuck-you to President Zardari signaling a break in the coalition after a year of happy times? Instead, was it an index finger? If so, was he praying while drunk? (But it’s already been established that in English it’s drink, not drunk, according to Ranbir Kapoor in his latest. Yay, Bollywood reference!)
- Whose picture did President Zardari jerk off to last night? Was it, by any chance, film actress (and recently rejuvenated TV hostess) Noor? Free mango shake in the winter for anyone guessing the origins of the Noor reference. Is his consistent masturbation the reason for his glowing, ever-present smile? If so, can you construct a counterfactual predicting the behavior of Zardari had he not been so trigger-happy?
Interestingly enough, all three questions can be turned into respectable and relevant doctoral theses in political science. That is, after all, the current stature and relevance of that silly discipline, is it not? Hah, score! Sohaib Athar – 1, entire LUMS Social Science department – 0. Bazinga!
2. Gossiping about the sex lives of female politicians
While this was always a fun thing to do at social dinners, it really became part of the national discourse after Firdous Ashiq Awan, our deliciously charming and well-mannered Federal Minister for Social Welfare, accused, on national television and in a live show, Kashmala Tariq, that certified hottie from the Pakistan Muslim League (Quaid-e-Azam), of starting her political career from the Heera Mandi (symbolically, of course. Kashmala did not actually run elections and win a seat from there, although that would’ve been immensely fun and ironic) and entering Parliament from someone’s bedroom.
The video is available below, although if you’re as much of a pervert as I am, you’ve probably seen it already.
Now this whole incident would’ve been highly sad if it wasn’t probably true. According to a good friend of mine who’s a treasure trove of information on controversial topics in Pakistani politics (and, for some reason, has also become a full-fledged conspiracy theorist who starts his conversations with me with, “Sohaib shehzaday, how are you, yaar? Want some chai? Oye, did you hear about the CIA angle on the Lahore bomb blast yesterday? No? Yaar! Acha, let me explain…”) (Asalam-o-alaikum Munir bhai!), this is the story of Kashmala Tariq’s rise to political ascendancy: she was dating (read: giving head to) former Minister of Commerce, and one of the richest men in the country, Humayun Akhtar Khan after returning from England where she had studied. He used to take her to all the social gatherings he attended. Then, then-President Musharraf saw her, was stunned by her beauty (one should give credit where it’s due – Kashmala would make me eat out of her palm) and said to her, “you should be with me, not with that loser. Come, and I’ll make you member of Parliament.” She then proceeded to join the National Assembly on a reserved seat for women after the 2002 elections, and remained Mush’s girl for quite some time after.
Sad but probably true.
3. Watching pointless cricket matches
Pakistan and New Zealand just finished playing a ridiculously pointless 3-match one-day international cricket series where our team, sadly, performed miserably. A much more exciting and interesting cricket series that we should have focused on during the same time was being played in India, where the hosts were playing a second-string Australia that beat the crap out of them.
That series was fun because, as just mentioned, a second-string Australia beat the crap out of India. Further, however, it contained one of the best innings of Sachin Tendulkar’s career, where he scored a massive 175 and almost lead his team to chase down a fucking mammoth 350. Sadly, however, he could not finish (yet again – oh, how I miss Brian Charles!) and got out painfully close to the end, and his teammates squandered the chance and made fools of themselves. The said innings was also interesting because everyone thought he’d break Saeed bhai’s record of the highest individual score in one-day cricket (that of 194, of course), but fell perilously close. Now had he done it, that would have been a major, major disaster for us. 100 dead in Peshawar, 40 dead in Lahore, gang rape in Karachi, Christians burned alive in Gojra. National tragedy? Nah uh. In perverted little Pakistan, Saeed Anwar losing the world record = national tragedy.
This of course needs perspective. In terms of national accomplishments by Pakistan ever since it was created, Saeed Anwar’s world record is as high as third on the list, behind only the 1992 cricket World Cup win and the country going nuclear in 1998. (Interestingly, Saeed bhai’s record was in 1997. I had no idea the 1990’s were such a kickass time for the country! I guess the (albeit brief) dawn of democracy does bring about national happiness. Go Ronald Inglehart!)
Of course, the fact that Saeed bhai’s record has remained intact despite many batsmen coming tantalizingly close to it over the last decade is proof of the power of prayer. And given that Sachin, despite being on song and playing one of the best innings of his life and not providing any chances to the bowlers and not looking like ever getting out, perished with a soft lollipop of a dismissal only 19 runs short of the record, no more conclusive proof is needed that Allah > Rama.
I am so glad I was born on this side of the border. Phew. Now I can die in peace.
Ajmal Kasab is to Pakistani terrorism what Hrithik Roshan was to Bollywood – he came out of complete obscurity, as a total underdog, and delivered one mega performance that made everyone sit up, take notice, and crap in their pants. What he was lacking in terms of Hrithik’s legendary dance moves, he gained by generally prancing around nonchalantly in a city of twenty million people (which, incidentally, happened to be Hrithik’s home) with a loaded machine gun in his hand. Similar to Hrithik Roshan, however, he is destined to remain a one-hit wonder: just like Hrithik’s career seems to have fizzled out (yes, yes, I know he has given hits, but come on, who cares about him anymore?), Ajmal is probably going to continue embarrassing himself in a fun trial in court and will eventually either be put to death or see jail for the rest of his wretched life.
Maulana Masood Azhar is a surprise entrant to this list (well, granted there aren’t too many sexy Pakistani terrorists to choose from in the first place). He is fat, has a big bushy beard, and wears that god-awful Arabic headdress (an example of another futile attempt by a Pakistani maulvi to become more Arabic in the false impression that the trueness of our religion lies in that part of the world. Idiot.) He owes his appearance on this list, clearly, not to his physical appearance (which is god-awful by all means) but, instead, to the sheer power of his oratory skills. He is, simply put, one of the most passionate and hair-raising public speakers I have ever heard. (Disclaimer: I have never actually heard him in person. I have merely listened to his work on Youtube, which, in today’s world, is good enough. If you want to hear him in person, go to Bahawalpur.) He specializes in the usual armed jihad message, asking you to get up from your ass and get to work in Kashmir, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Bosnia, and other assorted global hotspots. And he backs it up with his deeds too, unlike your average neighborhood maulvi: in the 1990’s he was arrested in India for charges of terrorism, and was eventually released in a dramatic hijacking episode in exchange for hostages of an Indian airplane. He then came back to Pakistan and founded Jaish-e-Mohammad, which used to specialize in Kashmir stuff but has now apparently turned its back on its paymasters and is having bomb blasts throughout urban Punjab. All very nasty stuff.
Brahamdagh Bugti is the grandson of the late Nawab Akbar Bugti of Balochistan and happens to be the only member of this list who is not an Islamic terrorist. On the contrary, he is probably Balochistan’s only hope for staving off a full-scale Mullah Omar-led Taliban takeover. His ideals, and those of his supporters, are purely secular in nature. Sadly for Pakistan, that offers no reprieve, as this kind gentleman is fighting for Baloch separatism and independence. Yes, that is correct. He is a modern-day Mujeeb ur Rehman, the only difference being that he is a dozen times sexier. Brahamdagh’s sex appeal is quite conventional – he is a man’s man. Rugged mountain dweller, he has been in hiding for two years, ever since our beloved Army murdered his grandpa. His story also features a fair degree of intrigue and mystery, another constant for high sex appeal: he is rumored (apparently there are pictures) to be regularly meeting Indian and Afghan intelligence people, getting money and arms for them, and generally being a big fat traitor to his homeland. Well, you know what they say, the enemy of my enemy…
He has become famous for being sentenced to life imprisonment in the Daniel Pearl murder case. In a way, thus, he is not a terrorist per say, but just a common murderer. But since we are intellectually lazy, and since I am sitting in the U.S. right now with the FBI probably keeping tabs on me, it is quite safe to say that every person ever implicated in jihadi ideas is a certified global terrorist menace.
Ahmed Omar Saeed is currently in Hyderabad prison, but is apparently not languishing. Quite the contrary, he is having a ball of a time there. He has surrounded himself with books on history, economics and other intense stuff and reads them regularly. The jail authorities change his guards often because if they spend time with Ahmed Omar Saeed long enough they start coming under his cerebral spell. He is, thus, a veritable Hannibal Lecter! And you know how easily women get weak knees thinking about Hannibal Lecter.
