The Pakistani people are used to egg on their face, but what they were slapped with the other night from sleepy old Abbottabad was a large Pakistani omelette, complete with green chillies, onions and tomatoes. It was piping hot. It was large and it got us right on “the kisser,” as our good friends the Americans would put it. Did it hurt? You bet it did. Did it sting? Bet your bottom dollar it did. Of all the insults, and we have quite a collection, this one was a special.
In the tense 38 minutes of live video streaming watched with great intent, minus popcorn and Cokes, the American leadership saw the “taking” of OBL. From their expressions, it was pretty obvious that they hadn’t even considered what we would be feeling at this latest insult. Why should they? We were purchased long ago in a loot sale. Our loud protests are well staged – make noise and carry on doing what you were doing. On Sunday night, everyone who is supposed to be anyone was in bed, cuddled into deep slumber, thanks to Pooh the Bear without whom most of Pakistan’s leadership cannot sleep. An attack surely scripted in Hollywood, our shaheens paralysed on the ground, our radars jammed (Strawberry?) – is this cuckoo land? Surely it must be.
Our government, a.k.a. the peas that strut about making noises of absolutely no consequence, was frantically inking in the details of the season’s latest Lota Loot Sale. The Chaudhry Bros were out in full strength, with Chaudhry Shujaat dripping incoherently with pearls of his customary brilliance. With the president grinning like a Cheshire cat, a new lota deal was well on its way to be added to that junk pile of rubbish we insist on calling politics. So bizarre are the comings and goings of the government that no one at any given time can say with any surety who is with whom, and why, or why not. It’s like the Pakistani team. No one now can accurately list down who precisely are the “boyuz” that wear the green blazer. Of course I jest. The team is famous for losing a match, not winning it. Our great twist, while the rest of the world can only click tongues and make guttural noises of amazement.
The FO was not open. It never is, some say, but that is not true. Others go as far as to say it does not exist, but that too is not true. It is very much alive, although respirators and ventilators have been in abundant use at Hotel Scheherazade. Once awake, they immediately issued a grim reminder to all and sundry, threatening dire consequences if Pakistan’s virgin-like sovereignty was even eyed with evil intentions. I am told this one is “Statement No 16B” and is readily available to be disseminated at the drop of a hat.
The FO has so many hats that it is thinking of going into a side business. We can only rejoice at these favourable developments. Lotas on sale in the Presidency and within a stone’s throw – so far the public has abstained – hats galore or sovereignty in three sizes: 1.5 litre, 500ml and 250ml; the 1.5 litre is not so popular, since there isn’t that much of it to go around, but the others will sell. When the FO finally mustered pen and paper together, it issued a statement that was 100 percent in the other direction to its government’s. Never mind. Neither are taken seriously, otherwise we all would be long dead of shock.
The khaki command was rudely woken at 3 a.m. by US friends who said the deed had been done, thanks be to Allah. Bonds of everlasting friendship were exchanged, drone attacks were once more brought up – we cannot tolerate these, as our prime minister, president, army chief and everyone else have reminded us daily. The US also said that they had removed all they found of use – the 100-odd hens in the compound who somehow survived the brutal onslaught were obviously not fitted with nuclear devices and were thus of no interest to the Americans. Also none of them looked remotely like an OBL double.
Before signing off, our US friends asked us to take care of a chopper they had blasted to kingdom come and requested that the remains be respectfully covered up while their SEALS searched for an appropriate ocean. Pledges of cooperation were exchanged and clearance was given for us to “protest” about this flagrant violation of our hallowed airspace. Next day, the khakis wasted little time in issuing warning number 2564 to the USA to stop the drone attacks, respect our airspace and stop buying all the real estate. These were taken by the US with such a huge pinch of salt that reportedly salt has disappeared from all US stores. Even Walmart is stocked out.
The Pakistani public, for whom insults seem to have been invented by a malevolent entity, are taking it in quietly. They are hardly in a position to express any emotion and too tired to even burn another US effigy – very badly made, these are and need much improvement between ourselves. Besides, it is miserably hot and, as and when some power is witnessed, the citizens simply refuse to turn on their creaking fans. But even when there is no real occasion, the amount of people – they are the same, year in and year out – are holding forth on what is now the stuff of legends.
Theories are flying faster than Blackhawks, and are even more deadly than the dreaded drones. Someone must stop the prime minister from droning on and on about how the drones are a violation of our sovereignty. Maybe his latest foray into the Parisian world of fashion might distract him, as ordering suits and getting fit-outs done, can be very taxing on the brain.
I, for one, would be very happy to hear him speak – eloquently, I am sure – about his suits, shirts, ties and cuff link collections. This would be far more fruitful than groaning about drones and how we won’t tolerate it. To him my advice is: sir, till such time as you are safely returned to your mango trees in Multan, please stop this drone business and how shocking it is. Most of your subjects cannot hear you without being violently sick. Instead, announce as soon as you have unpacked your new suits that Pakistan welcomes drones as they are ushering in a new era of development and building social awareness.
OBL, UBL, CFL, EFL – who really cares? Beggars can’t be choosers – how I hated that idiom at school, but, gosh, it is true; so some silence please. And stop drivelling. It does not look nice, and all it does is make us look pitiable.
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