Daal mein Kuch Kaala Hain

Somebody needs to rechristen the 27th of December, "Let's lick Patrilineal Dynasty's balls" day. And no, the ballsiness of this message is not just gratuitous frustrating against our present political climate. It's literal. Think balls. Feudal egos. PPP prados. And surnames that are an easy ticket to an Oxbridge education. Think VIP. Think Bakhtwar saying: "Our party is like a family." Think entitlement. Enthronement. Ennoblement. Think over-wrought memorializing, an Olympic season since the day. 

And then, don't think at all. Because that's the easiest way to get through the suffocating observances of 27th December.

Whatever happened to honest, measured appraisals of office bearing political persons' careers? What of all the vehement liberal shout outs for human rights records and violations? Why the amnesiac refusal to be critical in our remembrances and exhume easily forgotten grievances? Should an undoubtedly tragic, unwarranted assassination automatically entitle one to canonization and conveniently absolve one of all error and fault? 

Posthumous revisionings of leaders need to admit alternative readings/interpretations. 

I appreciate cult of personality, I understand hero/ine worship and deification, I respect sentiments, I admire the sacrifices and struggles of partisan workers and the PPP's experience and expedience in party politics.  I am further schooled in popular culture and pop icons, but I will not understand the refusal to speak freely and openly of former leaders in public office.

If you're such a popular figure, then, with the flowers, you should also be ready to receive the thorns. It really is that simple. Call it tough love. 

The state and the PPP establishment have no right to coopt public office and render it a throne. The state must not be partisan. It's an OFFICE, not a Mahal, nor a Jamaat. The office stays. People/leaders come and go. Get over it, get on top of it and stay ahead of it. That's the spirit of service. The servicemen and women are never bigger than service, are never beyond service. 

If BB belonged to the Peoples Party (whatever that means), then surely, her so-called legacy and spoils of leadership are OURS to plunder, pillage and scrutinize. You gotta grant me my 10-110 % here!!! 

She belongs to the citizens she claims to serve, not only in their patronage, but also in their protest. If she belongs to me, and claims to represent me (a problematic idea in and of itself), then surely I should be able to (re)vision her as I will. 

Which is why the idea of a "People's" party is troublesome in the first place. When you're part of the feudal elite, everyone and anyone else can be lumped into the homogenizing category of "People" with condescending ease and remove. This is a convenient exercise too, for the people become the lowest common denominator as seen from the highest of vantage points. It's really never been about the people- it's been about peopledom. There's a cleavage here, one which Pakistan seems to be falling deeper and deeper into. So that ideas of empowering the people/the MANY are only refractions of ruling-class ideology/the FEW. The masses are made. Massification is a project, not unlike the nation-state. I think this Youtube user's comment serves to illustrate how precarious and fragile the term "people" really is: "i will never vote for you people, tum kia jano masoor ki daal kitnay ki milti hai." It is, perhaps unwittingly, disruptive of the People in the people's party. It is poised to question: Whose people yaara? Yours? Mine? Ours? WTF? Masoor ki daal.

In context of the PPP and trinitarian Baap-Beti-Beta Bhuttoisms at large, nothing is more elitist/exclusivist than claiming to speak for and galvanize the people ("masses") when you've been born into landed privilege. Nothing spells elitist reappropriation of apparently populist ideals, more. 

BB, you really were a remarkable woman. I just wish a greater spectrum of remarks would be engaged. 

So on this auspicious 4th Anniversary, also arbitrarily designated a National Holiday - like we don't get enough of those already- I will not contribute to preferred + privileged + dominant canonizing discourses and narratives. 

I will not keep my peace, nor dignified, politically correct silence. I shouldn't have to. 
That's what gravestones are for. And by the likes of Garhi Khuda Bakhsh's entombed legacies, some stones speak for themselves. And some are so boastful, so set, so erect, they silence dissident whisperings all together, and seem to make a second killing and heartier stuffing of fallen martyr.

If only those paying their respects would read more than just their Fatiah. 

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Postscript; To the Lost

May you rest in peace. And May I, my mortal self, never find it in this life. 

No ease for me, in Sovereign peace. 
Make that an order of unrest, 
on the rocks please. 

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This poster recasts the cover to Hofstadter's "Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid" Penguin Books, 1980.
I thought the Mobius triangle would be a fitting way to convey the never-ending spiral of dynastic, in-house politics and symbolise the trinitarian extent of Bhuttoism, today. The PPP arrow might just as well be a bloodline, and a bloody one at that too. The Khaki shades reflect yet another presence in Pakistan's political history: that of the uniform, against whom democracy is sworn as "the best revenge", a vicious cycle all its own.

Mythic Politik 1: POPulisms

Mythic Politik 1: POPulisms; Dil Bola Pakola.


 25th December, 2011.

The PTI rally today was heartening, to say the least. And I'm not speaking here from a partisan standpoint.  Where I do wish Imran Khan's proclamations were anchored in more than just rhetoric, I gotta admit, rhetoric can be addictive, uplifting and empowering. To that effect, the rally today was quite compelling. It was a sight to behold.

Who needs a solution when you got a slogan? Who needs a future when you're drunk on the heady brewing imperative of now? That kinda sentiment. It's sexy. It catches on. 
I caught on too, not to the politics of it, but the poetics of it. The assemblage, flags, celebrations, speeches. The promises. And how each of these things are performed, staged and cued.  

People are so cynical about Obama, and we all have our reasons I'm sure, but I remember the night of his election, I was suffused with hope and possibility. If I were to freeze that moment in time and take a snapshot, and separate it from what was to follow and what came before, it sure was beautiful. And it still is. Perhaps it is beauty betrayed, but beauty nonetheless.

If I can think of a way to seize the moment and then freeze it, I can perhaps find a way to rescue it from potential betrayal. You might call it an exercise in foolishness, but I call it one of vindication. Pre emptive as much as it is redemptive- my mythic politik. 

I like doing that with pretty much everything. 

That initial point of contact. Before you have to worry about where you must proceed from that point. Just that irreducible speck of satisfaction and faith. Before there's too much gum and tongue. before you hit some posterior wall. Before the after-taste kicks in. before the fall. that's where the magic is at. 

We tend to privilege the continuous. At the expense of the momentous. When we do privilege momentous occasions, we feel compelled to locate them in a bigger history and anchor them in greater contexts and timelines. So that the moment gets mangled with all these other concerns and trajectories. 

Demonstrations of fidelity- political, social ,sexual, what have you- can feel very true. So amazingly powerful and dramatic. The trust we invest in the social contracts, oaths and vows we undertake, is a beautiful thing. Even if it is abused after, as it often can be. It's beautiful when it's plucked out of that timeline. The *moment* we swear upon eternity, minus all the concern with eternity. Now isn't that just the most convenient dream ever?

I saw an expectant sparkle in so many of the attendants' eyes today; their hope in betterment.It's never a waste of time. Because the moment I lose trust, I lose vitality. I lose sparkle.

Sometimes I think, damn the ballot. Bring on the confetti, and belong, for a moment, to something bigger and better than your surroundings. Surrender to the mob. At least, it's a happy mob. At least, the only riotousness here is the mischief of courting possibility and flirting with potentiality. 

Celebrate. Before our preoccupation with continuity and a sense of objective remove, screws everything over and sends this parade under.

Congratulations to all the attendants at the rally today, and PTI supporters in general. In my wilfully and unapologetically contrived snapshot, this day, change *did* come. The revolution did arrive. It may have been two hours late. But it came all right. The flags bear witness. 

If your revolution doesn't stay, don't hold the moment accountable or answerable. Hold the guy on the podium responsible. For the moment is true, but ever so careless. It makes no promises, and keeps no secrets. It is so pure and so irresponsibly perfect. How could you not be swayed by it?

As a caveat to carpe diem, it's not just seizing the moment that's important to me, and freezing it in snap-shot, it's letting go once the seizing's done, and releasing it from the cold clutches of historical continuity, analysis and hindsight. 

Before there's too much gum and tongue. Before you hit some posterior wall. Before you lose yourself in his oral cavity. Before mommy walks in the room and finds you out. Before she tells you you've been bad. Bad enough to commit wholeheartedly to the one thing that makes you good- trust and hope. Bad enough to believe in revolution.

It's only a kiss, mother. It’s only our spirits in the air. It’s only the fizz on the brim of our raised glasses (sparkling water, not sharaab, mother). It’s only soda pop. He was so hot, we were frothing at the lips. But we won’t heed your caution. We won’t handle with care.

It’s only a kiss, mother. It's only a revolution. 

Let us Rejoice, before the fall. Before our belatedness can read the writing on the wall (yes; the very same).

Before there is too much tooth 'n' tongue. Before they can say, you were in college, silly, and ever so young.

His Splattered Contents.

He's feeling so inadequate today. Not bad about himself. But not quite good enough. Never present enough. Or broad enough at the shoulders enough. It's not cold enough to cover up enough. Not bulging enough. He's not bursting. He's not swelling enough. Not lead role enough. Doesn't dress well enough. Not enough money, enough. Doesn't lift enough weight, enough.


So much doubt. don't hurt in public doubt. don't cry too loud doubt. don't betray your weakness doubt. Walk with purpose, doubt. Don't wear that tank top in public doubt. take your T-shirt off in a carefree way, doubt. What will they say doubt. He loves boys doubt. But he was never one of them. He's not beautiful enough, doubt. don't take those doubt. you could take them though doubt. don't go there doubt. don't take God's name in vain doubt. Don't shove your finger up His glorious fucking dominion doubt. don't just give up yet doubt. don't jump doubt. don't jump yet doubt. there's a balcony and opportunity so you really can doubt. 8th floor doubt. Will they pick up the splattered contents of your spilled over soul and make something new and beautiful out of it doubt? Will they hear doubt? Will they ask doubt? Will they call the authorities? Will they shout doubt? Will the Earth pause for a moment doubt. Jump! Too late doubt. You could have gone for the coloured pills, doubt. You should have, doubt. Judy will welcome you at the other side, doubt. Rainbows are real, doubt. You had a life, doubt. You had his love, doubt. He looked into your eyes and said, and meant it too, "You are the most beautiful thing I ever saw" doubt. "I'm in love with you" doubt. "Are you really", doubt. "Yes I am", doubt. "Will you marry me" doubt. "Yes I will" doubt. No you won't, doubt. You're ugly doubt. So ugly doubt. 8th floor, looking down doubt. Over and out, doubt. Curtain call, doubt. There'll be a standing ovation, doubt. Am I looking alright? doubt. Yes you are, doubt. Am I ready? doubt. Yes you are, doubt. You're ready, doubt. Put on your best smile, doubt. Don't show your teeth, doubt. They're not quite aligned, doubt. Smile and wave doubt. Smile and wave, doubt. Don't give a fuck- doubt. Does he like it when you fuck-doubt. Should I taste it or swallow, doubt. You had his love, doubt. He looked into your eyes and said, and meant it too, "You are the most beautiful thing I ever saw" doubt. Have faith in his eyes, doubt. Believe in his smile, doubt. It will save you, doubt. It will save you, doubt. It's not too-late, doubt. You can still jump, doubt. There's no fall like a free fall, doubt. Jump, doubt. Jump, doubt.

Will-they-pick-up-the-splattered-contents-of-your- spilled-over-soul-and-make-something-new-and-beautiful-out-of-it-doubt.