What is Killing Pakistan?

Now that is a question isn’t it? Won’t you like to know? I bet you do. Now, now, let’s get do the operating room then. Come. Come, the patient is already on the life support system for long now. Yes, nurse? Oh, the patient Pakistan is not doing well again. Nothing serious I hope. Let me see… Please, wait my fellow Pakistani friend before I can give you the guided tour of the operating theatre. I have to check my patient. Won’t take long…

Ah, back again and you’re still here. Brilliant! Now then. You are interested in knowing what is killing the patient Pakistan. Right. Well, many things really. Uh, let me see… Oh, no. It’s not the absolute corruption. Not completely, but it has its part in the patient’s mortal illness. Army? No, sorry to disappoint you. It has done a little of its part in accelerating the process but not really. Nah. Absolutely corrupt politicians you’re saying. Wrong again. They just sold its body parts and a little of its blood but they are not really killing it. You got to better than that. I take it that you’re related to the patient. Well, come then. Let’s have a peak at it before… you know. Mind the glass. Please, don’t touch it. They cleaned it this morning. No fingerprints, please. We don’t take fingerprints in this hospital. We’re not afraid of you like some other institutions, my harmless Pakistani friend. Yes, you can come closer. That will do. But no breathing on the glass… infections spread that way.

Now then. What do you see? Right on stranger. The patient Pakistan is on the operating table and is knocked out by the heavy narcosis. Good. You see the infusion tubes pumping blood and other liquids in its veins. We are using special serums and steroids to keep the patient going. It’s a tough job. What else? Cool. You’re sharp! Yes, that’s right. On the monitor you are watching its nimble heart beat. Bloop, bloop, bloop. Not reaching the peaks, is it? Well, if its heart was doing that well then Pakistan wouldn’t be on the operating table. Would it? No, you’re right. Are you a doctor? Surgeon? Well, most of you are either engineers or doctors. Sorry. So, you’re not. Strange. Anyway, as I was saying, the patient is rather ill. And you, my expat or local Pakistani friend, are interested in finding out what is killing your distant relative. Well, let’s move on then before the old boy bites the big one... Are you really related to Pakistan? Just curious. Oh, well, none of my business really.

You want to come with to see the operation from up close. Right? Well, okay. We’ll change the rules this time. For you! But you got to disinfect yourself before that. The patient has so many infections already that one harmless little germ from you might do the thing. No offence. I know you’re clean. There’s still a little time and you can do the necessary washing up. Yes, nurse? You want to have your lunch break? Now? What about the patient? I’m going to operate within half an hour. You’ll be back in time. Oh, well, then… go ahead.

Ah, you still curious. Are you really a close relative of Pakistan? I have learnt that the patient is in enormous debts and has been living under the poverty lines for almost all its life. I don’t think it has any assets at home to leave you a piece of the pie in its will. Poor fellow doesn’t even have a solicitor. Lawyer? Oh, you mean liar. Oh, well, it had many liars in all of its life. Now, let’s get back to the patient before it’s too late. I mean there is no fun operating on a dead body. Is it? But before I take you inside I think I have to get an agreement from you. No, not that kind. Just that you won’t touch its body or anything else. You’ll just watch the operation. Sure, you can ask questions. No, worries. But if you feel you are getting sick or anything exotic like that, please, don’t puke on me or my patient and take your stuff out. Let me check how late it is? Oh, well, still got twenty five minutes to kill. You want to come back later perhaps. No? All right. Let me use this time to fill you in with the patient’s case history. It might help you understand what is killing your close or distant relative.

First, the general ailments and minor infections. Now where shall I start? Let me get its charge sheet. Be right back….

Hey, I am back. Well, well,… long history for a somebody so young. Mere fifty seven. Now, now, the patient has a long list of minor infections. Interesting. Timber mafia. Land mafia. Mullah mafia. Water mafia. Drugs mafia. AK-47 mafia. Uhmmm. Oh, here it is. Political mafia. Human mafia. Yes, they trade in young Pakistani women and children for the international sex market and to your brethren of the Oily Gulf. Where they tie them on camel’s hump… oh, you know that story. Sorry. What we have here… oh, yes, you have the police mafia which is rather well organised crime machine. What else? Bureaucratic mafia. Ethnic mafia. Sectarian mafia… the list is rather long. Let’s get to some major infections then.

The patient Pakistan is the only one in the world to have twenty three Prime Ministers in its rather short life. Some fools call it none democratic country. The first one, yes, L A Khan… you know him? Well, he was the only one who loved the patient. He was sort of uncle to it because he was a close friend and a comrade of its father, M A Jinnah. You know him too. Oh, well, your relatives. Well, when an unknown man put some bullets in L A Khan’s chest in Rawalpindi my patient had its first nervous break down. You see its father died when it was almost a year old and the uncle had become a kind of father to it. After that some Field Marshal imposed some marshal law on the child and grounded it for ten years. After the death of its uncle some unknown person killed its aunt in her Karachi home. She was kind of mother to it. You know her? F Jinnah was her name. Really articulate lady. She was against the grounding of her nephew and wanted to have Democracy for it to play in the garden. And after that the orphan was kind of on the mercy of strangers. Then it got chopped into two pieces by another of its guardians. Y A Khan. Well, this general was busy doing things for his big friend Dick N and neglected the orphan. Then came another bogeyman, Z A Bhutto, and took away all its toys. Then the child was grounded again by another guardian, Z u H. Well, you know that story. When our friend Z u H did the kamikaze thing then came BB to comfort and mother the orphan but spanked the child instead. Then came N Sharif and did his part and again came BB and again came N S. And now another guardian is kind of taking care of the orphan. You know him? P M. No, not Prime Minister. General P Musharraf. He wants to the patient to become something different again. But I haven’t seen him in the hospital yet. Perhaps he’ll come after… you know. Anyway, this is a short list of its other infections. There is only one big infection that is really killing it… let me turn the page… uhmmm… let’s see… Oh, my godddddd… No, that can’t be… How it is possible? How dare you… I mean how dare you threaten the life of my patient. Now, don’t look so innocent. You want to leave? Go ahead. My goodness… I can’t believe it. You are killing my patient, Pakistan. It has been you all along, I can see it now. I can’t believe it. And you look so harmless. Now don’t deny it. It is stated here on the sheet. Oh, you want to know how you’re killing Pakistan? I bet you do.

I mean how could you? After all what my patient had tried to do for you. It loved you and did its best but couldn’t because of its infections. It’s … oh, never mind. It’s not going to make any difference now. I still have to operate. You still want to come to the operating room? Well, I have to think about that. But let me tell you first how you are killing this orphan. There are forty five percent inside my patient who are living under the dark poverty line. Then you have a million or so who are really rich. And then owner of my patient’s body, dead or alive, are the twenty two families. You belong to that little portion of middle or lower middle or lower-lower middle class. How many are you there anyway? Forty million? Fifty? No, not that much. But which ever segment you belong to you are killing my patient. You are the ONE! We know. We have done DNA tests on the patient. Pakistan’s mortal sickness lies in the DNA and that weakness has made it possible for the minor or major infections to accelerate the process of its near…. Death.

You want to know how? Why? What difference is it going to make now? Oh, you are advising me never to loose hope and stuff… Whatever. It is your indifference to Pakistan that is killing the poor lad. Your total and absolute indifference to it. Do you really want democracy? I mean really? As in… you can’t live without it. Be honest now. Can you really live without it? Do you really want justice? Or just get ahead. As long as you are safe yourself and get what you want… then it doesn’t matter. Do you really want to see the poverty vanish from the body of my dying patient? Can you live without it? I mean who are you? What is your true identity? Do you really have any? Take a minute and think. Ask yourself. Don’t have to tell me. It doesn’t matter to me. But who are you? What are you? A Pakistani? Are you sure? Nah. If you were then I wouldn’t have to perform the dangerous operation on the patient. If you really couldn’t live without democracy then a few generals and less than a thousand politicians wouldn’t be selling body parts of my patient. If you really wanted to be FREE then you wouldn’t accept to be held in the prisons of your minds by overweight mullahs and heartless generals-politicians. Apart from getting ahead of your relatives and neighbours what do you really want? Would it make any difference to you if my patient dies? Oh, I’m not blaming for anything. Who am I? None of my business really. I just want to understand the disease that is killing my patient, Pakistan. And I think I have found it. You can hate me. Please, do if that helps. But I rather be hated by someone who know who-and-what he/she is than by someone who has no clue to his/her existential identity. Just a few confused dreams and ideas and most of them are not even your own. Just want to emulate those of the Post-modern societies where you live or want to live and never really belong to and always come back to my patient Pakistan to get married to your own kind or by big houses. Nah, I rather be hated by someone who has a crystalline and clear identity. I doubt it whether even your hate is pure.

Well, I must be getting back to the operating room. You still want to come? Hey, nurse. How was your lunch? Well, I hope you aren’t feeling too sleepy after that hefty meal… our patient needs our full attention. Yes, tonight at my place. Bring her as well. Oh, not the chubby one… the new one. All right let’s get our hands red.