Sunday, May 20, 2012


The very first post on this blog, back in 2008, was on Benazir Bhutto - Pakistan & Benazir Bhutto... (Jan 2nd repost). It predicted: "...The other people killed in the blast (21?) will be consigned to oblivion, mourned only by their relatives. After all, they are merely minor cogs compared to Benazir, scion of a landowning family in a feudal society, and 'great white hope' for the future... Similarly, in 1980 when Sanjay Gandhi died at the controls of his Pitts Special stunt plane, the sycophants surrounding and living off the family like so many pilot fish not only ignored the death of his co-pilot but actively blamed him for Sanjay's death (after all, how could the 'demi-god' have made a mistake himself?) Let the hagiography commence! It's part of the eco-system for the aforementioned pilot fish..."

Well, here is a prime example, an extract from an especially cringe-worthy paean designed to promoted her daughter's entry into Pakistani politics... Read it and weep!

“Benazir Lives”… I’ve always have heard this and possess an unyielding credence in these words. Nevertheless, as I turn up to gaze at the heavens in moments of obscurity, she is there to placate me and to grant me hope and direction. The instant, I see myself ripped by obstructions, she is there to give me valor and vigor. The empathy twinges into trillions and splits my soul as I heed of her brutal assassination even after years, be it a very small mention of the sacrifice that she gave for democracy and humanity. My eyes have not turned blind after watching it and my ears haven’t turned deaf after hearing the sound of bullets – atrocious world… Isn’t it? Someone gives their blood and the other instant; one finds the boulevards being washed to hide that blood… Hide it from whom….and for how long…? Failure, when the blood begins to write up its own history; failure, when the same blood cries out: “You cannot execute a vision”; an utter failure, when you find the same blood flowing through her “charismatic” daughter, Bakhtawar Bhutto Zardari.

Time turns to be pitiless, fate turns to be austere, and life turns to be a prickly passage, but there is a flicker of illumination far apart, which tends to brighten the entire universe. That light brings in a message of buoyancy and prosperity, and a conviction to stand with the demoralized and to take a bullet for safeguard the motherland. Thereby, the legend begins – a story of exemplary audacity in a sea of tears. “Benazir” courage comes into existence again, as it requires guts to be able to recall those vicious blazes that burnt the entire planet and snatched the anticipation from trillions – The words do not exist, but yet, it requires empathy to feel that excruciating incident, which threw the entire nation into gloom. In all the frustrations, one heeds the voice that reaches straight away to the heavens:”…murdered legendary mother…you had beauty and intelligence…enemies feared your presence…shot at the back of your ear, so young in 54th year, murdered with three kids left behind, a hopeless nation without you..."
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