Understanding Ms Bhutto

AUGUST 2003 - Firstly, we all have to understand that the whole thing is a huge conspiracy hatched by the rest of the world against Ms. Bhutto. Understand that and the light of knowledge will surely enter your heart and soul. A series of bizarre and largely unexplained phenomenon have dogged her and her desert prince from day one. Somehow they kept getting knocked around for a whole lot of things they didn’t have a clue about. The latest conspiracy that’s rocked her lecture circuit earnings comes from the misguided and evil forces that now reside in Switzerland. Judge Devil has sold our princess down the river except that I am not sure there is a river involved here unless Mr. Z bought one but never told her. The judge makes his pronouncement on his last day in office and then disappears. Now isn’t that strange? Maybe the aliens took him. Some say that it took him so many years to reach a verdict because he was waiting for the LFO crisis to emerge and get really big. LFO? Toberlone? MMA? Rolex? What have they in common? The PPP High Command has it all figured out. One day we will too.

But this is getting very complicated. All stories about BB are always complicated except money, where a high level of lucid thinking is in evidence. They are also so weird that BB rightly believes she is visited by aliens who want to take over her party. In that sense, BB is engaged in a fight to the end galactic battle so that she can win and do the only thing that matters to her - work for the poor. Imagine her plight when one day while reading the classified section looking for a cheap canary, she discovers she has 61 bank accounts in Switzerland. Now most people would simply faint at such a shocking discovery, but not BB. She casually asks Mr. Z who is playing monopoly if they have 61 bank accounts in Switzerland. He of course has a problem about this, because he can’t remember if Switzerland is the name of a polo pony or an offshore company he might have picked up during an attack of amnesia. Quite correctly, he denies particularly when informed that it is not a polo pony. However, since the cheques books never appear, the Zees, used to strange things happening to them all the time, simply shrug their shoulders and carry on – BB battling for the poor and the downtrodden; Mr. Z playing monopoly. But there is more distressing news.

It appears that BB has a diamond necklace that she can’t account for. She hasn’t bought it and goes through all her home videos to see if she might have filmed herself buying it, but there isn’t any footage to help her. Maybe somebody in the party gave it to her seeing that mangoes that year were not very good. Who can tell? There is talk of a swank store in Knightsbridge where the mysterious necklace is purchased but really this is all make believe. Knightsbridge is most likely a place where knights cross a bridge to reach watering holes for their horses and hardly a place where diamond necklaces attach themselves to whoever is within striking distance. BB is mystified. Maybe I am sleepwalking into jewellery stores she thinks. As usual, Mr. Z is no help. Is it a polo pony, he asks and goes back to his monopoly. BB is truly bewildered. 61 bank accounts, offshore companies, necklaces, what next she wonders. Villas in France. And sure enough, right as rain, they pop up. The aliens are at it hammer and tongs.

Now the Swiss say the trinket is hers and should be ours, her subjects. BB says it’s not hers and we say we don’t know. Where’s the necklace anyway? Even if we get it and find it is the thing, the abiding mystery will remain. Whose necklace is it? I see the hidden hand of the aliens. Poor BB. Taking the rap again. What will she next find on her table other than low fat cheese? Eiffel Tower. Stranger things have happened, as she well knows and there is never any end to bad luck.

While still recovering, this estate pops up like Jack in the box – some Rockwood or Woodrock thing. Mr. Z bought it for BB but BB didn’t know or bought it for somebody else and BB didn’t know. The details are sketchy. BB is now mighty perplexed. Maybe she bought it while doing groceries in London. She can’t remember. She looks up at the sky. Sure enough there are aliens rolling about laughing their heads off. It’s a plot. There is more trouble in store. Crates of mangoes (it was a good year for once) – are sent to London. Mr. Z who sent them insists on paying the full freight. At this point in the story, a miracle takes place. During the 8-hour flight to London, the mangoes turn into antiques and heirlooms and have a higher per kilo rate than the mangoes. A bewildered Pakistani High Commissioner tries to explain this modern day miracle but words fail him. Even more mysteriously, the mangoes escape from Heathrow and end up in – well wouldn’t you know, Surrey Palace. Even Fox Muldar of the X-Files throws in the towel, which Mr. Z coolly collects and pockets. The truth is out there but Muldar can’t find it At the Camelot breakfast table, BB asks if they have a palace in Surrey. Mr. Z who is engrossed in watching a video of himself lounging in Surrey palace, denies vehemently. He enquires if Surrey is the name of a polo pony. BB whose general knowledge is strong in such areas replies in the negative, which greatly assures Mr. Z. “Any idea what happened to the mangoes we sent Mr. Winston Churchill?” asks BB. Mr. Z shakes his head. They tot up their earnings and wonder how they will survive with the aliens zapping them continuously. “We are spending too much on turnips, Mr. Z,” BB sighs. “We’ve got to cut down,” agrees Mr.Z. “Perhaps a10% reduction might help,” he adds. BB thinks it is a great idea. She decides not to let Surrey Palace detract her from the magnum opus she is working on. “It’s an epic poem for my people on my 50th birthday. I want my people to hear good poetry since they have everything already,” she adds. Her party, which is in loyal attendance having had brain transplants recently, applaud loudly. “It’s a wonderful idea. She’s a lady of deep vision,” says Amin Fahim. “At last a revolutionary step forward for the people,” says Mr. Ahsan. Just then Mr. Keating crawls out of the woodwork and demands he be paid for all the furbishing work he has done on Surrey Palace at a contracted fee of half a million pounds. BB who by this time is far too involved (‘The muse is upon me,’ she moans) asks Mr. Z if he can burn half of Islamabad while she completes her masterpiece. Mr. Z obliges. As they dance around the pyre, BB recites, “We will raise buildings in the desert,” and Mr. Z says, “I’ll take care of the project.” “What brilliant words,” chant the Party faithful.

As the sun goes down, the merrymaking continues. What’s the moral of this story? None. What can we learn from it? Zilch. What will happen in the future? Nothing. Will justice prevail? Nonsense. What should the people do? Beat their heads and hear good poetry. “I think of the poor people/ a better fate they deserve,” sings the Princess from her villa in Dubai. Take heart all is not lost, just most of it.