Pakistan Zindabad

Aziz Baloch asked:


A Message to Honorable Leaders of the Baloch "Nation"

The day Pakistani forces forcefully occupied our homeland March 1948, the entire Baloch nation have been slaves up to this day.

The British Empire left our homeland but its legacy of 19th century colonial rule still hangs on our knick in this 21st century by the Islamic Republic of Pakistan who is cleverly using the tool of Islam as a binding force on one hand, slogan of so called autonomy, and pseudo- democracy on the other hand for the last 62 years to continue keep us as their slaves.

The state of Pakistan tried the same old card of Islam, autonomy, and democracy with the East Pakistan Bengali nation up to 1971, but evidently failed. Because, Pakistani rulers shamelessly denied Bengali people their language rights, excluded them from civilian, establishments and military jobs by saying the height of Bengalis were too short. The whole industries, businesses, and banks were occupied by dominated province of Punjab and by Urdu speaking {immigrant from India} while abandoning the Bengalis from all such opportunities. The irony is Pakistani rulers have been keeping parallel dark ruthless polices against the Baloch nations for many decades.

When Pakistani rulers aggressively continued its suppression against the Bengali nation the brutality of Pakistani military forces and injustices had awakened the entire Bengali nation who stood like an iron wall against the Pakistani ruthless army. Therefore, the Bengali national struggle led their people to their end destination, a separate state today called Bangladesh.

Similarly, since March 2005, Baloch nation realized the 5th bloody military operation, a massacre of Baloch nation. There has been extra judicial killing till today and the assassinations of their prominent Baloch leaders left no choice but struggle till victory and to protect Baluchistan’s rich-natural resources from occupiers who have forcefully and shamelessly been stealing for many decades.

These Pakistani rulers have two tiers of government and rules in their mind, one to protect their interest and one to keep exploiting the “Baloch national wealth”.

In such so called autonomy Baloch nation will never accept.

Pakistani intelligence agencies are at the same time using the inhuman and barbaric tactics by sponsoring the state terrorism across Balochistan [and around the world] such is burning the Baloch innocent people alive. Baloch leaders are given poison inside jails and are being hung upside down, an unimaginable image in a civilized society.

A Baloch writer’s genital was electrocuted, Baloch female teachers is being kept as sex slaves by Pakistani military officers. Balochi managing TV director is kept in dark cells, inhumanly treated and tortured because he wanted to have satellite Balochi TV.

Baloch leaders and activists are thrown from military helicopters to the ground. Baluchistan’s well known scholars are being targeted by state agents.

“The government is deliberately targeting the cream of Balochistan. The best of the Baloch intellectuals and politicians are being killed one after another” says Baloch leader, Habib Jalib Baloch "parliamentary politician." This is true that Baloch scholar and the secretary of Mines and Minerals of Balochistan, Jan Muhammad Dashti, was deliberately targeted on February 23rd, 2009, and many Baloch writers and journalist in Balochistan. But Baloch honorable leaders should know that without being united the state will continue to “kill one after another” until the extinction of Baloch nation.

Therefore, “The Human Rights World reports 2009” says “Journalist continues to face pressure and threats from non-state actors and element of Pakistanis intelligence apparatus.”

On April 3rd 2009, Three Baloch leaders, Mir Gulam Mohammad Baloch, Lala Munir Ahamed, and Sher Mohammed Baloch had been kidnapped by dozens of Pakistani intelligence inside from their lawyer’s office. Their lawyer Mir Kachkol Ali, an senior advocate and former Balochistan assembly opposition leader.

On April 8th, 2009 all three Baloch leaders’ {martyred} dead bodies were found 35 kilometers far from city of Turbat, Balochistan where they had originally been kidnapped

The United Nations Secretary General’s spokesperson, Michele Mantas expressed his views about the Baloch leaders’ killing by the Pakistani intelligence, saying it is a “serious concern” and his statements continued saying “The United Nations extends its condolences to the families of the deceased.”  {April 10, 2009 the Nations Newspapers}

Recently the United Nations team had sought to help in freeing their refugee agency head (UNHCR) John Solecki who was kidnapped in Quetta, Balochistan, and two month ago by unknown arm groups, known as the Balochistan Liberation United Front (BLUF). They had demanded the Pakistani government to releases 1, 109 Baloch men along with 141 Baloch women whom are kept in prison in Pakistani intelligence secret cells.

The prominent Baloch leaders Nawab Khair Baksh Marri had played an important role by freeing John Solecki along with the Baloch leader Gulam Mohammed Baloch  and exile Baloch leader Nawabzada Hair Biar Marri from United Kingdom while all Baloch leaders had condemned the UN official kidnapping .  All three {Baloch leaders} had met with UN personals and on April 2nd, 2009 John Solecki was freed. BLUF spokesperson Shehek  Baloch said . “BLUF released the kidnapped UN employee on humanitarian grounds.”

Therefore in Islamabad the US embassy said “We condemned the recent killings of three Baloch leaders…one of the individual [Baloch leader Gulam Mohammed Baloch] played an active role in efforts towards the release of an American citizen and UNCHR official John Solecki.” (April 10, 2009 GEO televisions Pakistan)

The release of UN official John Solecki is good news. Yet, thousands of Baloch families still wake up every morning without seeing their loved ones, they continue to hope and dream of an end result like that of John Solecki . Their loved ones are still in the Pakistani intelligence prisons under torchers  and  Baloch nation is facing more disappearances and extra judicial killings across Balochistan as we speak.

The sharp reaction amongst the educated Baloch over the killings their leaders were strong  across Balochistan such as  ”By political killing of Baloch leaders,  the independence movement can not be put down, through Martyred of Gulam Mohammed Baloch , Lala Munir Ahamed Baloch and Sher Mohammed Baloch, the Baloch nation can not be afraid. A martyred always makes history..now the voice of freedom is coming from every house of Baloch. The Pakistani rulers, should remember that Baloch leaders Gulam Mohammed Baloch killing was not an individual case, by killing him they have murdered the whole Baloch nation..Baloch nation is going to rise up till their “independence.”  Writes a Banodee Baloch from Balochistan, Master degree in political science {April 11, 2009 Daily Tawar}

Former governor and Chief Minister of Balochistan a secular Baloch leaders {Martyred} Nawab Akbar Khan Bugti who had in-depth knowledge and experience about the Pakistani parliamentary politics, he had observed very closely the Pakistani rulers psychic he said, “We Baloch leadership are being offered as Chief Minister, governorship, Ministers, by encouraging receiving tons of salaries for our self to compromise our nation’s rights and to destroy our upcoming generation future.” 

He admitted boldly at the end of his political career that “ In Pakistan’s parliamentary politics, there is distress and distress only.”  And he also exposed the Pakistani ruler’s true face towards Baloch leaders by saying “Pakistanis rulers never stood with their promises.”  Baloch nations believe their legendary leaders had given a strong message to the present honorable Baloch leaders. Baloch gournalist Ahmar Mustikhan based in Washington DC writes the following regarding Akbar Khan Bugti: “Former U.S. ambassador to Pakistan, Robert Oakley, showered praise on Bugti during the slain leader's lifetime and said he was capable enough to become the governor of any state in the U.S. Oakley called Bugti a martyr." Pakistani rulers treated such a Baloch prominent and secular leader which has left a dark mark on Pakistani rulers’ history.

Perhaps, it will be a grave mistake by honorable Baloch leaders if they do not review their political strategy. This has been seen as bleakly effective, it has been failing their nation and if they continue with actions and methods of the past for the future, there is likely to be any positive or different result. They cannot expect a new result from such ineffective and tested parliamentary politics from the past, which can be stated in relevance to Albert Einstein’s explanation that “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” In the end the Baloch nation is going to pay a high price for actions they can currently change, hence if they do this will evidently translate to change for the future, if not the price to be paid will be immense.

Our honorable leaders must serve as base for change for our future generation.

While Baloch nation continue to fight for freedom from their occupiers and oppressors, they are well aware that achieving such a goal will be a monumental struggle and rigorous battle to the end. Thus the need for unity and a strong alliance that needs to start from within the Baloch population before it can perpetuate any further.  The practice of appeasing the enemy state of Baloch, Pakistan for their self gain must stop and those leaders must refrain from such heinous activity. The only result that they should be happy with are those that further the cause of the Baloch National struggle till victory and nothing less. 

Baloch nation believe through their honorable Baloch leader’s unity along with the backing of their entire nation we will regain our sovereignty and free ourselves from slavery. That’s a realistic and achievable long dream for the Baloch nation. And because Baloch national struggle is legal, legitimate according to international law. Similarly, like East Timor leaders who led their entire nation to victory and history witnesses East Timor freed from Indonesia’s occupations and have become an independent nation. 

Ultimately, the nation believes the ball is in their honorable Baloch leader’s court.

 

Sidra Nadeem asked:


(For additional articles written by me please visit my blog on http://www.readitlive.com )

I have met many people in my life, but I’ve met no one like Sitara.

That spring of 2001, I was one of the last passengers to get off flight PK 724. The rush had mostly cleared off the airport. Dragging the luggage behind me, I pushed my glasses up my nose and strained my eyes. I’d never actually been to my parents’ homeland before but I’d seen enough pictures of my Pakistani family to recognize her, standing by the railing, looking directly at me and smiling.

Fariha and Altaf Hamid had decided to migrate to the US back in the 1970’s, when everyone was leaving Pakistan in search of better opportunities. Starting as modest clinical psychiatrists in a community hospital in Saint Louis, Missouri, they now owned the best psychiatric hospital in town. And I was their son, their only child.

Once in the US, my parents had gotten stuck in the mechanical life, like bearings in a machine. They worked hard at their careers, built a home, had a child and opened a hospital. They just never had time, a reason or even family to come back to. My father was the only child and my mother had one sister, whose daughter was now waiting for me beyond the glass doors of the arrival hall. Even though I was born and raised in America, ‘The Promised Land’ where people have it all, I had always felt like there was something missing in my life. I’d never been able to put my finger on it, and that was exactly why I had flown 16 hours that day.

“I’m a star. You?” were Sitara’s first words as she greeted me, smiling mischievously, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

“I’m a fan,” I said, half amazed, half confused, not really sure how to answer that. That was not the kind of greeting I had expected from a Pakistani girl.

Once on the streets of Lahore, I could not believe what I saw; wide four-laned roads with a river of cars flowing from one side to the other, huge billboards displaying all kinds of consumer accessories and buildings that weren’t exactly skyscrapers, but certainly had more than two or three floors.

“I thought America had billboards, too,” Sitara said, probably noticing me gawking out of the window with a slightly opened mouth, which I closed immediately, realizing I must have been looking like a fool.

“Yeah, of course, America has billboards. I just didn’t know Pakistan did, too,” I said, momentarily taking my eyes off the road and looking at her. “Where are the donkeys?”

“The Donkeys?” she inquired, as if wanting the name of a specific one, so that she could provide me with an address and phone number.

“Yeah, mom told me there are donkeys and horses with carts strapped to their backs out on the streets. I was really looking forward to meeting them!” I explained.

Sitara chuckled childishly and said, “At this time of the night, they’re probably sleeping. Poor souls don’t have the cable or internet to keep ‘em up.”

“I have a feeling you were expecting a twenty years younger version of Pakistan,” she added after a slight pause.

“Yeah, that’s what mom told me,” I said sheepishly, slightly ashamed of my lack of knowledge of the world outside the US.

“Well boy, you’re in for some surprises!” she said and stepped on the accelerator, hitting 100 km/h on the wide, street-lit road.

The twenty minute drive from the airport to Khala Jee’s place was all the time Sitara needed to find her comfort zone with me. Shy at first, not knowing what to say to a Pakistani girl who was so different from my expectations, I soon relaxed as she told me how different I was from what she had pictured. Apparently, I had to have multi-colored hair, a tattoo on my shoulder and pants torn at the knees to qualify as an ABCD (American Born Confused Desi.)

“Hello, meet Kitty,” she said, introducing me to my first family and home in Pakistan, “She’s my cat. She’ll be in charge of cleaning your bones. No no, not your bones, the bones of the chicks and goats you eat, once you’re done with them that is, or maybe before that, too. Sometimes she tends to jump on the table and insists on eating with us. Here, meet Sara, she’s fourteen and without a doubt the proudest nerd of the world. She feels honoured to tell everyone her glasses are a centimeter thick! And here’s Saad, he’s ten and very shy. Saad, say Salam to Waqas Bhai, he has chocolates in his bag and for God’s sakes stop hiding behind me!”

In the next room, I greeted Khaloo and Khala Jee, who were extremely delighted to hear me calling them Khaloo and Khala instead of Aunty and Uncle. My mother had always taught me to call my relations by their Urdu names. Khala Jee was an exceptionally beautiful woman, sharing my mother’s sharp features, only more chiseled and refined. In comparison, I thought Khaloo Jee was like any other Pakistani man, average built, wheatish complexion and graying hair. Their kids had inherited their father’s complexion with their mother’s features, making the most harmonious balance between genes that I’d ever seen.

The one month I spent in that ‘Land of the Pure’ seems one short day now, it passed so quickly. Yet I can remember each day because it was so different from the previous one. My host family left no stone unturned to make me feel at home and an important part of their family. I, in turn, did my best to help them by trying not to have diarrhea.

Sitara and I were the same age; she was actually two months older. After having graduated from college in the summer, she was taking a year off before starting university. When Khaloo and Khala Jee went to work every day and the kids to school, Sitara and I were left at home to make plans for ourselves. And every day was an adventure with her.

Sometimes we would spend the whole day cooking, mixing Sitara’s Pakistani culinary skills with the simple American cuisines I’d learnt at college, to come up with food like Pizza-handi or Macaroni and cheese biryani. Neither of us was good at it, but we had a hell of a lot of fun passing our inventions around the table at night, sometimes stifling our laughter when Khala Jee said things like, “You two should open a restaurant!” Little did she know that the masterpiece she was appreciating had been burnt three times and started from scratch again!

After a day of all the girly work, as a joke, Sitara and I would play PlayStation in the evening. I would beat her at Tekken3 and feel like a boy again.

When we went shopping, we would park the car in the parking lot and walk around the whole area. I was very fond of walking; it gave me more time to observe the things around me. Sitara on the other hand, hated it and got tired quickly, which gave us an excuse to sit at random places with a snack and have people stare at us. I guess sitting on the sidewalk, on the stairs outside a shop or the bonnet of the car wasn’t much appreciated. Sitara once dared me to talk to a shopkeeper in Urdu and ask him if I could use the washroom. What I said roughly translated to “You should go to the washroom.” I was furious at his reaction, until Sitara dragged me out of the shop, barely audible through her fit of laughter and explained to me my horrendous misuse of ‘aap’ (you) in place of ‘mein’ (me).

On weekends, we’d visit the historic places in Lahore. We’d pack a picnic basket and dine in the huge gardens of The Lahore Fort or The Shahi Qila. Sometimes Khaloo and Khala would tell us stories, how they used to come to these places very often as kids because there was no other form of entertainment. There were stories about Khala Jee losing her way once in The Badshahi Masjid and crying for hours before my mom found her, and about Khaloo being offered a candy at The Shalimar Gardens, which he had learnt as a baby not to accept from strangers. And then there were stories that Sitara told me, that I’m pretty sure had nothing to do with reality. “See those vents there?” she said, pointing at the small, barred, window-like openings at the base of the walls of Emperor Jahangir’s Tomb. “Those are dungeons that were used for prisoners. I once came here on a school trip and they opened this small trapdoor for us students to visit underground. They say Jahangir’s wife, Noor Jehan, is buried there and the place is haunted by her spirit. It smelt so strongly of roses down there it wasn’t even funny!”

Living amongst Khala Jee’s family, I soon found out that they, like any other family, were not without problems. What I admired about them was their optimism, their effort to enjoy every single day and not let their worries show. A middle class family struggling to meet its expenses in an inflation stricken economy, Khaloo Jee had taken loans to finance Sitara’s education, which he had no means to pay back. Khala Jee had been a heart patient ever since she’d lost her two year old, Adil, six years ago. I gradually noticed that Sitara was the one who kept them all up. She’d bake a cake to cheer up Sara for getting an A minus on her Math test instead of an A plus. She’d play video games with Saad and teach him how to spell words like ‘multitudinous’ or ’synthesized.’ She’d resolve differences between her parents whenever needed. Suffice it to say, she was the lifeline of that family.

Khaloo and Khala Jee were mostly busy with their jobs but whenever we got time Khaloo Jee would explain to me the economics of Pakistan. The huge influx of money, rapid development, lower interest rates, increasing job opportunities, and right when I’d conclude that all these things were good, he’d delve into the details of how all of it was hyper-inflating the economy. It was small wonder he was a banker. Khala Jee had more to ask than tell. Not having seen her sister in over twenty years, I know she missed her a lot. All she talked about was mom, stories of herself and mom as kids and our lives in the US. Sara, really was the most ardent nerd I’d ever come across. I seldom saw her around the house as she would confine herself to her room behind a fort of books. I’m not even sure if she slept at night because I never found the light in her room switched off. Maybe she kept it on in case of a sudden wake-up-and-study nerd revelation in the middle of the night. The few times I got a chance to talk to her, we discussed Math, education systems in Pakistan and America, and places she could apply to for a PhD. No matter how much I tried, we never tread out of the realm of studies. Saad, who eventually shed his robe of shyness, turned out to be a very friendly kid. I sometimes made small talk with him but I had a feeling he was more interested in my ipod, my cell phone, my digital camera and wristwatch, than he was in me as a person.

But no matter how interesting the days were, what I would never forget about Pakistan were the nights. My second night in the country, Sitara took me to the rooftop where she had two easy chairs, a table in between with a stereo and journal on it. It looked like a place she regularly visited.

“Do you see those stars over there?” she said, pointing towards a cluster in the sky.

“Yeah,” I replied, looking in that direction.

“Can you see how they look like an arrow?” she asked.

“Errr…” I took my time trying to make out the arrow she was talking about, but I could see the stars making no shape whatsoever. “No, they just look like regular stars to me,” I replied, feeling stupid and sorry that I couldn’t see what she was trying to show me.

“Of course they are regular stars, silly!” she said and traced her hand across the sky, showing me how that regular cluster of stars looked like an arrow.

Thus began our long nights.

“I think I’m one of them,” Sitara began to explain, but seeing the confused expression on my face she added, “Sitara means ’star’ in Urdu.”

“Oh, so that’s what you meant at the airport! I thought you were this arrogant little wanna be movie star or something, trying impress her Umreeka-returned cousin,” I said, doing that Desi accent that I simply loved.

She smiled. “Yes, that’s what I meant. I’ve always believed I’m one of the stars. You know, when good people die they become stars and shed their light on the world forever. See those two bright stars over there? That one is my friend, Mohsin. He died in a car accident when we were ten. And that one beside him, that’s Hina. We were best friends for as long as I can remember. She died last year of cancer.”

Before I could interrupt her with a word of comfort, she continued. “I come up here and talk to them whenever I need to get away from everything. The stars, they’re so high up there, they can probably see every single person down here. You know, Waqas, when you’re feeling low and your problems seem to be the biggest in the world, think of yourself as a star and how very small you and your problems look to them, compared to the world as a whole. It’s like you’re this very small part of this very big world. It makes you think of other people with bigger problems than yours.”

“It’s best up in the mountains!” she said suddenly, totally changing the topic. That’s what I loved about her; she never lingered on the sad parts for too long. “I love our summer vacation up north ‘coz, 9000 feet above sea level, the sky is much clearer and closer. I don’t know why or how, but even the stars seem happier. They’re so close to each other, it’s like a tightly knit web of glitter above your head. It’s very beautiful. I sometimes sit by the window all night just looking at the sky. Ma doesn’t let me sit outside there, she says either the cold would get me or a wolf would…” She rambled on in a high squeaky voice, excited like a child when he’s showing off his new toy.

“Why didn’t you take up astrology as a major in college?” I asked. It would’ve been the best career option for her, considering the passion she had for the subject.

“I thought about it, I even took a few classes but then I realized I didn’t wanna know about the scientific figures and explanations. ‘Coz whenever science comes into something, emotion goes out of it,” she explained, “And I don’t want to think of stars as cold heavenly bodies, made out of dense particles of molecular clouds and blah.”

Trying to set her facts right, I said, “Just because you see them silver from down here, it doesn’t mean they’re cold. Temperatures of stars actually vary from 2000K—”

“See!” she said, cutting me in mid-sentence, probably irritated by this manly urge to be scientifically accurate. “Whatever Science comes in to, emotion goes out of!”

We would come up to the rooftop every night, after getting done with the day’s work, and sit there for hours, looking at the stars and talking. I was very fond of talking. Talking about everything and anything at all. More than intellectual discussions about Science and Technology, I savoured conversations about petty things, apparently meaningless, but representative of details that are often overlooked otherwise. Talking, I was told, was girlish and I was aware of my girlish tendencies so I often kept them to myself. But with Sitara, I never had to.

In that one short month, I learnt so much more about Pakistan than I could have imagined, not as much through experience than through these talks. In the little things Sitara told me about her life, from childhood to maturity, I could see intricate details of their culture, customs and lifestyle, most of which were very different from my own. Usually, we’d have contrasting points of view about things, which only gave us more food for talk.

It has been seven years since that spring of 2001. Today, Sitara is happily married and the mother of a beautiful baby girl. When I came back to the States after my first visit to Pakistan, I realized that my perception of my own life started to change, which encouraged me to think that maybe I was closer to finding answers to some of my questions, the very reason I had made the expedition to the Subcontinent anyway.

Those long nights under the starlit sky made me realize how important it was to make time for myself, to rest ever so often and actually think about where life was taking me. I looked around and found people drenched in the sweat of the day’s work, weighed down with bills that were ever increasing, children who became troublesome with each passing day, careers that needed more hard work, families and homes that screamed out for attention. Once caught in the raging storm of life, people struggled without respite, never stopping, even for a moment, to ponder where the wind was taking them. Sitara taught me how to take a break, to surround myself with just myself and nature, with myself and God, when I needed to take a break.

Through these seven years, Sitara and I have been in touch via email every now and then, but at night, when I sit on the balcony outside my bedroom window and stare at the stars, I need no email to know how she is. Now I understand. Sitara did not talk to the stars in the sky, she talked to herself, a star on earth. In the face of all the dilemmas she had ever faced, she did not, like a million other people I knew, complain about the fact that there were no answers, she actually made the sincere effort of finding them. When I made the honest effort of traveling 15,000 miles in search of what my life lacked, I found the key to the answers to my questions, lying with her. Sitara, by teaching me how to talk to stars, had not just given me the power to talk to myself but a way of talking to her, too. When I look at those shiny specks of light at night, I learn so much more about her life than she ever says in emails. Every so often, I look at the sky, asking questions, knowing that after ten hours, when the same stars shine outside Sitara’s window, I’ll have my answers.

Sitara was right; she is the star of my life.

And I’m a fan.