I was a young student when I read Benazir Bhutto’s autobiography “Daughter of the East”. At that time I felt that she was too young to pen her autobiography since it is written in the autumn of one’s life. As I read through the pages, I was completely mesmerized by her share of experiences and the cross that being Bhutto she had to wear. She had a sophisticate upbringing, studying college at Oxford and Harvard, but those were just the initial years. After her father, the then Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was sent to gallows by Gen. Zia, life was full of turbulence, which came full circle when she returned to Pakistan and brought back democracy to the country with her party PPP sweeping the polls. She became Prime Minister twice, but both times her tenure was tarnished by charges of cooruption and impulsive action. But then Pakistan’s geo-political situation makes it a soft target for the murder of democracy and power being centered in the hands of army.

Now after long exile in London, Benazir, meaning invaluable, was back to her homeland, where political situation is volatile and full of shocking surprises. I have been avidly reading her interviews in print media as well as television where she would speak hopefully about democracy returning to Pakistan. She showed grit despite the terrorist threats that threatened her life. Yet it comes as a shock as I hear the TV channels informing about her gruesome killing as she was returning after addressing a public rall where she proclaimed warcry against terrorism and mafia. I really appreciated her because being a woman it is no small achievement to be at the helm of affairs of a Muslim nation. She returned as the prodigal daughter, to deliver people to democracy but destiny had something else in store for her. With her sad demise the little hope that Pakistan had of democracy returning to the land is gone. It seems that dictatorship is here to stay, with the General in civilian attire in power grip. I bereave with the people of the neighboring nation, her family, and her children. She deserved to live long and not die in such a brutal manner.

While I sit here sipping on hot, syrupy tomato carrot soup with Coldplay playing in background, I actually ponder as why my writings these days have that tinge of melancholia. The heart of the matter is that life is going on fine and there is peace all around. Yet certain things inside brew and come haunting for reasons non-existent. But such moments are essential too because only then I can grasp the reality of my happiness. *smile*

As I observe children bouncing along in full spring of their lives and then read such horrific stories of children seeking vengeance by killing each other, it really breaks my heart. I analyze inconlusively what is the best way of parenting. Are we listening to our children enough? Are today’s parents totally cut-off from their children, they are bringing them into the world for their own sake and believe that just getting all the material comforts and providing them with the latest toys and gadgets is the route to best parenting? It is really not so – you may bring up your child with minimal luxuries but what your child will always appreciate is your presence that you were always around to hear him/her and share conversations. Moreover, only you can guard your child by giving him confidence that despite his not having all the latest fancies, he is still the most capable and the best human being in the world. Indeed parenting is difficult art these days with families breaking up, narrow viewpoints, and our own personal ambitions; all making it all the more complicated. This impatience is rubbing on the young children, who want to attain so much so soon. This mad rush is very sad indeed!

In between I have a feeling that I must be the most photographed face that stays at home, in the world as I am his favourite muse, who just can't have enough of me. I am always in the focus and I am also waiting for Sups to turn me into a model indeed so that I can flutter and preen my plumage :D Another feeling that I have about myself is that I tend to give myself too deeply to people, while they actually may not care that much. I also tend to care too much about people, even if I don’t know them. *sigh*

Solitude’s lonely den

sedate music the only accompaniment

where thoughts leap many a lives

violin their ways in and out the chains of mind

stringed with great caution

from beginning to end

Sighs escape the chambers of heart

reservoir of pain inexhaustible

dreams turn vacuous vapory

as firmaments of sun breaks the mirage

another cold day to struggle through

as pain meanders in the sinews

threatens cellular existence

yet love not withers but grows with each separate moment

Fires burn searing the coals red

congress about the bleeding heart

offer no warmth to the frost-bitten thoughts

memories river their course through stoic silences

waters placid as if anticipating storms

silent moments that now find alcoves in words

words that bleed the soul

shake the kernels of life

as the mind battles heart why it courted pain

While you sail in these tear-filled oceans

I collect the cloud that cast shadows in those tender eyes

dry it in my weather-beaten palms

surrogate thy deserted heart with laughter and love

draw sustenance from mirth that nestles in my seas