Sex in Pakistan

 In Lahore’s Heera Mandi, the diamond market, the girls mix mujra with the promise of sex. Sold or born into slavery, this dark world of tinny music and strolling youths is all they will ever know. Young men, hordes of them, hanging on each other’s shoulders, hardly see the women as human any longer and will pay 200 rupees in turns, using their mobile cams to film each other debauching their chosen girl. 
 A taxi driver spies a Hijra walking thru the night. He stops, picks him up, and sees no difference between the eunuch and a woman. After climaxing in the Hijra’s mouth, the taxi wallah throws the Hijra from the car.
 She is an Ahmadi student who must take the bus to Medical College. Because she lives in a certain area and professes a certain belief, she is considered fair game and both men and boys will routinely accost her for sex. She carries a little wrist bracelet so that if she is kidnapped, gang raped, and murdered, the police will know where to return the body.
 Shabanna works as a servant in the landlord’s house and her father, who spends his days in the fields, considers  his daughter lucky to be earning 3000 rupees. She has told no-one that she was raped by the landlord on the very first morning she arrived for work and that the attacks have never stopped. She is already pregnant and must find a way to abort the child before she is accused by the village court. 
 Hussain and Bushra think they have found a quiet place for intimacy in the internet cafe where the students gather. They do not know that a tiny spy cam films them. Later, Bushra can be blackmailed into more sex, or the films loaded onto the internet.
 The mullah is proud of his work, that he is educating the young ones in the ways of belief. He prefers the youngest boys, the ones with the doe-like eyes who don’t yet shave and who won’t ask him to use a condom.
 This is our Pakistan. Sex is only ever a transaction of unequals. It is the brutal existence of a society that is pathologically sick.


Britta Froelicher and Tom McMaster

It seems I have been contacted by a number of people using this blog site to trawl for information on Tom McMaster aka “Amina,” and more specifically on Britta.
I have no “private” communication to turn over to anyone, and if I did, I definetly wouldn’t. You’re trying to establish connections that sorry guys-just aren’t there. I used to comment on Amina’s site, but not one of me posts was political.
Beyond the Amina persona, that I adored, that’s it from my end. I dunno much about Syria and I got no real reason to find out much about it also. I got nothing against Tom you can say- cos I know I got dependence disorder and screw things up sometimes. I definetly got nothing against Britta and have sympathy with her.
I think Tom might have been better with his Amina and married an Arab woman maybe, but that’s another life. 
Syria, Palestine, Arabs in general, to be honest, none of it is my thing and it’s a big fucking turn off overall when viewed on anything other than thru Amina’s eyes, or say Nawal Saadawi, or Ayaan.  Had it not been specifically thru Amina’s eyes, I wud never have bothered reading all that crap. I mean, dismantle the Syrian Republic just to make chaos, armed beardo terrorist groups running the place? Er, no thanks. But it’s up to them- got nothing to do with someone like me. Why should I care? Pakistan- we’ve got another situation entirely.
Democracy? Fuck off. Liars. You used “democracy” as the excuse to destroy stability and oust General Musharaf. Remember when Kerry and Hegel came to us in 2008 and preached to us on how the leader of the Republic had to step down? He did. America made him- in the name of democracy. Now what did we get in return? We got bombs, bullets, drone overlords and blood, that’s what we got. We got 80 Ahmadis killed last May. We got Muhajirs walking in fear. We got the Pakistani Taliban overrruning Swat, 80 kilos from ISB, and a counter offensive that cost thousands of Pakistani lives. We should have fought to the fucking death to keep General Musharraf with us. So is this the same game being played out in Syria? Dunno. Like I said, I got no interest in Arabs whatosever.
We all know how there are plots now against Pakistan, each day, we found new conspiracies. So actually, as Pakistanis, we are suspicious of what’s going on in Syria. But that’s none of my business. If you read Daily Jang, or watch Dawn News, all I can say, no-one believes all these rebels are any good and are just tools of America. As we know, it’s America who invented all these Jihadis to torture us. So?
See guys, my politics is a little different to what ure looking for, I am a secular Pakistani nationalist, I’m against all foreign plots in Pakistan- cos we know what’s the West’s agenda- which is sectarianism, division, and to make us a failed state. Finally, I know nothing about Britta- and wudn’t rat her out if I did.

My Art- The Princess Sophia Trilogy

The West’s raping hordes have seized the holy city of Constantinople. As the Emperor ails, Byzantium has never faced such danger.
Princess Sophia, the Emperor’s orphanned niece, will rise from lonely courtesan to imperial dictator. Her story will shake the foundations of civilization and belief. She will not deviate. Her goal, to liberate Byzantium and drive the Crusaders out, will chart her through madness, addiction, to final victory and sainthood.
Coming soon:
Temptations of a Byzantine Princess- 2012
Nightmares of a Byzantine Princess-2013
Triumph of a Byzantine Princess- 2014 
Go to fullsize image

The first kiss- and the brutality that followed

People think I should stop blogging. They are desperate for me to stop. People are begging me to stop. They are shaming me to stop telling me story, over and over. I would only stop blogging if I cared what people think. Clearly, I couldn’t care less. In fact, truth be told, I’ve lost everything, I’ve got nothing, I live in total fear- and I couldn’t give a fuck. 
Moreover, I vowed never to forget. That was years back. And I am still not finished. I’ll stop blogging when I get me friend back, how about that? People coming to me blog moralizing and sermonzing and telling about this country and that country when my own country, the only one I care about, is being butchered, and I haven’t got 100 rupees to my name, please, take it somewhere fucking else.  
So let’s go back, to the camp, the workers camp where all us Pakistani families lived in misery and squalor, dad months without payment and having to feed us from tiffin boxes ladled up in the male only communal kitchens.
We’ll begin not exactly at the beginning, but at a point where we can all relate:
Parveen’s first kiss. That was in my room and totally unexpected. My reaction? I sort of spat, reeled back, and wanted to push her away. That was the level of shock I had. Being hypocrites and knowing I was so sick, it was allowed to continue unabated so that I was so dependent upon Parveen I couldn’t function upon return to the UK without her. That’s when they decided to out us, or rather, my cousin did, out of jealousy. The reaction as it all went public? I had me hair shaved off, I was locked in the bathroom of my house for 3 days and nights, Parveen was hustled off to Dewsbury. I would see her again only once where we supposed to say goodbye and condemn each other-but we didn’t- we tried to run off and get to the police. But I disgress. We are in my room and I have just tried on a pair of white jeans. I am standing looking in the mirror and….. 
This is the first kiss.

Song to Parveen

I stand upon the wet rocks,
staring into the muddy river.
The wound in my soul will never heal,
my memories are seered with pain.
No drug has made it lessen, that came from poppy or lust.
Your strong arms that nursed me,
are they now the anchor that weighs down my will to live?
My beautiful Parveen.
My husband: Let my loyalty to you be my burial cloth.

The Strategy of Tension

Ever wonder why bombs go off every Friday in Pakistan? Even PK Taliban Jihadis are not so inept as to think that this isn’t viewed by mainstream Pakistanis as the murder of innocent Muslims. But the campaign is relentless.
From the Islamist side, Blackwater is the culprit. From the state, it is the mindlessness of the insurgency that must be resisted, somehow, somehwhere, possibly even by allowing expanded drone strike operations.
In fact, the aim of these randomn attacks on mosques and markets is very precise in its aim.
How do I know this?
When I was involved in work against the BNP I encountered an Italian academic who had studied rightism in Western Europe. Pro Nato governments allied themselves with Europan fascist secret armies. The aim? To put society in a state of perpetual fear of Soviet attack with a view to snuffing out left leaning democracy before that attack began. The strategy of tension was to rattle society so badly, civil rights could be severly curtailed in the name of security. In the Pakistani context, this means an automatic return to military rule and the immediate suspension of the Pakistani constitution .
The ISI believe Pakistan is being outflanked by India in Afghanistan. Consequently, it has allied itself with the Haqani network. There are attacks with links that go back to the Pakistani state- comitted by elements of the Pakistani state. This is what westerners find so incomprehensible.
In fact, the entire strategy was developed by NATO, from the 1960’s onwards, and wrought bloody terror across W. Germany, Belgium, and Italy. Democratic states supported right wing terror groups to attack democracy in order to save those democracies from geopolitical catastrophe.
Pakistan is following the exact same strategy. The strategy of tension worked well in containing the European Left, within the context of strong states and strong institutions and little corruption.  This is not the case in Pakistan where the strategy of tension is pushing the state, a weak state, to absolute anarchy. 
The strategy of tension worked in Western Europe. But it is killing Pakistan.

Getting fingered

It’s an economical sexual activity, that if done right draws very little attention. Yep, even in public. So far, I’ve been fingered on a PIA flight, in a hostel’s bathroom amidst swarming cockroaches (nasty that one), and once in a library.
I generally avoid the railway stations because while it’s delicious to get fingered- I’m also a hypochondriac and I worry about TB. 
Tip: It’s much easier if you wear loose *zipper* jeans.
It’s preferable if you don’t know the person fingering you of course, or at least, don’t know them very well. You can get yourself fingered quite readily by getting picked up in selected railway stations around various cities, Karachi (allow for 1 hr), while in Lahore, allow for as much as an afternoon to get picked up. The best time to get fingered seems to be 3pm, husbands at work -ending off shopping trips, who knows. I am not sure why. The absolute worst time is rush hour. Use the furthest, least disturbed cubicles from the door and always, serious now, fucking always, tip the cleaners, both before- and after. Take a box of tampons with you to explain any delays. If you’re having to linger at the washbowls, glancing into broken mirrors endlessly, waiting for a potential partner and the cleaners don’t come and ask for a tip- you know you’re in the wrong place.
Don’t go on prearranged meetings with women you don’t know. It should be spur of the moment. Safer.
Work fast. The quicker you come, the safer it is.  Never go with rattling bangles, beads, or jewlery that can be whizzed. Don’t go with someone who you wouldn’t ordinarily be seen chatting with in a restaurant or bar, it will just raise supicions. Don’t wear makeup- it smudges and is a dead give away. Take a deodorant with you to freshen up. If the police do catch you, remember, it’s because they think you’re dealing. Invite the said lady constable for a tea, reach deep into your pocket with a generous smile, and remember, the said policewoman is probably bent herself. If not, pull social rank on her. Works everytime, I promise.