A political memoir of Imran Khan.

Today I’ve picked up this lucky pen (I picked it, what more can it ask for?) to tell you the truth (not that I’ve ever lied to you). I’ve been meaning to do this for a very long time, but every time OYAY Nawaz Shareef (that’s how I address him since the dharna days, I just can’t help it anymore) and his cronies hatch up a plot to avert my attention. The thought of opening my heart to you first occurred to me, alongside a sinking feeling in my stomach, just after the announcement of the 2013 election results. It was the same feeling you get when your matriculation results are announced, you firmly believe you’ll land an easy ‘A’ and you receive a pretty difficult ‘C’. You’re pretty sure there has been some mistake, while waiting for the detailed mark sheet you start asking questions about getting your papers rechecked. You take out your question papers in order to self evaluate your performance for the umpteenth time, interestingly you settle for a B this time. In a few days the detailed mark sheet is in front of you and there is no way you can believe what profanity is printed on it, but deep down you know that that’s that.

It was a really sad day, we had a majority in KPK, but it was not enough to allow me to pop the tag off of my Sherwani. I was devastated; after all it had been two decades now since I’ve bought this sherwani and this is the closest I’ve been to having my way with it. An insane Baghi advised me to announce that we accept the results of the elections, as that would be the sane thing to do. Later on Qureshi saab made me realize that It wasn’t the sane thing to do given the fact that I was already in my 60’s and considering the average Pakistani life expectancy , I might die a Sherwirgin. But I had already announced that I accepted the results.  Qureshi Saab also told me privately how the Baghi wouldn’t be able to stomach me losing my Sherwirginity as he hadn’t gotten the chance to lose it himslef.

Qureshi Saab’s profound rant got me thinking, yes I do that sometimes but never on my own, I mean what good are these experienced advisors if I still have to think on my own. Nevertheless I thought about 2002 when Mush offered me a chance to lose my Sherwirginity and I refused, only because I couldn’t understand a single word Chori Shujaat said to me. I had a meeting with him, he made some weird advances and said something in Sanskrit, I told him I don’t understand. ”mitipao mitipao” he started chanting in Sanskrit again, I ran for my life.

These people are all liars except for Sheikh Rashid. Mush came and said that he will end corruption, I believed him, he didn’t do anything about it, I agitated against him. Then Ooay NS and Zardari told me they’ll boycott the 2007 elections, I announced the same, they backtracked, Zardari became President and MNS a friendly opposition leader in exchange for a free hand In Punjab. Then people came out in the millions, in my rallies pre 2013 elections, I thought  out loudly to myself—mouthwatering and all—‘this is going to be it’ but nobody came out to vote as they feared they might get Kharab(spoiled) in garmi(heat). Sheikh Rasheed is a sage, he told me that the umpire will eventually raise his finger, so I continued the dharna, the umpire didn’t even bother raising his voice. Thanks to my old friends the Talibs, for giving me an opportunity to save face or else I might have had to spend the rest of my life on the container—alone.  

December 17, 2014 was the most tortuous day of my life. On the one hand I was sad about the APS massacre and on the other hand I was immensely relieved that my days of seclusion, on the container were over. However my heart sank at the mere thought of what the future holds for our Talib brothers. But what really had my tail in a spin was the realization that I won’t be losing my sherwirginity any time soon. What ensued was an existential crisis of sorts which lasted almost a year and a half—it felt like I had lost my muse—only to be interrupted by the sweet sound of a twitter notification followed by a never ending trail of phone calls. The ICIJ had struck gold, the Panama Papers were leaked and I could already feel the tender insides of my sherwani on my shoulders, even though it was lost somewhere in the depths of my wardrobe.  

The Panama papers were the coffee to my mornings, the silver lining to my existential storm, hell they were the Viagra to my ED. I pounced on the opportunity demanding for a resignation from Ooay Nawaz Sharif on moral grounds—my bad. He didn’t budge even though the PPP was on my bandwagon this time. It took us one long year of whining and whirling to get there but we finally managed to get the title of God Father for Ooay NS, after all it’s all about the title. Don Corleone has started scaring me in my dreams ever since the judgment. Some nightmare it is, I’m giving a dharna from a container and the Don keeps banging his head in the container, crooning in tones more creepy than radiohead themselves. My shrink says I should dream of open air spaces where there are no containers and try listening to Behemoth for a change, but I digress.

Just like every new crush seems to be the true love one has always longed for, every time the opportunity arises to finally wear that infamous sherwani of mine I get awfully thrilled. Any number of missed opportunities cannot dampen my enthusiasm at times like these. But this time will be different, I know because Sheikh Saab had a dream of me taking the oath and Sheikh Saab is known for making dreams come true . To be honest only one thing concerns me, what if it all boiled down to public agitation? My Torus  tigers and tigresses won’t be able to handle the July heat. I might need the services of my Canadian brother just one more time, but you can never be sure about him now—can you?

 Lets just pray it doesn't come to that. See you at the P.M house—adios.

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