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This is not a blog

Published Jan 03, 2013 02:25pm


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It was well past midnight. Early enough for the creatures of the night to be fooled by the sudden pale brightness of the sky.

Sunshine would be a welcome reality; the cyclic dawn of morality. That is, if it didn’t rain cats and dogs, beef and mutton.

The TV weatherman said it wouldn’t. But nobody gives a flying tosh anymore about what the weatherman says – in spite of the fact that he is usually a bit too apocalyptic about his forecasts these days.

However,  he was always waiting for that “great flood” to pour in and all over. He said it wont be a metrological phenomenon, but a miracle ordained by those who paid his salary.

But the New Agers of the land always seemed to be at peace. With themselves, themselves and themselves.

The land’s hyperbolic Aryans and their messiahs too waited in their rocky canoes of faith for the “great flood” so that they wouldn’t have to water their imaginary magic gardens so often.

They could then just float around and do a lot of nothing. Fantasizing to perhaps just meditate and reincarnate themselves back as carrots, peaches, chicken-feed and lamb in the  hanging gardens around Minar-e-Pakistan and the new McDonalds joint near it.

They had started to take the morbid, melancholic weatherman’s non-metrological forecast rather seriously. As seriously as they did revolution, yoga and facebook’s new apps. There was no time, really, for anyone to notice the rugged Psychotic Bomb Machines exploding in and over mosques, shrines and the marketplaces.

“Accept our spiritual cucumber, or face the wrath of the great flood,” the New Agers and the Aryans told the grumpy cynics, just when the Psycho Bomb Machines were busy jamming hard and making curry out of the skinnies of the land. The grumpy cynics were weary about the skinnies. And the skinnies were weary about almost everything.

“We too are apocalyptic,” they told the weatherman. They had started to believe the weatherman’s mapped ranting about the great flood as well. So much so that the words ‘great flood’ were no more being written with inverted commas.

“It shall rain today,” said the weatherman.

It didn’t.

“A conspiracy!” said the skinnies.

“Doom, death and destruction are just round the corner!” screamed the weatherman. Actually he was not talking about the great floods but the land’s leper leaders’ possible willingness to unblock a tube that wasn’t his. “The tube is not me, but you,” he warned.

“Great day to slaughter a few more lambs then,” rattled the Psycho Bomb Machines. “And to attack a few whateverthatfrickenmoves”.

“Soup, anyone?” asked the New Agers.

Then the  night fell flat across the damn land. And finally, so did the goddamn rain.

“Doom, death and drowning are just round the corner,” screamed the weatherman. He was still talking about a certain blocked tube and never noticed the rain.

“Has to be the Americans,” said the skinnies.

“The tube! The tube!” screamed the weatherman.

“No, the rain, the rain!” the skinnies screamed back.

“Great day to behead some more goats,” beamed the Psycho Bomb Machines.

“Pickle, anyone?” asked the Aryans.

The New Agers and the Aryans however loved the rain.

Kya scene hai! ” said one of them.

“ Cute,” said his 21st century schizoid girlfriend.

“Who’s sponsoring it?” asked daddy. He was obviously concerned about foreign investment in the land where he was a running capitalist dog. He also handed out miracle salaries and inspired to be exactly like the power brokers that he so hated.

Mom really didn’t give a damn as such. She was too busy making Maggie Noodles on Mesala TV and scrubbing her new French silverware with Extra Power Lemon Max while waiting for the paradise above that to her was a certainty to good folk like her.

“RAW agents!” grumbled the skinnies.

“Breaking News! Roman cesarean doom!” said the weatherman. “Ban the tube! Paradise for all!”

“Hmmm ..” hummed the Psycho Bomb Machines. “Great day to flog some geese then!”

“Baked tomatoes, anyone?” asked the New Agers.

A great flood soon followed the heavy rain of inverted commas. It came gushing in. Everybody saw it on TV. The event sponsored by McDonalds,  Nike, MRF Tires and Gaye Soap made the New Agers and the Aryans so very happy.

“Doom!” said the crusading weatherman. “The tube, the tube!”. Actually he too wanted to get sponsored.

Change! Revolution! Red Bull! It gives you wings, ” said the Aryans and the New Agers. They’d already been sponsored.

Switch, click and boom went the Psycho Bomb Machines.

Everything that was anything right up till something that was really nothing, drowned.

“Doom!” Said the Aryans. “No more hope for any foreign investment! Downsize it, right-size it, do something, please!”

Ammmiii!! ” the confines of Minar-e-Pakistan echoed with the shrill screams of their children. “No, go ask your Abbuuuuuu!” all the Amis screamed back.

“Great day to say great day” said the New Agers. They were safe, they thought. They had painted their tinds with Robbialac Weather Shield paint. Green.

“The tube, the tube!” moaned the weatherman still unaware about the rain or the flood.

“We need food and medicine,” pleaded the skinnies.

“Don’t worry,” said the leper leaders of the land. “Our nuclear assets are safe.”

“We need food and medicine,” pleaded the skinnies again.

“The tube, the tube!” The weatherman shouted.

“We need food and medicine, please!” pleaded the skinnies again and again. And again.

“Look. Polio drops!” rumbled the Psycho Bomb Machines.

Switch, flick, boom!


Nadeem F. Paracha is a cultural critic and senior columnist for Dawn Newspaper and


The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

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Nadeem F. Paracha is a cultural critic and senior columnist for Dawn Newspaper and He is also the author of two books on the social history of Pakistan, End of the Past and The Pakistan Anti-Hero.

He tweets @NadeemfParacha

The views expressed by this writer and commenters below do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

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Comments (10) Closed

D`Dd. Jan 03, 2013 09:40pm
Down down with the Aryans..up up with the Dravidians and their super leader: NFP for Fuhrer. Heil all...!
suleman Jan 04, 2013 04:57am
Woah! What a brilliant piece. NFP can put any English writer/blogger to shame. Thumbs up!
Leftist Jan 04, 2013 05:48am
observer Jan 04, 2013 03:19am
The only thing in this piece I have enjoyed is indirect reference to King Crimson's 21st Century Schizoid Man. With due apologies to those that have liked this article, it has not quite prickled my imagination. But NFP has enough great articles to his credit to be spared for a couple of occasional ordinary ones.
ghaleezguftar Jan 03, 2013 05:47pm
raw is war Jan 03, 2013 10:32am
adsa Jan 03, 2013 10:32am
Good one
ghaleezguftar Jan 03, 2013 02:54pm do you do it! you deserve to be the king of Pakistan! youre a genius NFP. keep it up!
Tania Jan 03, 2013 07:54am
Amazing, amazing stuff. This piece should have come with an advise: 'Read while totally stoned.' :) You're unique, NFP and you KNOW that!!
Ata Jan 03, 2013 09:57am
Thank you for that piece. Brilliant.