The Ministry of Magic
A modest narration of the political scenario in Pakistan.
The seats are filled with desperate citizens, dying to believe in something — someone, waiting for the show to begin. But do they believe in magic?
In this land, of course, many do.
The enticing magicians enter the stage, scanning the audience with their dark, hypnotizing eyes and devilish grins, manipulating the tired minds of feeble citizens. The show commences. “Welcome to The Promised Land folks, the land of magical hopes and aimless triumphs, the spectacle you are about to behold is exclusively performed by The Ministry of Magic. Now let the show begin!”, announces the leader.
Look, the wizards are weaving their spells. Poof, $115 billion will rain down upon us and all the debts will be paid. See! The magicians are waving their wands. Whoosh. the current account deficit will dissolve into toxins of contentment. And look, there he is, the powerful sorcerer who will make the growth rate grow like Jack’s beanstalk. Don’t miss the grand act of the incredible wizard who will sprinkle fairy dust on Karachi and transform it into the greatest city world has ever seen. Whizz! Ten million jobs will grow out of our fertile soil. Swish! The Basha and Mohand dams will sprout into existence. The sorcerer reciting his sacred charms, Engorgio! The economy swells immensely. No need to worry, the magicians will fix every wrong ever done. Voila! It’s all happening here folks, so don’t go anywhere. The fun is about to start.
Intoxicated by the fancy illusions, jesters jump up and down and clap with unrestrained and unvarnished glee as wizardry swirls across the land like a kaleidoscopic cloud of yearning, waiting anxiously to witness the next performance. One after the other, each magician presents their tricks and false illusions of a utopian land. A land where every single individual is truly happy and free, a land vacant of corruption and embezzlement.
Whoa, indeed magic is in the air.
But behind this colourful spectacle of illusions and spells, rests the true face of the ministry and of the land it controls, hidden deep in shadows of gloom. Here, inside the foliage of corruption, the magic and the illusions ferment, everyone moves with their heads down, eyes and ears sealed shut, ideas handcuffed, thoughts straitjacketed, their faces hollow of expression and feelings. The air is heavy with aching; it smells of fear.
Hush. No speaking.
Backstage, The Ministry of Magic is intensely occupied practising dark arts, finalizing their settlements, laundering black money, buying properties, looting the laymen for their insatiable greed of power and money, emptying the national reserves and putting on a grand mirage for their glum spectators. Now, what does the lone citizen do? The one, who is wide awake- disillusioned and disenchanted, aware of everything that happens backstage. Should he run, hide, cower? Grope in the dark and find the torch of constitutional rights to light up the way out? Sadly, he has no choice, but to sit among the crowd and clap and cheer.
But all shows — however enchanting — must come to an end. The magicians will pack their bags and their props and leave. The audience will applaud, whistle, get up and return home. The lights, that some time ago shone brightly on the magicians will switch off, the hall will go dark and silent. There will be no magic left within those quiet lonely walls, just echoing memories of false fantasies.
That is when The Promised Land emerges from the mirage of hopes and into the un-magical light of piercing reality. So brace yourselves for the bitter truth, unfold the banners of constitutional rights and hold them high. For it may be the time to rebel against — The Ministry of Magic.
To all dear readers, this is a description of the decades-old political scenario of Pakistan from my humble perspective. You may not like it and even disagree with it and I respect it, but it is the harsh reality of our country, where democracy and its rules do exist, but only in the written form in the esteemed constitution of Pakistan.