Nadir Nabil Gabol
I was just four-years-old when my father took me to see you. And so tremendously excited was I that I brought along my favourite toys to show you.
You, have I revered since time immemorial. Even before we ever met. This probably had something to do with the portrait of you that hung on our drawing room wall; one that I saw every day as I was getting ready for school. Or perhaps it was more because of the veneration for you I saw in my father’s eyes. But what I do know for sure is that 10 years ago — on December 27 — I lost half of my very self when tragedy struck Rawalpindi.
My first memory of meeting you was at Bilawal’s birthday party. I was just four-years-old but felt such tremendous excitement when my father told me that we were going to see BB that I decided to take along a few of my favourite toys just to show you. It was as if I were going to meet my fairy godmother. And, oh how my elation lasted for days; with me telling everyone at school that I had finally met Benazir! I still remember dancing every time I heard Dila Teer Bija on the radio, while screaming Jiye Bhutto Benazir along with the song. But I had to wait until the summer of 1998 until our paths crossed once more. This was a time that I really needed to see you. My grandfather had just passed away and his death had affected me deeply. And even though the establishment was out to get you — you still came to our home to condole with our family. Those moments with you were gave me the strength to bear the heartbreak of losing my most beloved grandfather, whom I adored so dearly. Sadly, soon afterwards, you were forced into exile to avoid imminent persecution by the then Nawaz Sharif government. And from then on did I consume myself with counting down the long days to your return to Pakistan.
Upon entering adolescence, I found myself becoming a more vocal advocate of the PPP. This made me something of an anomaly at school since the ‘cool’ thing at the time was to support Gen Musharraf along with his team of technocrats, such as Shaukat Aziz. And all the while, people around me would hurl baseless allegations against you and try to taunt me by calling me Benazir ki aulaad — something that I proudly owned. In return, I would tirelessly defend you; arguing that you were the only leader in the country who was the real torchbearer of democracy, the only true representative of the people. When my father would go to Dubai or London to meet you, I would only ask one thing of him: to tell me when we would have to wait for you no more.
The enemies of the Bhutto family, the enemies of the PPP and the enemies of democracy might have rejoiced on December 27, 2007, believing they had won. But I am certain that they have since realised they have and will never triumph. And I refuse to accept to this day that you are no more. For, simply put, you live on. In my heart and soul. In Bilawal. And in the people
And then, finally, the wait was over. You had announced that you would be coming home on October 18, 2007. As for me, I was celebrating in my own way. I had covered my car with posters of you and with party flags. For several nights before your touchdown — I simply couldn’t sleep, so beside myself with excitement was I. While my father was lucky enough to go inside the airport to meet you and then to accompany you on the truck, I was more than content to see you from the midst of the huge crowds that had come to welcome you home. It was the same scene all over the country.
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