It all started when I returned back to
Pakistan after having lived with my English mother for far too long. My father
insisted it was time I learn my roots and start learning the rich Sindhi
culture and tradition, I was soon to come of age which would automatically make me eligible
for marriage irrelevant of the fact if I was ready or not. Being the heiress of
the Khusso family was an onerous position, being half white didn’t really help.
My stepmother and her children always
despised me, I was the proof that their noble father had a love child; even
though he had accepted me; they claimed I was illegitimate.
So after completing my A-levels from an
English boarding school I began my travels back to the village which epitomized
the Khusso power and heritage. I was coming back after six years; I was ready
to come back for good. As a child I had longed for love and affection from my
parents, a request which had always been substituted by money. They both enjoyed lavish decadent lifestyles
and felt that their only duty was to present me with wealth. My father was
extremely particular about the customs I should be taught, this made me yearn
for him more since I felt he was the only one of the two who would correct me if
I were wrong. The scorching Pakistani
summers had set Sindh on fire; I was suffocated with heat as I was taken from
the airport to the Haveli in the rural part of the province, and not even my
father’s private air-conditioned Range Rover sent to collect me made any
difference. His chief of staff Akbar and a battalion of guards welcomed me back
to my homeland, all cheerful that their little ‘Adi’ was back. The following month
was full of rituals and protocol, dinners everyday! Socialising was at its
peak, but in all this time I never got to sit with my father, on the rare
occasions he was back from the buzzing city of Karachi he took refuge in his
study; everyone knows that Malik Sahb is not to be disturbed there...
The elections were soon approaching and I
had been in Pakistan for two months now. As always the Khusso family was supporting,
in fact fighting for a Pakistan Peoples Party government. ‘The fate of our family is intertwined with
that of the Bhutto’s’ my father would always say as he let out smoke from his
hooka in the Haveli courtyard. The brief moments with my father in this part of
the house would always be cherished, I would love to get into political debates
with him and argue that a new party must challenge the feudal hold on this part
of the country. Initially he would laugh it off, complaining that it’s my
‘Angrez’(White) genes talking, but as the elections grew closer his temper
started getting out of control. This left me with no other choice.
After pleading and begging Akbar like
crazy, he arranged a meeting for me with the Pakistan Democratic Party
candidate Haider Ali Laghari. A meeting which would transform my life. We were
all sworn to secrecy; at no price could anyone especially my father find out
that I was associating myself with the man he loathed, the only person who
dared challenge Malik Zubair Khusso by contesting in the elections against him.
‘Lady Zubair Khusso... How may I be of your assistance?’ I still remember
Haider uttering these words as he stared at me with curiosity upon finding me
outside his office. This handsome politician in his early thirties definitely
had the gift of the gab, in less than no time I was a devoted follower and
guiltlessly in love with the man my father despised.
My clandestine encounters with the ‘love of
my life’ Haider were easy to conduct since my father was busy in the political rallies
and gatherings taking place all over the county in the PPP’s desperate attempt
to maintain power; the others didn’t care if I lived or died. Akbar the
faithful chief of staff would rather die than let me tarnish the ‘Khusso’
family reputation so he felt it would be easier to handle me if he could
monitor me. I was the wild-child, even
though I didn’t look English since my paternal genes were more dominant, I harboured
a typical teenage English defying streak which Malik Sahb’s loyal workers knew
was better not to cross, after all I was a Khusso. I would spend day after
day in Haider’s office contemplating with him over the reforms he planned to
bring about and started to religiously learn the PDP’s manifesto. I was allowed to sit in high level think-tank
meetings and met a variety of people; I felt liberated; it was only later that
I would learn I was actually exposed.
The originally ‘professional’ political
meetings started taking a personal turn, the fierce fighting transformed to ferocious
flirting; I was over the moon since he really was the one. Being the mere age
of seventeen and having no elder to guide me, no friend to stop me I found a
safe haven in Haider Ali Laghari, unaware that he was just waiting to exploit
me. He would impress me with his stories, go on about heroic political struggle
and laugh about his interviews with me; we had formed a close alliance. At the
times we weren’t together, he would message me during the day and call me
during the night inquiring more about my father than me; something I didn’t
find odd at that time...
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