Mudslinging on Taseer family: Mind your language, PPP warns Rana Sanaullah

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Mind your language, PPP warns Sana

LAHORE- PPP Punjab President, Rana Aftab Ahmad Khan and PPP MPA, Qasim Zia ,in a joint statement, took strong exception to outbursts of Punjab Law Minister Rana Sanaullah against Punjab Governor Salman Taseer, saying that it was unbecoming of a cultured person to indulge in mudslinging over any person or his family just to score political points.

The PPP leaders said that it was not wise for a person belonging to a respectable family to use derogatory words for family members of any person just for political gains.

‘He should have thought of his own family members before uttering such words’, they said, and ,added, that even worst enemies are careful about their families when they are engaged in fight.

‘Rana Sana should keep in mind that our family traditions keep us from saying some thing against the families; otherwise, the romantic tales and scandals of his and his leaders’, if made public, they would not be able to find place to hide themselves out of shame’, they alleged.

The two leaders said it was impossible to deceive the people by developing fake pictures in this age of computers.

They said Punjab Governor Salman Taseer belonged to a respectable family and was performing his Constitutional duties in Punjab as Governor, and nobody could stop him from doing so.

They said it was Constitutional right of Governor to issue advice to the Chief Minister. The letters sent to the provincial govt were in line with the Constitution and law and the Provincial Minister should have control over himself, they said.

The PPP leaders advised Rana Sana to study the Constitution to acquaint himself with the legal status of Governor.

Meanwhile, two members of Punjab Assembly, Najaf Sial and Samina Khawar Hayat have also condemned what they called derogatory language used by the Law Minister against Salman Taseer. Condemning the statement, they said that one should avoid targeting families to achieve political ends.

They said people have not yet forgotten the romantic tales of ‘Honey Bridge’ and other such stories of his (Rana’s) leaders.
‘If they promote filthy politics, then nothing would remain to cherish about’, they added.


(By Dr. Safdar Mehmood, Jang, 21 Nov 2008)

Some Comments:

By: Ms. Shah on July 7, 2008

Peoples houses were bulldozed by Nawaz Sharif (when he was in power) all around his area and many people were displaced and the land from local authority has been merged into his personal property.

But it is not true that Lahori’s love him.

Number of reasons: Yellow cab scheme failed badly

Old bus services were replaced by air-conditioned ones but the fair was high.

He promised business to people but he failed them by demolishing and repossessing a lot of encroached land which is left unused anyway and people suffered economically. People had loans to start these businesses but were not compensated in any way.

People who were working in scrap or any business to do with iron were completely left without anything because Sharifs are in this business.

He forced Government College Lahore to take down its boundary wall and replaced by the grills so that area looks beautiful.

No doubt Government College is a beautiful building with gorgeous front lawn but that is for students to study to relax………now it is exposed to all noise and pollution…..

Kinnaird College was suppose to suffer in the same manner but the resistance was high and I think American Embassy etc were involved because the college gets grants from them, so it was spared .

His daughter got admission in a prestigious college without coming on merit further shock was when she got good marks in Intermediate???

He himself claims to have studied at GC Lahore where as we never found anyone who remember to be his class fellow there???????

His wife is MA Urdu Literature and a very able Professor was writing her thesis for Mphill or PHD

Apart from all above he failed to create jobs, business I remember Anar Kali, Liberty market every where it was quite in those days.

Mr. Shahbaz Sharif built the bridge over the railway line to connect Lahore Cantt with Gulberg ,there was underpass already .Lahoris call it HONEY BRIDGE apparently one of his Darlings was residing in Lahore defence and he could not wait in the queues?
Being a Cantt resident I dislike this bridge it has brought a lot of noise, pollution and traffic jams instead of improving the situation.

Both Sharifs were busy Tapping the phones of their female partners (i do not want to use any rude word)……..that was the jobs of Top officials as per News papers of the time.
Mr. Sharif was incapable of communication at a person to person level.

There was huge number of unjudicial killings of people at Shaikhupura ,apparently people who were in jails were taken to outskirts of Lahore than police will ask them to run away in the middle of nowhere when the person will be running police will shoot him. Claiming that he tried to run away from Police custody. The numbers of such killings was so huge that HRCP International raised their concerns? Lahore Residents are very mature and indifferent .As we have seen Generals, Intellectuals ,Journalists and Prime Ministers and Presidents.

The only party basis I have seen there is of PPP. The workers are ready to demonstrate, sleep on the roads to see Benazir.

Nawaz Sharif promised Androon Shaher Kashmirees that he will liberate Kashmir the answer was his KARGIL?

The family is commonly known as LOHAR and Choor who have thrown their own sister inlaw into BHATTI because she was asking for her share in the business?
Lahore lights know Sharifs too well?All the politics and votes you see are bought?????? No question about it.

I have no problem feel free to use the material anywhere you want.

If you are digging deep please do get your material from The Friday Times Lahore……full marks to Najam Sethie’s Work that is an excellent diary of all times.

Jung group has forgotten the story they run when the government raided SHAHBAZ Residence in 1999,what they found there?????

His bedroom including the bed (imported from abroad with innumerable positions) was a set of some porn film or adult shop stuff.

Road to Raiwind was interesting ,many a times poor policeman on Naaka found interesting guests for whom Prime minister was calling to let go of without the questioning ,during routine stop and search?

Very interesting stories about Prime Minister having dates in his private jet………

no wonder men envy him so much……..

While we the ordinary students were even not alloud to have simple college excursion trips because, Sharif family ka Islam Khatrai main parh jata hai…….


Pristine said:

Honey Bridge? hehe… u r referring to “Jinnah Flyover” right? Well, I have been told it was completed 10 months BEFORE the scheduled completion date. That maybe a bit exagerrated. Yes, Shahbaz Sharif really pulled off quite a coup in the way he developed Lahore in the short time he was the CM.


Jinnah Flyover built by then Punjab Chief Minister Mr. Shahbaz Sharif to connect Gulberg with Cavalry Grounds over the railway track.

Also called Honey Bridge after the CM’s alleged girlfriend. His frequent visits to Defence were plagued by long waits, hence the bridge was constructed to ease their meetings.

One response to “Mudslinging on Taseer family: Mind your language, PPP warns Rana Sanaullah”

  1. Excerpts from “The Taliban Shuffle” by Kim Barker – her interviews with
    Nawaz Sharif (published by Doubleday):

    “Sure,” I said, figuring he wanted to tell me something off the record.

    “So. Do you have a friend, Kim?” Sharif asked. I was unsure what he meant.

    “I have a lot of friends,” I replied.

    “No. Do you have a friend?”

    I figured it out.

    “You mean a boyfriend?” “Yes.” I looked at Sharif. I had two options—lie, or
    tell the truth. And because I wanted to see where this line of questioning
    was going, I told the truth. “I had a boyfriend. We recently broke up.” I
    nodded my head stupidly, as if to punctuate this thought.

    “Why?” Sharif asked. “Was he too boring for you? Not fun enough?”

    “Um. No. It just didn’t work out.”

    “Oh. I cannot believe you do not have a friend,” Sharif countered.

    “No. Nope. I don’t. I did.”

    “Do you want me to find one for you?” Sharif asked.

    (here is the detail of the talk of Mian Nawaz Sharif with Kim Barker, a noted
    American journalist))

    “With Bhutto gone, I needed to meet the lion of Punjab, or maybe the tiger.

    No one seemed to know which feline Nawaz Sharif was nicknamed after. Some
    fans rode around with stuffed toy lions strapped to their cars. Others
    talked about the tiger of Punjab. By default, Sharif, a former prime
    minister like Bhutto, had become the most popular opposition leader in the
    country. He was already the most powerful politician in Punjab, which was
    the most powerful of Pakistan’s four provinces, home to most of the army
    leaders and past rulers. Some people described Sharif as the Homer Simpson
    of Pakistan. Others considered him a right-wing wing nut.

    Still others figured he could save the country. Sharif was once considered an
    of the establishment, a protégé of the former military dictator in Pakistan,
    General Zia, but like all politicians here, he had become a creature of
    himself. During his second term, Sharif built my favorite road in Pakistan,
    a hundred and seventy miles of paved, multilaned bliss…..


    “One of Sharif’s friends tried to explain him to me: “He might be tilting a
    little to the right, but he’s not an extremist. Extremists don’t go do hair
    implants. He also loves singing.”


    “The inside of the house appeared to have been designed by Saudi Arabia—a
    hodge-podge of crystal chandeliers, silk curtains, gold accents, marble. A
    verse of the Holy Quran and a carpet with the ninety-nine names of God hung
    on the walls of Sharif’s receiving room, along with photographs of Sharif
    with King Abdullah and slain former Lebanese prime minister Rafik Hariri.

    Finally I was summoned. “Kim,” Sharif’s media handler said, gesturing toward
    the ground. “Come.” I hopped up and walked toward the living room, past two
    raggedy stuffed lions with rose petals near their feet. So maybe Sharif was

    the lion of Punjab… His press aide tapped his watch, looked at me, and
    raised his eyebrows. I got the message and proceeded with my questions, as
    fast as I could. But it soon became clear that this would be unlike any
    interview I had ever done.

    “You’re the only senior opposition leader left in Pakistan. How are you
    going to stay safe while campaigning?” In Pakistan, campaigns were not run
    through TV, and pressing the flesh was a job requirement. Candidates won

    over voters by holding rallies of tens and hundreds of thousands of people.
    Even though Sharif was not personally running, his appearance would help win
    votes for anyone in his party.

    Sharif looked at me, sighed, and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a good
    question. What do you think, Kim?”

    “I don’t know. I’m not the former prime minister of Pakistan. So what will you
    “Really, I don’t know. What do you think?”

    This put me in an awkward position—giving security advice to Nawaz Sharif.

    “Well, it’s got to be really difficult. You have these elections coming up. You
    can’t just sit here at home.”
    “What should I do?” he asked. “I can’t run a campaign sitting in my house on the


    “I stood up. Sharif’s aide was already standing. “I should probably be
    going,” I said. “Thanks very much for your time.” “Yes, Mian Sahib’s
    schedule is very busy,” Sharif’s handler agreed.

    “It’s all right,” Sharif said. “She can ask a few more questions.” I sat
    down. I had whipped through most of my important questions, so I recycled
    them. I asked him whether he was a fundamentalist. Sharif dismissed the
    idea, largely by pointing to his friendship with the Clintons. I tried to
    leave again, fearing I was overstaying my welcome. But Sharif said I could
    ask more questions. “One more,” I said, wary of Sharif’s aide. Then I asked the
    question that was really on my mind.

    “Which are you—the lion or the tiger?”

    Sharif didn’t even blink. “I am the tiger,” he said.

    “But why do some people call you the lion?”

    “I do not know. I am the tiger.”

    “But why do you have two stuffed lions?”

    “They were a gift. I like them.”


    “We drove to the next rally. I looked at my BlackBerry and spotted one very
    interesting e-mail—a Human Rights Watch report, quoting a taped conversation
    from November between the country’s pro-Musharraf attorney general and an
    unnamed man. The attorney general had apparently been talking to a reporter,
    and while on that call, took another call, where he talked about vote
    rigging. The reporter had recorded the entire conversation. I scanned
    through the e-mail.

    “Nawaz,” I said. I had somehow slipped into calling the former prime
    minister by his first name. “have to hear this.” I then performed a dramatic
    reading of the message in full, culminating in the explosive direct quote
    from the attorney general, recorded the month before Bhutto was killed and
    just before Sharif flew home… It was unclear what the other man was
    saying, but Human Rights Watch said the attorney general appeared to be
    advising him to leave Sharif’s party and get a ticket from “these guys,” the
    pro-Musharraf party, the massive vote riggers.

    Sharif’s aide stared at me openmouthed. “Is that true? I can’t believe
    that.” “It’s from Human Rights Watch,” I said. “There’s apparently a tape
    recording. Pretty amazing.”

    Sharif just looked at me. “How can you get a text message that long on your

    “It’s an e-mail,” I said, slightly shocked that Sharif was unconcerned about

    what I had just said. “This is a BlackBerry phone. You can get e-mail on it.”

    “Ah, e-mail,” he said. “I must look into this BlackBerry.”


    “After more than eight years of political irrelevance, Sharif was back. I

    sent him a text message and asked him to call. A few hours later, he did,
    thrilled with his victory.

    “I saw a car today, where a man had glued blankets to it and painted it like
    a tiger,” I told him at one point. “Really?” he asked. “Yeah. It was a tiger

    He paused. “What did you think of the tiger car, Kim? Did you like the tiger

    Weird question. I gave an appropriate answer. “Who doesn’t like a tiger


    “This time, in a large banquet hall filled with folding chairs and a long

    table, Sharif told his aides that he would talk to me alone. At the time, I
    barely noticed. We talked about Zardari, but he spoke carefully and said
    little of interest, constantly glancing at my tape recorder like it was
    radioactive. Eventually, he nodded toward it. “Can you turn that off?” he asked.

    “Sure,” I said, figuring he wanted to tell me something off the record.

    “So. Do you have a friend, Kim?” Sharif asked. I was unsure what he meant.

    “I have a lot of friends,” I replied.

    “No. Do you have a friend?”

    I figured it out.

    “You mean a boyfriend?” “Yes.” I looked at Sharif. I had two options—lie, or
    tell the truth. And because I wanted to see where this line of questioning
    was going, I told the truth. “I had a boyfriend. We recently broke up.” I
    nodded my head stupidly, as if to punctuate this thought.

    “Why?” Sharif asked. “Was he too boring for you? Not fun enough?”

    “Um. No. It just didn’t work out.”

    “Oh. I cannot believe you do not have a friend,” Sharif countered.

    “No. Nope. I don’t. I did.”

    “Do you want me to find one for you?” Sharif asked.

    To recap: The militants were gaining strength along the border with

    Afghanistan and staging increasingly bold attacks in the country’s cities.
    The famed Khyber Pass, linking Pakistan and Afghanistan, was now too
    dangerous to drive. The country appeared as unmoored and directionless as a
    headless chicken. And here was Sharif, offering to find me a friend. Thank
    God the leaders of Pakistan had their priorities straight.

    “Sure. Why not?” I said.

    The thought of being fixed up on a date by the former prime minister of

    Pakistan, one of the most powerful men in the country and, at certain
    points, the world, proved irresistible. It had true train-wreck potential.


    “In the sitting room, I immediately turned on my tape recorder and rattled
    off questions. Was Sharif at the negotiations? What was happening? He denied
    being at any meetings, despite press reports to the contrary. I pushed him.
    He denied everything. I wondered why he let me drive all this way, if he
    planned to tell me nothing. At least I’d get free food.

    He looked at my tape recorder and asked me to turn it off. Eventually I
    obliged. Then Sharif brought up his real reason for inviting me to lunch.

    “Kim. I have come up with two possible friends for you.”

    At last. “Who?”

    He waited a second, looked toward the ceiling, then seemingly picked the top
    name from his subconscious. “The first is Mr. Z.”

    That was disappointing. Sharif definitely was not taking this project
    seriously. “Zardari? No way. That will never happen,” I said.

    “What’s wrong with Mr. Zardari?” Sharif asked. “Do you not find him

    Bhutto’s widower, Asif Ali Zardari, was slightly shorter than me and sported
    slicked-back hair and a mustache, which he was accused of dying black right
    after his wife was killed, right before his first press conference. On many
    levels, I did not find Zardari attractive. I would have preferred celibacy.

    But that wasn’t the point. Perhaps I could use this as a teaching moment.

    “He is the president of Pakistan. I am a journalist. That would never

    “He is single.” Very true—but I didn’t think that was a good enough reason.

    “I can call him for you,” Sharif insisted. I’m fairly certain he was joking.

    “I’m sure he has more important things to deal with,” I replied.

    “OK. No Mr. Z. The second option, I will discuss with you later,” he said.

    That did not sound promising.


    “I needed to get out of there. “I have to go.”

    “First, come for a walk with me outside, around the grounds. I want to show
    you Raiwind.”

    “No. I have to go. I have to go to Afghanistan tomorrow.”

    Sharif ignored that white lie and started to talk about where he wanted to
    take me. “I would like to take you for a ride in the country, and take you
    for lunch at a restaurant in Lahore, but because of my position, I cannot.”


    “Once the interview was finished, Sharif looked at me. “Can you ask your
    translator to leave?” he asked. “I need to talk to you.” My translator
    looked at me with a worried forehead wrinkle. “It’s OK,” I said. He left.

    Sharif then looked at my tape recorder. “Can you turn that off?” I obliged.

    “I have to go,” I said. “I have to write a story.”

    He ignored me. “I have bought you an iPhone,” he said.

    “I can’t take it.”

    “Why not? It is a gift.”

    “No. It’s completely unethical, you’re a source.”

    “But we are friends, right?” I had forgotten how Sharif twisted the word

    “Sure, we’re friendly, but you’re still the former prime minister of

    Pakistan and I can’t take an iPhone from you,” I said.

    “But we are friends,” he countered. “I don’t accept that. I told you I was
    buying you an iPhone.”

    “I told you I couldn’t take it. And we’re not those kind of friends.”

    He tried a new tactic. “Oh, I see. Your translator is here, and you do not
    want him to see me give you an iPhone. That could be embarrassing for you.”

    Exasperated, I agreed. “That’s it.”

    He then offered to meet me the next day, at a friend’s apartment in Lahore,
    to give me the iPhone and have tea. No, I said. I was going to Faridkot.
    Sharif finally came to the point. “Kim. I am sorry I was not able to find
    you a friend. I tried, but I failed.” He shook his head, looked genuinely
    sad about the failure of the project.

    “That’s OK,” I said. “Really. I don’t really want a friend right now. I am
    perfectly happy without a friend. I want to be friendless.”

    He paused. And then, finally, the tiger of Punjab pounced. “I would like to
    be your friend.”I didn’t even let him get the words out. “No. Absolutely not.
    Not going to

    “Hear me out.” He held his hand toward me to silence my negations as he made
    his pitch. He could have said anything—that he was a purported billionaire
    who had built my favorite road in Pakistan, that he could buy me a power
    plant or build me a nuclear weapon. But he opted for honesty.

    “I know, I’m not as tall as you’d like,” Sharif explained. “I’m not as fit
    as you’d like. I’m fat, and I’m old. But I would still like to be your

    “No,” I said. “No way.”

    He then offered me a job running his hospital, a job I was eminently
    unqualified to perform. “It’s a huge hospital,” he said. “You’d be very good
    at it.” He said he would only become prime minister again if I were his
    secretary. I thought about it for a few seconds—after all, I would probably
    soon be out of a job. But no. The new position’s various positions would not
    be worth it.

    Eventually, I got out of the tiger’s grip, but only by promising that I
    would consider his offer. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let me leave. I jumped into
    the car, pulled out my tape recorder, and recited our conversation. Samad
    shook his head. My translator put his head in his hands. “I’m embarrassed
    for my country,” he said.

    After that, I knew I could never see Sharif again. I was not happy about
    this—I liked Sharif. In the back of my mind, maybe I had hoped he would come
    through with a possible friend, or that we could have kept up our banter,
    without an iPhone lurking in the closet. But now I saw him as just another
    sad case, a recycled has-been who squandered his country’s adulation and
    hope, who thought hitting on a foreign journalist was a smart move. Which it
    clearly wasn’t.”