The talented Mr Zaafir

It is getting rather tiresome now. The novelty of making fun of Jang’s star correspondent, Saleh Zaafir is over. The problem: he outdoes himself every other week.

So sycophantic is he in his praise of the Leaguer government that on first look, his “news” items seem like the parodies of his work that are circulating the internet these days. The satirists just can’t keep up with him.

I will try to make sure that this is the last time I write about him.

For the interest of those who don’t know the fellow: he has been a Presidency and PM House beat reporter since a couple of decades now, graduating to becoming an extremely special correspondent. His name is painted on the honour roll plaque that is placed in the lounge outside the press gallery of the parliament, a testament to how low the standards of government journalistic laurels are in this country.

Without further ado, off to his latest pop ditty: a report on a telephone conversation that took place between the prime minister and his daughter. Right from the headline, one got the idea that this is a news item to be read right till the end. Translated from the Urdu: “PM calls daughter; his sentences full of love cause tremors in Maryam Nawaz’s voice.” Nopes, still doesn’t have the effect it has in Urdu.

The story itself: do note that the write-up in question is not supposed to be an opinion piece, but an objective, hard news item. The prime minister, he informs us, called his intelligent and capable daughter. (Note: forget what chief reporters tell cub reporters at the beginnings of their careers; do NOT use adjectives sparingly, because Zaafir absolutely douses his sentences with them and he’s done well for himself.) The PM’s sentences, full of paternal love, caused tremors in the voice of his daughter.

Zaafir knew all this because he was listening in on another line or because he was hiding behind the curtains, really straining to listen in; but that is another story, which you won’t hear from him because a conscientious reporter never reveals his source.

Back to the story: when the PM heard these tremors, he built up a reverberative energy into his voice (goonj) and told his daughter to stay steadfast. Since the premiere, with his iron-clad (faulaadi) confidence, had built up his daughter’s self-confidence, she said, “I entrust you to the Almighty now.”

After this, she went back to the prayer mat and started praying yet again. And after that, she resumed her duties. Unhon ne phir palat kar nahi dekha.

The staff of the prime minister’s residence was pleasantly surprised, our intrepid reporter tells us, as, when the time came, she performed the duties of informing the world about the successful operation tan-e-tanha (all by herself.) Otherwise, one requires a lot of staff to type out a couple of tweets and speak to a couple of anchors.

Zaafir went on to note that the First Daughter disseminated all this information through her deft and matchless (bemisaal) use of the means of mass communication. (Again, Twitter and a couple of phone calls. Jeez.)

And with this, the emotional roller-coaster of a story, an Indian family TV soap, ends.

Post-script: a word or two about the other end of the spectrum as well. Some within the anti-government camp were taken with the idea that there was no surgery and that the League was making all of it up! Mubasher Lucman, of course, was leading this argument. What advantage could the government possibly get from this, they didn’t say, but if one’s default mode is to say the government is lying, regardless of what the issue is, these allegations were predictably petty.

Also covered by this fearless media were pictures of the premiere eating pizza and burgers a day or two before the operation. This was the “smoking gun” that they needed to prove their point. For God’s sake, he was taking my nephews and nieces out for lunch, Maryam Nawaz explained to Waqt’s Fareeha Idrees. With a tremor in her voice, of course.