Kim Barker and Nawaz Sharif « PKPolitics Discuss

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Kim Barker and Nawaz Sharif

(26 posts)

scandinavian
Member

A new scandal involving Mian Muhammad Nawaz Sharif?

Posted 1 year ago on 23 Apr 2011 8:45 #
saladin89
Member

That's hilarious!
NS is pimping for Asif Zardari while being his great opponent.

Posted 1 year ago on 23 Apr 2011 9:15 #
scandinavian
Member

1. Information about Ajmal Kassab to his Indian friends

2. Nawaz Sharif wanted to "friends" with Kim Barker. Allegdly he also gave an Apple iphone as a gift...wink...wink.

3. She also had comments about hair transplant of Mian Muhammad Nawaz Sharif Butt.

It is also claimed that the book is nowhere to be found in Punjab and/or maybe whole of Pakistan.....Guess who is behind this ;)

Posted 1 year ago on 23 Apr 2011 9:39 #
saladin89
Member

@scandinavian

are there any other media stations that have spoken of this.

Posted 1 year ago on 23 Apr 2011 9:49 #
sasherwani
Members

@ scandanavian,

THIS is why I dont watch Pakistani news channels :) I am a big opposer of NS and his land mafia gang but all the allegations are coming from an MQM sellout (Luqman) without 'ANY' proof. Are we really supposed to believe a gori nomatter what she says about us? She claims herself to be a beautiful tall woman! Are you kidding me. She isnt pretty from any angle! I doubt NS or Zardari would scoot so low. With all the money they have, Im sure they have better alternatives. Pakistani news channels are just pathetic sorry.

Posted 1 year ago on 24 Apr 2011 13:37 #
nota
Member

"but all the allegations are coming from an MQM sellout (Luqman) without 'ANY' proof. Are we really supposed to believe a gori nomatter what she says about us?"
I thought Luqman didn't belong to anyone -- but anyone can hire him ;-)
As for the gori, not even her own are taking her seriously. See for example the FP review of her book:

...Alas, that is not what Barker has done. In Taliban Shuffle, she recounts all of those journalistic clichés, but she doesn't seem aware of what they are. She complains bitterly at the "criminal negligence" of Afghanistan by the International Community from 2002 to 2006, but she can barely give more than a fill-in-the-blanks description of what happened right in front of her nose. In a real way, she is repeating and amplifying the journalistic sins that have beset Afghanistan almost as much as the West's military and political missteps there, but rather than purging her guilt for participating in it, she seems only interested in explaining why her life was so difficult being a senior reporter for a major, though bankrupt, newspaper....

http://pjbtv.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/53meinlahorenovember20074.jpg
"The beautiful tall woman" in Lahore, 2007

Here is a bit from an interview of hers where she talks about the "episode":

EYE: You are so honest that you talk about a prime minister hitting on you.

KIM: There may be repercussions for that. I’m sorry, but if you are the former prime minister of a country and you’ve made your name on being a conservative Muslim, do you think it’s a good idea to hit on a foreign journalist?I never reciprocated.

I’ve always joked around with people. It’s not like I’m writing about it as some kind of deep dark secret. It was an awkward situation. I used humor to deal with it.

Maybe Nawaz was joking too??? But that does not excuse the "Information about Ajmal Kassab to his Indian friends" bit.

Posted 1 year ago on 24 Apr 2011 13:46 #
bsobaid
Member

This is total nonsense. This small time journalist is full of crap and i dont beleive a word she says. Total crap.

Posted 1 year ago on 24 Apr 2011 14:22 #
Just_one
Member

I would not be surprised at all if Nawas Sharif did all that what she claimed.

Posted 1 year ago on 24 Apr 2011 17:54 #
oneUp
Member

you never know remember ****'s shameful antics with shamshad begum?????

Posted 1 year ago on 24 Apr 2011 18:25 #
expakistani
Member

NS sahib wohi Prime minster hain jo Army coup ke bad Saudi Arab mafi nama lekh ker bhaag gey they or 10 abhi take accept nhi ker rhey hain...

Dont need to blame MQM of this show, Kim Barker is the one who wrote this book not luqman.... for 10 yrs NS and his family lied about mafi nama... they will lie again and again

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 3:19 #
spruce
Member

this is fake report against nawaz shareef.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 4:03 #
Dusky
Member

If this is a fake report, N$ should take her for dry cleaning for personal defamation.
Book is published in US and if she can not proof what she is claiming, I see N$ is getting rich with few more million $$s.... otherwise I will take what is coming from horse's mouth:)

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 4:54 #
zingaro
Member

I have been criticizing NS and have also heard about the news that he had some antics with shamshad begum. But believe me this story of kim barker seems merely crap and nothing else.

I support the idea that NS should file a case of defamation against this self claimed beauty queen. I feel Mrs. Barker just barked.

While the other part of story about Kassab and India may be discussed.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 8:12 #
saladin89
Member

@everyone

there is a very good chance that this did happen.

Why would she make something like this up?
wake up and face reality, Nawaz wouldn't dare take her to court, otherwise he will get his balls chopped off.
Also concerning Luqman i do not know whether he is MQM supporter, however what ever he say's about Noon is around 95% correct.

Keep it up luqman

@nota

concerning the point not even her own are taking her seriously. maybe because she may have spoken against the war on afghanistan. If so you cannot expect people over there to support her.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 9:32 #
saladin89
Member

@irshad

how do you know it is a fake report?
If nawaz is not guilty, he must take her to court to prove his innocence. But I doubt Mr **** will do so, just brush it under the carpet and pretend nothing has happened.
Blame others go on that's what you guy's do best, it is always someone eles's fault

Also to take into account there party has been known to talk about other leaders womenfolk, so there own dirt now has hit back in there face.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 9:39 #
saladin89
Member

@expakistani

agreed, very well said.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 9:41 #
saladin89
Member

nawaz sharif should be ashamed of himself, but saying that i do not think he actually knows what shame is.

Shame proof

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 9:42 #
revolutionary
Member

اس بات سے قطعہ نظر کے نواز شریف کے بارے میں یہ خبر سچ ہے یا جھوٹ لیکن ایک بات تو سچ ہے کہ مبشر لقمان ایک کمینہ انسان ہے اور اپنے پروگرام بڑے گھٹیا طریقے سے کرتا ہے. سیاسی پروگرام کو سیاسی رکھنے کی بجاے کسی اور طرف لے جاتا ہے. دوسری بات نواز شریف صاحب کو آج اپنے کے کی سزا مل رہی ہے انھوں نے اپنی پوری زندگی دوسروں کو نیچا دکھانے کے لئے تمام مخالفین کے نجی معاملات کو ہمیشہ اٹھایا ہے اور آج یہ وقت آ گیا ہے کہ ان کا کیا ان کے اپنےاوپر اور بچوں کےاوپر آ رہا ہے.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 12:17 #
scandinavian
Member

Maybe Kim Barker is someone who makes cheap stunts, but so are Showbaaz and Baldo/Waldo used to also! I have no trust in these two gangster brothers & Co.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 16:18 #
changee
Member

God knows the reality but someone posted this link, i am forwarding it;
http://www.mofopolitics.com/2011/02/20/overweight-unattractive-journalist-kim-barker-compares-herself-to-lara-logan-recalls-being-sexually-harassed-in-pakistan/

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 19:23 #
d0ct0r
Member

@bsobaid

This is total nonsense. This small time journalist is full of crap and i dont beleive a word she says. Total crap.

Indeed highly profane and sacrilegious crap..

She thinks Pakistan is a nation full of wankers,a$$ grabbers and butt pinchers whereas compared to Pakistanis,she thinks Afghanis are a lot better in this regard. Her whole book(i have read Pakistan specific part II of her book) goes like, 'my butt got pinched there','my a$$ got grabbed there','my breasts got groped there'.

"..with me worried about my rear, my position, the
barbed wire, a mob, and a potential bomb.."

Its no surprise criminal gang MQM's appologist Lucman is drooling and salivating over the book,but he forgot to mention his beloved gang's notorious "achievement" mentioned in this book..

In the seaport of Karachi, Chaudhry’s speech was preempted by riots and gun battles sparked mainly by a thug-led pro-Musharraf party(MQM Altaf) at least forty-one people were killed.

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 20:22 #
d0ct0r
Member

As for Nawaz episode,I personally think he wanted her to be his full time gori image consultant cvm secretary(a wife too..? well only Nawaz can answer that one). When these politicians and business men get filthy rich they need image consultants to take care of their 'image'. Obviously Nawaz must have been well aware of Imran's episode with Jemima Goldsmith which didn't go down well with pakistani public so Nawaz obviously knew the implications of having a gori wife or lover..

My personal opinion is that Nawaz just wanted her to be 'friend' just like Christina Lamb of Times was a friend and biographer of Benazir Bhutto . He must have thought that by having gori secretary handling international media and international contacts would improve his chances of becoming a moderate 'internationally accepted' next prime minister..

Kim had been ditched by two of her ex boy friends(last one just a day before she claims Nawaz hit on her),her personal life was clearly a mess(she was about to be laid off by Chicago Tribune as they were downsizing) and was clearly dejected and she was being delusional when she thought every one from Afghan War lord Badshah Khan Zadran to Afghan Attorney General(she admits her grandpa age) to journalists to ex PM were hitting on her..

Posted 1 year ago on 25 Apr 2011 22:05 #
HAQKIAWAZ
Member

During Mumbai attack, when Ajmal Kassab confessed to the police that he belongs to Faridkot, then very next days all Pakistan media started showing news about Kasab's home and family in Faridkot. So this book news that NS provided the info is baseless.

Posted 1 year ago on 26 Apr 2011 2:28 #
d0ct0r
Member

In this book she has mentioned that other tv channel crew(I remember GeoNews) was already present in Faridkot before she reached Faridkot,so its meaningless if NS provided info to her about something that was already known plus today even ISI admited to Indians that some of ex ISI men could be involved in Mumbai episode,so once some one is caught with his pants down(kasab) then naturally there isn't much room for manoeuvre..

Posted 1 year ago on 26 Apr 2011 9:40 #
semirza
Moderator

Brought over from thread: http://pkpolitics.com/discuss/topic/i-wont-discuss-nawaz-sharifs-personal-life-imran-khan
@runaway
“I flew into Lahore on a Friday morning, and we drove for an hour toward the town of Raiwind and Sharif’s palatial home and palatial grounds. The closer we got, the more Sharif. The place may as well have been called Nawaz Land, given the amusement-park feel and the fact that his name and picture were on everything, from the hospital to giant billboards. Everywhere I looked, Sharif—amiable, slightly pudgy, topped with hair plugs—stared at me like the Cheshire cat. Guards checked me at the gate, searching my bag meticulously. The grounds of Raiwind resembled a cross between a golf course and a zoo, with several football fields of manicured grass and wild animals in cages, leading up to a miniature palace that looked slightly like a wedding cake, with different layers and trim that resembled frosting. The driveway was big enough for a limousine to execute a U-turn. I walked inside and was told to wait.

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. Inside the room, Sharif stood up, wearing a finely pressed salwar kameez, a navy vest, and a natty scarf. He shook my hand and offered me a seat in an ornate chair. The sitting room was a study in pink, rose, and gold, with golden curlicues on various lighting fixtures and couches, and crystal vases everywhere. Many of the knickknacks were gifts from world leaders. 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 do?”
“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 television.”

I had to find a way to turn this back on him.

“It’s interesting,” I said. “You keep asking me questions about what I think. And it seems like you do that a lot—ask other people questions. It seems like you’re also willing to change your mind, if circumstances change.”
“I do take people’s advice,” he said. “I believe in consultation.”

After twenty minutes, Sharif’s aide started twitching. I fired off my questions about Musharraf, the man Sharif had named army chief, only to be overthrown by him. “I do not actually want to say much about Musharraf. He must step down and allow democracy. He is so impulsive, so erratic.”

“Come on. You named this man army chief, then tried to fire him, then he overthrew you and sent you into exile, and now you’re back. What do you think about him?” Sharif nodded, then tried to duck the question.

“Appointing Mr. Musharraf as chief of army staff—that’s my biggest mistake.”

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: “Leave Nawaz Sharif … I think Nawaz Sharif will not take part in the election … If he does take part, he will be in trouble. If Benazir takes part she too will be in trouble … They will massively rig to get their own people to win. If you can get a ticket from these guys, take it … If Nawaz Sharif does not return himself, then Nawaz Sharif has some advantage. If he comes himself, even if after the elections rather than before … Yes …” 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 telephone?”

“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.”

......

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.

“What qualities are you looking for in a friend?” he asked.
“Tall. Funny. Smart.”

I envisioned a blind date at a restaurant in Lahore over kebabs and watermelon juice with one of Sharif’s sidekicks, some man with a mustache, Sharif lurking in the background as chaperone.

“Hmmm. Tall may be tough. You are very tall, and most Pakistanis are not.” Sharif stood, walked past the banquet table toward the windows, and looked out over the capital. He pondered, before turning back toward me.

“What do you mean by smart?” he asked. “You know. Smart. Quick. Clever.”

“Oh, clever.” He nodded, thought for a second. “But you do not want cunning. You definitely do not want a cunning friend.”

He looked out the window. It seemed to me that he was thinking of Bhutto’s widower, Zardari, his onetime ally and now rival, a man universally considered cunning at business who many felt had outsmarted Sharif in their recent political tango.

“No. Who wants cunning?”

“Anything else?” he asked. “What about his appearance?”

“I don’t really care. Not fat. Athletic.”

We shook hands, and I left. In all my strange interviews with Sharif, that definitely was the strangest.

......

"The next night, Samad drove some friends and me to a dinner inside the diplomatic enclave. My phone beeped with a text message from a number with a British international code.

“Hello, Kim, I arrived London yesterday. Congratulations on AZ becoming the new president, how is he doing and how have the people taken it? I am working on the project we discussed and will have the result soon. Best wishes and warm regards.”

I had no idea who sent the message. My brother? Sean? No, this sender clearly knew me from Pakistan. And what was the project? What had I discussed? I read the text message to my friends, and we pondered the sender. Then, finally, I remembered reading that Nawaz Sharif had flown to London so that his sick wife could have some tests.

“Is this Nawaz?” I replied.

“You are correct,” he responded.

The project. That was funny. Everyone in the car, even the man from the U.S. embassy, agreed that I needed to see this through. And I thought—well, we all did—how hilarious it would be if Sharif actually found an option that worked.

......

"I flew to India to write some stories. Nawaz Sharif asked for my number there. He needed to talk about something important, outside Pakistan. One early evening, he called from London. Sharif wondered whether I would be back in Pakistan before Eid al-Fitr, the Islamic holiday at the end of Ramadan. Maybe, I told him. He planned to go to Pakistan for a day, and then to Saudi Arabia for four days.

“I am working on the project,” he said.

“Day and night, I’m sure,” I replied.

Sharif said the real reason he was calling was to warn me that the phones were tapped in Pakistan.

“Be very careful,” he said. “Your phones are tapped. My phones are tapped. Do you know a man named Rehman Malik? He is giving the orders to do this, maybe at the behest of Mr. Zardari.”

Everyone knew Rehman Malik, a slightly menacing figure who was the acting interior minister of Pakistan. He was known for making random word associations in press conferences and being unable to utter a coherent sentence. He also had slightly purple hair.

“Is this new?” I asked. “Hasn’t it always been this way?
“Well, yes. But it has gotten worse in the past two or three months.”

So true. He had a solution—he would buy me a new phone. And give me a new number, but a number so precious that I could only give it to my very close friends, who had to get new phones and numbers as well. Very tempting, but I told him no. He was, after all, the former prime minister of Pakistan. I couldn’t accept any gifts from him.

“Sounds complicated. It’s not necessary. And you can’t buy me a phone.” He said I needed to be careful. We ended our conversation, and he promised to work on the project.

“Don’t be—what is it you say? Don’t be naughty,” he said before hanging up.

Naughty? Who said that? The conversation was slightly worrying. I thought of Sharif as a Punjabi matchmaker determined to find me a man, not as anyone who talked naughty to me.

......

"I planned a trip to Afghanistan, where the politics were much less murky, where the suicide bombers were much less effective, to write about alleged negotiations with the Taliban. That’s why I had to see Nawaz Sharif again.

Emissaries from the Afghan government and former Taliban bigwigs had flown to Saudi Arabia for the feasts that marked the end of Ramadan. But they had another goal. Afghan officials had been hoping that the influential Saudi royal family would moderate negotiations between their battered government and the resurgent militants. Sharif, in Saudi Arabia at the time, was rumored to have been at those meetings. That made sense. He was close to the Saudi king. He had supported the Afghan Taliban, when the regime was in power. I called Sharif and told him why I wanted to see him.

“Most welcome, Kim,” he said. “Anytime.”

....

“Hello, Kim,” he said. “Hey, Nawaz. Sorry I’m late.”

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 attractive?”

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 happen.”

“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.

We adjourned our meeting for lunch in the dining room, where two places were set at a long wooden table that appeared to seat seventy. We sat in the middle of the table, facing each other over a large display of fake orange flowers. The food was brought out in a dozen courses of silver dishes—deep-fried prawns, mutton stew, deep-fried fish, bread, a mayonnaise salad with a few vegetables for color, chicken curry, lamb. Dish after dish, each carried by waiters in traditional white outfits with long dark gray vests. Like the good Punjabi that Sharif was, he kept pushing food on me. “Have more prawns. You like prawns, right?” He insisted on seconds and thirds. It felt like a make-believe meal. I didn’t know which fork to use, not that it mattered in a culture where it was fine to eat with your hands, but the combination of the wealth, the empty seats, and the unspoken tiger in the room made me want to run screaming from the table. 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.”

“That’s OK. I have to go.” “I am still planning to buy you a phone. Which do you like Nokia, iPhone?”

So now he knew what a BlackBerry was. But I would not bend. “You can’t buy me a phone,” I said.

“Why not?” “You’re the former prime minister of Pakistan. No.”

“Which do you like?” He kept pressing, wouldn’t let it go. BlackBerry, Nokia, iPhone, over and over. That scene from The Wizard of Oz started running through my head: Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

“BlackBerry, Nokia, or iPhone, Kim?”

“The iPhone,” I said, because I already had a Nokia and a BlackBerry. “But I still can’t take one from you.”

......

Samad drove our teamout to Raiwind. I sat in the back of the car, writing up my story about the charity on my computer, trying not to think about what Sharif might try to pull this visit. Eventually, we walked inside Sharif’s palace.

Sharif looked at my translator, then me, clearly confused. He invited us both into his computer room, where we sat on a couch. Sharif sat on a chair, near a desk. When he answered my questions, he stared at my translator. My translator, embarrassed to be there, stared at the ground. Sharif told me the right Faridkot—the one in Okara district, just a couple of hours from Lahore. He gave me the phone number for the provincial police chief. He told me what Indian and Pakistani authorities had told him about the lone surviving militant.

For us, this was big news—a senior Pakistani confirming what the government had publicly denied: The attackers were from Pakistan. “This boy says, ‘I belong to Okara, and I left my home some years ago,’ ” Sharif said, adding that he had been told that the young man would come home for a few days every six months or a year. “He cut off his links with his parents,” Sharif also told me. “The relationship between him and his parents was not good. Then he disappeared.”

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 “friend.”

“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 happen.”

“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 friend.”

“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.

"I packed up my belongings and got ready to fly home. The day I planned to execute my exit strategy, my phone rang. And the caller was the other eccentric older man who had dominated my time, from the other side of the border. Nawaz Sharif. His timing was always impeccable.

“Is this Kim?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, shoving Afghan tourism guides from the 1970s into a suitcase. I was hesitant, unsure of what he wanted.

“So. It’s been a long time,” he said, awkwardly. “What are your plans to come to Pakistan?”
“Actually, I’m moving back to the U.S. New York, in fact. I’m leaving in a few hours.”
“Oh, congratulations. I will have to come see you when I’m in New York,” he said.
“That would be great,” I replied.
“We’re still friends, right?” he asked, tentatively.
“Always,” I said.
“We’ll stay friends, right?” he said.
“Sure.”

We said goodbye. I had about the same level of intention of being friends with Nawaz Sharif as I did with Sam Zell. But I figured I could just end our relationship through the inevitable ennui of distance and time, and through the likelihood that he would never get his hands on my U.S. number. (He was more resourceful than I thought.)"

Posted 1 year ago on 28 Apr 2011 15:06 #
runaway
Member

This is pretty scandalous writing..seems more like a fiction.

Why is PML-N quite about this and not take Ms. Barker to court ?

Or maybe its true..at least partially.

Instead of the whole flirting thing..the more revealing thing in this is
After she read the election rigging email to Nawaz Sharif :

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

“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.”

Posted 1 year ago on 28 Apr 2011 16:21 #