Hereditary Nazar and Why Pakistan Can’t Kill Me

My homeland and I have a twisted but endearing love affair.

Nazar (Getty)

Wajahat Ali


February 2, 2022

In 1978, my father’s older brother and best friend, Sultan, was a successful hiring manager for GTE Lenkurt Electric Company, and a good-looking and popular bachelor. He decided to detox for a bit and take a vacation in Hawaii. He went to the lagoon in front of the hotel and decided to lounge on a floating tube. Ten minutes later, his dead body washed up on shore. The toxicology report showed no alcohol, drugs, or poison in his system. There was no foul play. It was just a freak occurrence. A healthy young man went into the water to relax and within 10 minutes he was gone.

I was born in 1980, and my father’s business became successful. They moved into the big triangle house in the Fremont suburbs. They got the Honda and the Mercedes. They got the big-screen TV. They had numerous religious and social functions where they entertained and fed the community. It was six years of bliss.

Then came the year of sorrow.

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