Into the Valley of Death ...

She rode fearlessly. And they got her. Benazir Bhutto, twice Prime Minister of Pakistan, is dead. The news channels hung on to some hope initially, saying she was injured. Not for long though. Word quickly got out putting out that optimism mercilessly. Another South Asian leader had met a gruesome end.

The legacy of the Bhutto family has a chilling parallel in India's Gandhi family. Benazir's father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto started Pakistan's nuclear program and pursued a progressive agenda. His Indian counterpart, Indira Gandhi gave impetus to the Indian nuclear program and green-lighted India's awkwardly-termed first peaceful nuclear explosion. The two managed to broker the Simla agreement between India and Pakistan, which they hoped would be the basis for a lasting solution. With the end of the '70s decade, came a ghastly end to Zulfikar Ali Bhutto's life. He was hanged after the government was toppled in a coup. A few years later, Indira Gandhi was assassinated by Sikh militants.

Indira's son Rajiv Gandhi was the Prime Minister of India when Benazir Bhutto was Pakistan's Prime Minister is late '80s. Theirs was a missed opportunity however. They could not capitalize on the gains of their parents, and Indo-Pak relations slipped back into familiar territory. Rajiv was campaigning for a return to power when a suicide bomber blew herself up just a few feet from him. Benazir met with a similar cruel fate just days ago.

Rajiv's children, Priyanka and Rahul are both in the Indian political scene now. (Priyanka less so, compared to Rahul Gandhi). It would be unsurprising if Benazir's son Bilawal Zardari stepped into her shoes as the head of Pakistan People's Party sooner or later. One hopes that the curse of two generations does not follow them.

On a jetplane

On a recent journey across the empire, I found myself on a packed red-eye flight. Nothing surprising I suppose. These days most flights are seeing high load factors. As we settled in, sipping water, while waiting for the boarding to complete, a fellow passenger beckoned the flight attendant. "Err, excuse me," he says rather loudly, trying to get her attention. I am thinking "dude, she's right there. Quit yelling." So not jellin'. She turns around and looks down at him through her black rimmed glasses that are perched on the tip of her nose, as though waiting for a take-off clearance. Smiling a non-smile, she says "yes, sir?" without actually saying those words.

"Can I get a thicker blanket? This one is too thin," he says. I try hard to suppress a he's-so-green smile when the FA bursts out, quite joyously, "you are kidding, right?" Chuckle, chuckle. Managing to regain her voice, she continues. "You should be happy that you have a blanket at all." Gesturing to the main cabin, she adds bitterly, "Folks in the back don't even get that often. We carry fewer and fewer blankets these days."

Duly chastised and feeling quite embarrassed, the poor sod adds, "oh, I didn't know. I was just asking..." Dismissively, she continues her commentary, "The ones on transatlantic flights are slightly thicker." Big difference, that makes, I think. We are only hopping coast to coast, not the pond after all.

Is it too much to ask, Madam Flight Attendant to show a little courtesy and not laugh at a customer's request? Sure, he may have seemed clueless, but to laugh at his question like that. Tsk, tsk. Scary customer service.