Neither father nor daughter could have known that this was to be virtually their last conversation. Hours later, Murtaza Bhutto was murdered in Karachi while his children cowered in their house, listening to gunshots. Small wonder then that Fatima grew up determined to keep her promise-and to write a book about his eventful life and suspicious death.
The outcome was the explosive Songs of Blood and Sword in which Fatima Bhutto relates the dramatic, tragic story of her family and country. Her grandfather Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, once Pakistan's most important political figure, was executed by General Zia-ul-Haq .
Before his death, he demanded that his sons avenge his humiliation. Shahnawaz and Murtaza embarked on this mission-but Shahnawaz was poisoned in France a few years later. Then Murtaza was killed in Karachi-possibly at the behest of his estranged sister, Benazir Bhutto. Later Benazir, herself, was assassinated.
This blood-splattered memoir catapulted Fatima Bhutto to the limelight-as did her trenchant criticism of Pakistan's leadership.
Watch the articulate 29-year-old discuss memoir writing with Sudhir Kakkar, Zareer Masani and Patrick French at the session Selective Nostalgia today , at Mumbai Fully Booked: The Times of India Literary Carnival.
How did it feel to grow up as part of the Bhutto family?
It didn't-and it shouldn't-feel like anything. I grew up in exile in Damascus so there wasn't any focus on my name. We went to school and lived and were raised without the shadow of our name hanging over us so it didn't really affect my brother and me as kids. I think there's something strange about a name being a part of an identity-it should be built upon what you do and what you think and feel rather than the random letters of a last name.
What was the story you set out to tell in Songs of Blood and Sword?
It was the last promise I had made to my father-that I would tell his story. It was something I always knew I would do, but when I began writing I was not only thinking of my father's life and death, but also the story of violence and politics.
You were born in Kabul, and have lived in Damascus , Karachi, New York and London. So where is home?
The experience of exile does strange things, it very much distorts the idea of home. You're never really at home anywhere, though you adapt easily to new places. I felt very at home in Damascus growing up. When I lived in London and New York, they were home. There's always a longing though, for somewhere else. My writing has largely looked at this part of the world-at South Asia, but this is where home is now.
Is there any way to quell the turbulence in Pakistan?
There's no easy answer to that question. Pakistan suffers from extraordinarily poor leadership-leadership that is pathologically corrupt and violent. It used to be that every once in a while, the faces changed though the politics remained the same. Now not even the faces change. Pakistan's people have no recourse against the state, no access to justice, no access to the most basic of services like health care or elementary education . Look at the floods. Months on from the second year of devastating flooding, there are still five million people who have been abandoned by the state. They have no medical relief, many are homeless, they have no food security. The turbulence doesn't come from the people, they bear the brunt of it.
Is there a fresh burst of creativity coming out of South Asia?
I don't think there's been a time when there wasn't creativity coming out of South Asia. You go back decades and you have the poetry of Sarojini Naidu, of Faiz, of Tagore. You go back centuries and you have great learning coming out of universities in Taxila and Varanasi and Nalanda.
Look at the last five years, you're spoilt for choice. I think South Asia has tremendous authors. Basharat Peer, Hari Kunzru, Hanif Kureishi, Daniyal Mueenuddin, Dilip Hiro are a bunch of the best.
As a child and teenager, what were your feelings towards India?
We share a past, a beautiful heritage. I have great affection for India. I always feel very welcome whenever I am there-and I hope Indians who have visited Pakistan will agree that that the same goes for them here.
Do you think that exercises like literary festivals can help build bridges?
We need people to people contact desperately. It's amazing how little interaction we have between the two countries . Literary festivals demonstrate very clearly that we have a wealth of similar, connected stories. Our scars are the same. Our joys are similar. And they create a space for dialogue that is very important.
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