“I got him a job in the bank, but he has destroyed my house, my family, my life,” says Sher Baloch, crying bitterly.
He is talking of Gul Hasan, the alleged member of the outlawed Sunni extremist Lashkar-e-Jhangvi group sentenced to death on 45 counts last Saturday in connection with attacks on Shia mosques.
The police said last week that two of Mr Baloch’s daughters – Saba and Arifa – had been arrested on suspicion of training to be suicide bombers.
The two sisters were last known to have visited Gul Hasan – their mother’s brother – shortly before they disappeared with Gul Hasan’s family in June last year.
“I wish Gul Hasan was dead,” says Mr Baloch.
The resentment in Mr Baloch’s house is almost tangible. Every now and then, you can hear the mother burst out crying – her wails interspersed with expletives in Baloch.
They are all directed at her brother Gul Hasan, whom everyone in the household says is a man of extreme sectarian views.
It is not easy to get Mr Baloch to sit in one place and recount his ordeal. He is highly agitated and occasionally bursts into tears. He finally settles down, looking resigned.
“I never thought my daughters would be discussed in public, all over the country,” says Mr Baloch, a devout orthodox Muslim with six sons and seven daughters.
Besides a few chairs, the only other noticeable thing in his sparsely furnished sitting room is a pile of religious books.
“All my children are practising Muslims,” he says. “But they are good Muslims, model citizens, not terrorists.”
The world is still waiting for a clear explanation of the distinction between those two groups — that is, a clear delineation of what would make a good Muslim eschew suicide bombing and other acts of violence. This is a particularly acute question in light of the fact that so many Islamic scholars take for granted that such acts are justified.