“Come, Zain, we have to go to Urdu Bazaar to buy books for your sister, and along the way, I’ll show you the common modes of transportation in our city,” dad declared. The plan was made all of a sudden, but I was thrilled since I was getting bored at home. I readily agreed to accompany dad.

I wore my black joggers and joined dad. I was surprised that dad was not taking the car; instead, we walked to the main road from our house. From there, we took a motorcycle rickshaw called ‘Chingchi rickshaw’ to reach the other main road, where we were supposed to catch the bus that would take us to Urdu Bazaar.

I was thrilled to sit in the Chingchi; the experience was extraordinary. It was open, allowing us to see the traffic from both our right and left sides. However, it was also a risky ride. The drivers of both our Chingchi and others on the road were so fearless that it felt like they were not actually in a Chingchi, but rather in a high-speed adventure.

We reached Nipa Chowrangi. I was horrified to see a fleet of buses arriving one after another, conductors shouting at the top of their lungs, and people scrambling to get on and off the buses and coaches in a chaotic manner. It seemed to be the norm. From there, we boarded our bus, a coach commonly referred to in local language, that would take us to Urdu Bazaar.

The ride was rather bumpy, given that most of the roads on our route were under construction or in dire need of repair. The driver appeared to be a devoted fan of classical romantic music from the 80s, as he played those songs loudly in the bus. We traversed the entire University Road towards ‘Bandr Road.’ Just to clear up any confusion, there aren’t any monkeys on that road. Instead, the term ‘Bandr’ is derived from the Urdu word ‘Bandargah,’ meaning harbour, due to the road ending at the harbour in the past. It has since been named M.A. Jinnah Road.

Continuing ahead, we eventually reached Urdu Bazaar. However, the bus didn’t stop, it moved on slowly while the conductor shouted out the names of the areas further along the route.

We got up from our seats to disembark and had no option but to get off from the moving bus. To do this risky step, my dad guided me to jump in the direction where the bus was moving when getting off. Landing safely on the road was a miracle, and once I gained stability and dusted myself off, I turned around to check on the bus and, surprisingly, it wasn’t there, as if it had disappeared in thin air!

The bazaar was concentrated behind the gullies of famous ‘Sabir Nehari’, an old but gold restaurant. And after searching for some minutes in the narrow lanes of the book market filled with small shops, we found the books we needed at a reasonable price.

We walked towards Burns Road, the famous old food street of Karachi, to have lunch, and from there we ventured out to ‘Peoples Square,’ a nice place for family recreation. Dad told me a lot about traffic and buses, and everything just left me stunned.

Then it was time for us to take a short route bus since dad wanted to show me a different mode of transportation. After waiting for a few minutes at the bus stop, I saw a large bus approaching. Dad informed me that this was the one we were supposed to board and, once again, cautioned me on how to quickly and easily get on without losing my balance, given that this bus was more spacious.

It was a short trip to Saddar, where we disembarked, only to find ourselves in the midst of a triple divergence. All kinds of traffic was everywhere, and just as I reached the corner, I turned around, only to discover that the bus we had arrived in was nowhere to be found.

From there we ventured in and out of the famous Empress Market, which used to be the golden supermarket decades ago, whereas today, it isn’t that well-maintained or popular since the emergence of other stores. Then we got into a mini-bus numbered G3 and rolled towards Numaish, which is right next to the Quaid’s Mausoleum. Again, as I got out and gained focus, I looked behind and the bus was moving away at full speed and then it disappeared.

Finding our next bus was a piece of cake since we were standing on top of the Green Line stop. Yes, on top! There is a small entrance leading to a hidden city underneath Numaish, that got me stunned. It was nothing less than the Grand Central Station for me — there were tickets, ATMs and booths, stairs, ACs and smooth roads where Green Line buses patrolled to commute the hardworking citizens of Karachi.

The interior of the bus resembled the metro trains of Dubai, with nice seats and comfortable handgrips. We took a breath of relief as we enjoyed the smooth ride for Rs55 each, through multiple stops, namely Guru Mandir, Lasbela, Gulbahar, North Nazimabad, Enquiry Office, Board Office and finally Nagan Chowrangi, where we had to get out.

The bus used a route designated especially for it along the road, throughout the way after Numaish, cruising on the centre of the road. Once we got out, the security asked us to slide our ticket on the electronic checkout device, which is located at every station. To reach the roadside, we climbed the pedestrian bridge where, when I looked down on the bus track, the bus disappeared, again, it was at this moment I decided to describe my experience of the day in writing.

It was now dark, and the street lights were not working. Thankfully a Chingchi stopped at our side and took us along the lengthy Rashid Minhas Road. We stopped at Jauhar Mor and hopped on another Chingchi, which finally took us to our home.

Despite the fatigue, the day taught me invaluable lessons about the challenges people face in their daily commute. The sheer diversity of experiences, whether navigating Chingchis, buses, coaches, wagons, or the advanced green and red-line buses, left me in awe of the resilience of millions. I salute their endurance and hold onto the hope that our transportation system continues to evolve for the better.

Published in Dawn, Young World, January 20th, 2024