Ode to Karachi: “Reunion”
This blog is part 3 of a three-part series. Read part 1 here and part 2 here.
I am on my annual pilgrimage to Karachi. The anticipation and excitement that precedes my trip has now turned into a state of bliss. I am back to where I belong. Coming to Karachi, where unbridled capitalism dominates, from a developed country which is over-regulated is strangely liberating. When I land at the airport, despite all that Karachi goes through, I can feel a buzz of anticipation in the air – a buzz of greater things to come along, a buzz of vigour which energises my body and soul.
Last year by the time I had arrived here in the middle of the night, the city was uncharacteristically quiet. It was a day of riots, looting and destruction. It was the day Capri, Nishat and Prince, the iconic cinemas of Karachi, were mostly destroyed. A place so sacred to me was once again desecrated. Broken glass could be seen on the roads, shattered lives and dreams were hidden from the cursory view of a native returning.
Ethnic, sectarian tensions and target killings were high. They still are. No doubt it’s still a divided city. But it is the bazaars of Karachi which are the melting pot for all who call my city home. When economics kick in, divisions are replaced by banter and bargaining. It breaks my heart that the very businesses that unify the city are closing down in some of these old bazaars due to the law and order situation.
I can gauge the mood of my city from the moment I step out of the plane. This year Karachi seemed a bit subdued. Last year despite the law and order situation, KSE index and real estate in some areas continued to rise. This year, within a couple of weeks of my arrival, both were coming off their highs. Economists would call it a “correction” but according to a realtor, nobody really knows why the prices rise and decline.
Last year, I saw more Mercedes’ on the roads here than ever before. This year, I have hardly seen any. Even the traffic seems a bit subdued for Karachi despite the driver’s assurance that it’s as bad as ever while going through a red traffic light. I guess “black money” also has its own multiplier effect on the economy. A lot has happened in one year. The political landscape of the country has changed on the face of it, but has anything really changed? That is yet to be seen.
A trip to the beaches in the outskirts of Karachi is a mandatory ritual of my visits, however, this year I was told not to go because of the situation in Lyari. But I finally made it by latching on to a group of friends going with a security detail. Going to the beach is more about spending time with family and friends, enjoying good food and gossiping. I also find the water here soothing for my body and soul.
Last year I was very impressed to see an Aman Foundation life guard who was trained by life guards from New Zealand. I appreciate that now you can rent out a beach hut for a budget that is affordable even if you are not amongst the rich and powerful. A few families can pitch in and enjoy a day out at the beach (of course when the law and order situation is under control). Gone are the days when you had to know someone who owned a hut.
A few years ago I took out an older friend, who had left Karachi in the early 70s, to a posh restaurant. He was surprised to see patrons who appeared to be from a mix of backgrounds. He remarked how in the 60s such a place would have had patrons from only the very upper crust.
The social fabric of the city is changing. I noticed a lot of young maids now dress well and sit on the same sofa as the ‘baji’ unlike the ‘buas’ of yesteryears who sat on the floor while begum sahib occupied the sofa.
In the mid-90s when I graduated from a foreign university, there was only one local NGO that offered well paid jobs. Now the social sector is a growth area.
This year I visited RLCC, an NGO based in Shah Faisal Colony. I bought beautiful pieces, made by the poor women of the area from recycled materials, at affordable prices. In the West, sustainability is all in vogue; whereas here, for the poor women of Shah Faisal Colony, it’s a necessity to keep costs down.
When I am not here, I sift through foreign film festivals for Pakistani films which depict the real Pakistan. So when I am here it’s a pleasure to watch Pakistani films at the cinema, which seems to be coming of age.
A documentary by a foreign journalist showed the house of a notorious figure in Karachi. From the outside it appeared to be like any other house in a poor neighbourhood. On the inside, it was a multi-million dollar mansion straight out of a home décor magazine with an indoor pool among other luxuries.
I am constantly asked if I like living abroad. People are always surprised to hear that I would love to move back. However, it is always followed by a list of why I haven’t.
I don’t mean to trivialise the trauma that Karachiites go through due to the law and order situation here. But I don’t think Karachiites realise how long it has taken Karachi’s street crime to reach the level that is common place in cities of this magnitude.
It is unfortunate street crime has risen exponentially, comparable if not superseding metropolitans the world over. This is compounded by a fear of terrorist attacks with the frequency of IED and suicide attacks rising to dangerous heights. Further the government’s blatant lack of will and action to do anything about the current situation is enough to dishearten even the most optimistic amongst us.
I don’t think the establishment and the key players here have the vision or common sense to realise that Karachi has the potential to parallel Shanghai, given some peace and stability, and what it would mean for them. If they did, they are certainly aren’t doing much to exploit that opportunity. I have seen the city grow in the few stolen moments of peace it gets to experience.
Today, I saw my first carjacking. It broke my heart. In a few days it would be a distant memory and I will forget my little tiff with my city.
It’s the long CNG queues that worry me most about Karachi especially when I see rickshaws and taxis in those queues. It is a stark reminder of the country’s growing energy crisis. Once, as we were driving past a CNG queue, the driver contemptuously pointed out a Prado. His grievance: ‘if they can pay for a Prado then how come they can’t pay a bit more for petrol?’
Inflation has added on in the smallest of purchases. The price of spinach a few days ago was enough to shock my mother to which her cook aptly replied, “Begum sahib only death is cheap in Karachi.”
Maybe it’s this fragility of life that makes Karachiites live life to the fullest. In comparison, life seems to drag on back where I live.
My bitter/sweet reunion will soon come to an end. Like any lover, I live in hope that one day I will get my happily ever.