There was a flurry of sound and activity: the insistent banter of children forcing parents to have another round on the horse carriage; running to catch the next amusement ride; the crescendo of screams as pirate ships reach the peak of their pendulum swing; teen-aged kids rushing together to buy some time on the jumping castle; makeshift stalls selling ice-cream, kulfis, lemonades and barbecue to children and families. It was mela time in a small locality in Ranchore Lines.

I found myself in this part of the city only by chance, when I took out my bike for an evening ride through the old parts of downtown Karachi. In a city unbearably short of cheap and accessible entertainment, a mela in this space acts as a much-needed liberation for the working classes.

“This mela is held every year during Ramazan,” says Ahmed Hussain, one of the organisers of the mela. “Together with the representative of our area, we arrange for the rides. It is open for all after Iftar till Sehri,” he adds, quickly pouring out another glass of lemonade for a customer.

“We organise this for the people as there is very little to do during these short working days of Ramazan. And it is a great business opportunity for both the ride-owners and the stall-owners. It's a win-win. Many of the ride-owners come here from the interior of Punjab and Sindh, earn money during this period and then return.”

Walking through the street, one cannot help but absorb the feelings of joy, mixed with fear as children try the more thrilling rides. I ask Sajid, father of two sons, how he felt about such a mela.

He replies, “It is a good way to spend time with my sons. There is no electricity at home, so we come every day in the evening and stay around till midnight before heading back home.”

The aroma of barbecuing meat draws me over to a food stall. Muhammad Ismail fans the coals vigorously, trying to keep up with customer demands and making sure the meat on the skewers does not get overcooked and burnt.

“I come here every year, just to set up this stall,” Ismail tells me.

He sells each skewer for as low as Rs 5, but the mela is still a means of livelihood for him. I ask him where he'd go once the mela ends. He says, “Wherever the Creator decides to take me,” and continues fanning and sending mouthwatering whiffs of smokey barbecue meat cooking over coal and marinated with spicy masala.

With a shortage of parks and a mushrooming of shopping malls all over the city that cater to a certain class of citizens, a space such as this acts as the binding force between families, communities and individuals who have survived the psychological trauma of living with crime and terrorism.

As I left the area, I only hoped that the local administration would support and promote this healthy activity on a weekly basis once Ramazan ends.

—Photos by author