Tharparkar: the final frontier where narratives of acceptance and plurality still remain
I got a call in the middle of the week from a friend of mine. I thought it better to let it ring out and call back when I had less on my mind. I was, after all, living in the rough and tumble of Karachi.
He was from the small town of Nagarparkar, in the eastern district of Tharparkar, where tasks and responsibilities couldn’t possibly be so tiring. Us urban folk have a knack for such mindsets.
His name was Magan Rajiv. He eked out his living driving his kekra (a converted military vehicle from the World War II era that looks like a jeep) along the Pakistan-India border, shuttling tourists around the hidden sanctuaries that Tharparkar had to offer.
Magan had called me with his usual warmth and compassion, but there was an underlying sentiment of concern. The rains had well and truly ended, and tourists had stopped frequenting the town.
He had to run repairs on his kekra, and he didn’t have any money to spare. He was between a rock and a hard place.
This stung me hard, and left me with a sense of sadness for his situation.
We were from different walks of life, but had maintained our friendship against the odds. I had to help.