Monsoon time, so let it rain: SOCIAL THEMES
By Nusrat Nasarullah
TO TALK of weather, is in a sense, to talk of time, to talk of seasons, how they shape moods and desires, and dreams or disappointments. With clouds hovering over Karachi’s skies for some weeks now, gray, grim, dark clouds at that, it is a rich theme to begin after an absence of a couple of months. The absence being caused by a triple coronary bypass that I underwent in London, but that is another theme altogether.
Being in London is to be exposed not just to the weather, but also to the talk of weather. Not just the media’s focus on it, but also to the conversations that centre around it. Here, too, in Karachi, over the years, if one looks deeper at the content of our own conversations, there is an increasing mention of weather reports. Not just those that appear in the print media, but also on the television channels also. Now there is not just PTV but other local channels also. Amazing how they all talk of the weather, and at the floating clouds, and the prospect and promise of rain.
Amazing how often these reports and interpretations are thoroughly disbelieved by regular viewers (this category still remains faithful) who argue that PTV does not understand even the weather. How can it then understand the larger environment. But that is another dimension, another tale. That of our society.
The good thing about all the weather reports now is that there are channels, like BBC and CNN (among others) that also focus on global weather, the regional weather, and especially on South Asia. One Karachiite symbolising possibly a class of viewers that has developed with time, insists that often PTV’s reports are in direct conflict with those of BBC or CNN, and he explains that when PTV promises or forecasts rain, the western channels see none. Just makes one imagine of how sometimes western futurologists anticipate events in our part of the world, and how PTV still lacks credibility.
So this Karachiite, like many others, is deeply disappointed these days that there has been no rain so far in the Sindh capital; at a time when there is a genuine need for it.
Karachi’s water situation, (supply and demand context) especially, is one of growing concern, and one dreads to imagine what can happen in the years ahead. In fact, water is a subject of global anxiety and future social unrest (wars perhaps?) is linked to water crises. Water riots in Karachi are not an alien theme anymore.
Anyway, should it rain, or is the city better off without it? Of course Karachiites want rain, generally speaking. There is a romance that goes with it, and to spend a rainy day at the beach is one of the options that citizens delight in. Others talk of the joy of mangoes that gets enhanced, and the pleasures of life that are intensified in “wet weather”. Still others refer to the togetherness that is born when families and friends create festive occasions when it rains. And the more imaginative and ambitious individuals organize parties and assorted get-together even when it drizzled. Still others read and recite poetry.
While a thought goes to the state of the city’s preparedness when it rains (even the smallest measure can send this city into a state of appalling stink and dislocation) nostalgia streams in at the same time, reminding one of the happiness that the monsoons have brought to us all, both individually and collectively. Images of the cheer and relief to say the least of Karachi rain, are abundant even on the streets of a city that is often unprepared for the cloudbursts.
Naughty little boys, in all residential areas come out of their homes, and play and bathe in the rain, reflecting the relief that has come after the heat that May and June had brought. One need not underline or overstate the miseries that water and power shortages had brought, and, in fact, which remains a depressing handicap in this metropolis.
One must mention here, perhaps to reflect the mood of July 2002 some stories that appeared in these pages on Friday, the 26th July. “No disaster preparedness for 200 dangerous buildings;” “sewerage floods Lyari streets”, “Water level in Hub Dam falls sharply” and “drizzle in some areas”. In a cynical sort of way, we could say that things have not changed. Sad.
It would certainly be somewhat naive to say, that by now, for all these years of independence and awareness, we would have solved the problem of dangerous buildings, keeping in mind the fact that we have been able to build palaces and plazas in this very city. For all the money that we have as a city, at least dangerous buildings should have been made safe — somehow. Equally naive would be to have imagined that sewerage water would not flood any streets, at least in July, when any rain could aggravate living conditions for that part of this very city.

