Chennai and Karachi

Located on the shores of the Bay of Bengal, Chennai has weather quite similar to Karachi’s – hot and humid in May, but it often becomes pleasant in the evening when sea breeze cools the city somewhat. Rains won’t come until the end of June so the capital of Tamil Nadu continues to sizzle.

The well-known Indian Urdu poet Javed Akhtar, when he came to Karachi for the first time in 1978, told his friends that the city, a far cry from the claustrophobic Bombay (it wasn’t Mumbai then), reminded him of Bangalore because of its wide roads and single and double-storied houses, not to speak of a lot of empty spaces. But last weekend when I was in the capital of Karnatka, I found that the city had changed for the worse in much the same way as Karachi has. It is 920 metres (3,018 feet) above sea level and was once billed as a hill station (Tipu Sultan’s summer palace is in the heart of the city), but thanks to heavy traffic and industries, the Silicon Valley of India gets pretty hot in summers. It has, however, one daily occurrence common with present day Karachi – power failures (no prizes for guessing). Generators are all over and they add to the heat and cause noise pollutions. Chennai is much better off for Tamil Nadu produces more electricity than it needs so it sells electricity to neighbouring provinces. In Chennai, I met one Mr Advani (no relative of LK Advani), who said that his late father used to remember Karachi fondly. The family lived in a flat on Burnes Road and went every evening to Ram Bagh (presently Aram Bagh). The old man used to tell his children that the streets in Karachi were washed in the evenings and it was quite common for girls to move around on bicycles. Incidentally, in both Chennai and Bangalore, as also in most Indian cities, young women commute on scooters. In Bangalore every motorcyclist wears a helmet but in Chennai, as in Karachi, the authorities are not particular about reinforcing the law.

Siddharth, now senior assistant editor of the new newspaper – DNA (Daily News Analysis, published from Mumbai, says his father remembered Laxmi Building in Boulton Market, where he had his business. So, when Siddharth visited Karachi a few years ago he made it a point to see the building, which has a character of its own. Sadly, Laxmi Building is no longer well-maintained and is dwarfed by the multi-storied monstrous structures.

But no one remembers Karachi with as much affection as the Tripathis do. Mani was the Consul General in the late eighties and early nineties and his wife Shashi the Deputy Consul General. They have both retired from the Indian Foreign Service. The other day, speaking to me on the phone, from New Delhi, Mani Tripathi said that to both of them their four-year tenure was the best period in their professional lives. Shashi joined the Union Public Service Commission on a five-year contract on May 17, while Mani is enjoying his retirement. Their two kids, both married, are in the US. Namrita, their daughter, is still in touch with her school friends from Karachi, who too are now in the US.—Asif Noorani

League of extraordinary gentlemen

Why is it so hard to be a woman driver on the streets of Karachi? Is it the way we look, the way we drive or simply the fact that we exist? Why is it thought to be a Herculean task that a few can accomplish and those who can are looked up with a mixture of awe and inspiration? To be honest, there is no straight answer to this question.

As the cliché goes, “boys will be boys”, so they will do whatever it takes to feel that surge of excitement in their otherwise mundane lives. But still, at what cost? I mean there you are driving to work on a Monday morning with your coffee precariously balanced in your lap, while you try to figure out what else is on the radio, when an irate chauffeur or a corporate yuppie with a monumental chip on his shoulder will come up real close behind you and begin honking for no good reason. Never mind the fact that you are well within the lane or that there are three other cars in front of you whose drivers are waiting to make a right as soon as light turns green.

Never mind all that because if you are a woman, you are expected to move by some miraculous force of nature. If you choose to ignore the endless honking, he may make a dangerous swerve causing you to stop dead in your tracks, as he overtakes you while giving you nasty look and muttering equally nasty things under his breath.

As a woman driver in Karachi, the list of things that you are expected to do for this league of extraordinary gentlemen (LEG) is endless: you are required to make way for them when needed; stop at a turning and let them pass; forgo your parking space in their favour; patiently wait for them if they have decided to stop in the middle of the street and chat amicably with a long-lost acquaintance and let them overtake you even if it’s a little after midnight and the street is empty. If you are a female driving on the streets, you are automatically on the back foot and if nothing else, you must learn to take it all in your stride.

So what does one do if one is not content with this arrangement? You can be the bigger person and graciously withdraw yourself either as a driver or you can simply drive crazy. If you choose to do the latter there is a great deal that you need to learn. For instance, you must learn to honk a lot whether or not it is needed. You must not keep your temper on a leash and finally, you should throw caution to the wind and master the art of zigzagging between lanes. It’s better to be a ‘crazy, woman driver’ rather than just a ‘woman driver’ in Karachi. It certainly gives the LEG a run for their money. – Samina Wahid Perozani

More light?

Looking at the well-lit and air-conditioned jeweller’s shop, shopping plazas, hotels and even some of the petrol pumps, one does not feel that the city is enduring power crisis (not to be confused with political one).

While the entire metropolis remains without power for hours in a stretch these commercial consumers continue to suck electricity like never before. At times one feels a certain air of festivity associated with them. Similarly, marriage halls whether being used for special events or not remain merrily lit as soon as the twilight envelops everything. Throughout the month, these consumers use heavy electricity till late at night. Shopping areas such as Tariq Road, Barkat-i-Hyderi, Jamia Cloth Market, etc, are no exceptions as well. Though the government issued directives for the shopkeepers and other commercial users to close down their business till 8 o’ clock in the evening, everyone knows how far from reality this may be.

On the other hand, however, Karachians have to pay a price for this. It will not be wrong to state that many families, who have no access to generators or UPS, have gone through hell. With no electricity for hours and if at all available, disappearing like a genie after every half an hour or so, many residents have decided to take a sweet revenge from the KESC by calling their enemies by the very name.

Interestingly, KESC’s CEO Lt-Gen (retd) Syed Mohammed Amjad in an interview published recently in a newspaper says that the problem will pickle the city for five more years. This is not all. He also adds that the electricity demand has increased by nine per cent. But somehow, he failed to suggest anything to lessen the effects of the present dilemma. Furthermore, he also forgot to bash city government staffers for leaving the street lights on throughout the day. Can’t the city government, rather than breathing down a common man’s neck on this issue, curtail the commercial consumers to use electricity more wisely? Let’s hope it does.—Meera Jamal

Email: karachian@dawn.com