Electrician Mohammad Naveed is set in his ways, of jugarh. “We are a nation of innovative quick-fixes, or jugarh,” he says confidently.

Naveed is the proud owner of an electric repairs shop. His philosophy of business has revolved around the principle of jugarh — in large part because jugarh has always reaped results for him.

“Take a look at this iron,” he says while reaching for a broken electric iron from one of the shelves. “It has a problem with one of the connections here,” he goes on, pointing towards where the little light indicator should have been but only wires hang out.

“The person who brought it here first took it to the company that manufactures this iron. There, electricians who hold diplomas said they needed to change an entire part. But the part was out of stock, and also costs a lot.

“Now, my boy here,” he points to a young lad winding copper wire around a small piece of metal, “will fix the broken part instead of replacing it completely and this iron will be as good as new. This is jugarh — only those who learn here on the job are capable of it,” he sums up.

Naveed is part of the generation of street-smarts in Karachi who relied on learning their craft and the intricacies of it on the job. For such men, there is no substitute for lived experience. “A person holding a diploma from a vocational institute or centre will not get into quick fixes or jugarh as we call it. Such chaps are more lakeer ka fakir. They like to go by the book,” says Naveed. “It’s a trap between theory and practice.”

Malik Asif scribbles the word “plumber” on a small piece of paper. “It took me, what, two seconds to write this, but it takes much longer than that to become a plumber. Someone who has a diploma in plumbing may get a job, but what will he do on the job?” says the expert, who runs a plumbing repairs service.

“A diploma-holder won’t like to get his hands dirty, but in this line of work, you have to get your hands dirty. Carrying a diploma also gives him an ego. I don’t want a supervisor. I want a skillful worker. I would rather work with someone who has trained here on the job,” he says.

Over at Abdul Rasheed’s carpenter shop, a young boy squatting on the floor in a corner is using a smoothing plane to smoothen a piece of wood. Another is rubbing a chair frame with sandpaper. There are sawdust and wood shavings everywhere on the floor. The air wreaks of wood polish “Look at these boys. They are learning on the job. And instead of going to a vocational centre to learn a skill there and also pay a hefty fee, they are also going to earn their daily allowance of Rs200,” Rasheed says.

Rasheed too is confident of his ways, and the fruits of labour his young charges will enjoy later in life: “When these kids grow up, they’ll be able to train an army of diploma-holders and teach them things that the others wouldn’t have heard about,” he boasts.

Like Naveed, both Asif and Rasheed have an inherent dislike for the way vocational centres train their young charges. For these men, the fact that those without a diploma in a particular skill don’t bag “the good jobs” doesn’t matter much. “We can always get such diplomas made and no one has the time to check whether they are genuine or not, especially not after seeing what the guy is capable of,” asserts Asif.

Rasheed refers back to his journey from an apprentice to a master as an example of how to make it in their profession. “I was like these children once and now after 15 years I have my own shop, where I teach others and also get the work done. What you learn practically on the job is priceless and no institute or centre can teach it to you,” he explains.

Meanwhile, Mohammad Abbas, a tailor, turned up his nose at the mention of vocational centres. “Who teaches there? I guess only women will teach tailoring,” he answers his rhetorical question.

With a slight pause, Abbas explained his perspective: “Look, I have learned tailoring from my ustad in Bahawalpur. For me it was like finding my way through a dark jungle. I overcame all kinds of traps. If I lost my way, I also learnt how to get back on path. It was a constant struggle of trial and error that got me where I am today,” he narrates.

“I see someone who gets a diploma within six months or so as someone who has reached this point by taking a shortcut. The jungle experience carries weight, the shortcut will get you here, but from here on, you’ll be lost in another jungle and not know how to get out of there.”

Garage-owner Azam Ali claims to have worked with both diploma-holders as well as mechanics who learned fixing cars on the job. “I’m not against education. Someone who has a diploma also has to be respected, no doubt. But I feel that you learn more on the job,” he points out.

“There are so many methods to get the job done. Sometimes, you don’t have proper tools with which to work nuts and bolts. A diploma-holder, who has learned theory and goes by the book, will wait for the right tools to arrive; a chhota at a mechanic’s workshop will get his hands dirty to get the same job done,” he explained.

“Of course, diploma-holders do better at getting jobs in big companies, where they are paid a fixed salary for fixed working hours. They won’t be happy working in a garage, where we do the real work and get the engines running,” he argues.