The place I work is a microcosm in itself — a vast barren wasteland behind I.I. Chundrigar Road, with makeshift parking lots and spurious attendants extorting ‘parking fees’. The area is shared not only by cars and people, but also by vast colonies of dogs, who seem to be the natural inhabitants since partition. There is also a large family of mongooses and occasional goats that come to nibble on some ill-fated sprouts that do manage to grow there.

The ‘martian’ landscape itself is surrounded by derelict buildings, one of which I work in; for the diehard fans of Star Trek, it’s named the ‘Vulcan Iron Works’ aka Ocean Center. This used to be an iron factory in the days of the British Raj and has managed to keep its foundations intact despite being stripped of its colonial flavour and suffering the installation of false ceilings and split air conditioners.

Here, in one decrepit corner of this vast space, lies our protagonist, Mr Farooq, aged 42, chowkidar by day, master of Wushu at night. What is Wushu, you ask? It’s an ancient Chinese martial art technique that focuses on full body combat and animalistic moves of agility and guile. Farooq religiously conducts his karate classes seven days a week starting at 9pm. The total strength of his pupils is barely 15, but the passion they exude, one would think, is from a scene straight out of Mortal Kombat (barring the special effects, bad acting and dragons).

Many such gems are sometimes discovered in the most unlikely of places, hidden away in the labyrinth that is Karachi

Considering the state of the premises one could also see that the charges are next to nothing. The membership fee is Rs300 a month for children and Rs500 for adults (that too only if they can afford it). A lone light bulb, a room the size of a bathroom and plastered ground the size of a cricket pitch. This is the entire realm of Camp Wushu and Farooq and his son are trying to eke out their survival one day at a time.

Training session

I finally ventured out to one of their sessions one humid night, six months after the first meeting. I.I. Chundrigar Road and its environs become a ghost town after business hours, and it is scary going there again at night (as is the case with every business district). But I managed somehow, and it was worth it. The man was polite, passionate about his skills and eager to spread his philosophy of self-defence. He had even managed to print flyers touting his wares, but as they were just plastered inconspicuously inside the premises and on the dingy gate at the entrance, one could hardly make out what’s on offer.

One could not stop but wonder what would happen in 2015, when the land goes into development. I am sure he would relocate somewhere else with a clearly defined niche of teaching lower income boys the art of karate. And it is not all talk, he has credentials to show. With hundreds of pictures plastered on boards, of eminent personalities frequenting his school, there is meat in his claims.

A child shows his skills

Though I only saw his son in action, I am sure the father is better in all aspects but is reluctant to put his aging muscles back into active use. The mantle will surely pass on to his son. A lanky kid of 18, but with a rock hard body and to my best estimate, with 3-5pc fat (in comparison, my body is 22pc fat!).

There are very few words to describe the feeling I get whenever I interact with Farooq and his cohorts. There is an air of surrealism that emanates from a mixture of the colonial building and its eerie silence, the dissipated light of the solo bulb and the accompanying moths, the humidity in the air, and darkness all around. One could just sit and watch them through the night and still not get tired.

Many such gems are sometimes discovered in the most unlikely of places, hidden away in the labyrinth that is Karachi.

But each has a story of its own and each contributes to the unique passion and dynamism that is the heartbeat of this city.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, July 27th, 2014