A COUPLE of months ago, the city by the sea saw a five-part documentary series being screened called I Heart Karachi. Directed by Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy, these films of three minutes’ duration each tell the stories of five among the many everyday heroes that work in this city, braving all sorts of dangers simply to carry out tasks rendered dangerous by the very nature of the city.

Amongst those Chinoy chose to highlight were Abid Farooq of the bomb disposal squad that operates in the red zone area, which is the heart of the city housing several government buildings that every month seem to grow a new carapace of bollards and security cordons behind which to cower. He has defused 75 bombs so far.

Then there is Dr Seemin Jamali, head of the Jinnah Postgraduate Medical Centre’s emergency department, which is the place where apart from ‘ordinary’ emergencies, the dead and the wounded from scenes of horror such as bombings are taken.

Take a look:I Heart Karachi

The focus is also on firefighter Zafar Ahmed, whose work anywhere in the world is amongst the most dangerous, and crime reporter Shahid Anjum, whose professional challenges are rendered all the more perilous by the specifics of this city. Lastly, there is polio worker Naseem Muneer whose field has been rendered dangerous thanks largely to the utter ineptness of the state in allowing control of the polio narrative to be taken over by mischief-making men.

There are a thousand, million other stories of courage, tenacity and faith that unfold around us every day, never to be remarked upon at all. Consider these few that have been told to me by people who work at the intersections I cross each day.

A thousand stories of courage, tenacity and faith go unnoticed around us every day.

Recently, I was approached again by a woman who sells dusters. She didn’t want to sell me anything, but instead held out the same three school report cards that she has me read/assess for her towards the end of every school term. She has three daughters and a son; the eldest girl tends to the house while she is at work, but the other three are enrolled in the Genius Public High School in the primary section.

The only thing I can say about this school is that whoever filled out the report card has pretty poor handwriting and spelling ability.

Will this woman, whose husband also sells dusters at intersections, really see her son realise the better future she dreams of for him? Possibly only insofar as literacy takes him, once one takes into account the quality of education in an unregulated private sector and the abysmal standards of public-sector education.

She has no illusions about the daughters: when I asked her about their future, she laughed wryly and said, “They’re girls and they’re poor. They’ll be lucky if they don’t die with their first child”.

Then there’s an elderly man — he looks about 65 but he doesn’t know how old he is — who ekes out a living with his dignity intact, selling newspapers at a major intersection in an upmarket area. He would never try to cajole people into buying from him, standing aside instead when dismissively waved away by the bejewelled hand in the swanky car. Or, at least, he used to.

Last week, his leg was in a cast and since he was on crutches, he couldn’t hold any newspapers. He has been reduced to begging. “I’m one of the lucky ones who managed to borrow enough money to go a private hospital,” he told me. “At least they’ll set the bone properly.” How did he break his leg? He was hit by the fender of a passing car which — predictably — simply sped away.

When I first started doing this particular commute nearly a decade ago, I met a small boy at one junction who used to clean car windscreens. For whatever reason, he adopted me and would weave through the traffic to wipe down my car’s windscreen every day. Ten years later, that’s what he’s still doing, even though he’s now a strapping young man who looks nearly out of his teens — like the old man, he doesn’t know how old he is.

The point of relating these tales is not to highlight individuals’ tragedies or triumphs; sharp economic and other disparities are found across the world, and life everywhere is full of cruelties and casualties. My point is, far from having in place even a modicum of a social welfare system, this isn’t even on the radar of those in positions of power. Pakistanis are on their own; completely.

But then, I think of Chinoy’s polio worker and firefighter and bomb disposal expert: all in the front line, and all can expect to rely on themselves in case disaster strikes — all of them employees of government departments. Forget the citizenry, this state doesn’t even look after its own.

The writer is a member of staff.

hajrahmumtaz@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, December 8th, 2014