March 8, 2003

It is certainly because of my school that books and book reading has not only become my hobby but a passion. It all started when we were told to read a hundred books in class II in a competition entitled “Readathon” and I won the much - coveted certificate.

There was no looking back after that. I would eat, sleep and think, just books, books and books. Besides reading, I also started collecting and purchasing books from all the leading bookshops in Karachi.

To pursue a hobby, which entails a reasonably sizeable expenditure, is a tall order for a child whose finances are limited to her pocket money. I discussed this matter with my uncle, himself a voracious reader and a book addict. “But dear child, why don’t you go to Khori Gardens for buying books” he asked. I thought my uncle was pulling a fast one on me so I exclaimed, “why should I go to a garden uncle, to buy books! And since when is a garden selling books instead of flowers and plants”? My uncle guffawed hysterically and laughingly explained that Khori was mainly a market place around a measly little dried up garden. He offered to take me along on his next foray to Khori Gardens.

The following Saturday my uncle picked me up in the late morning. We proceeded along the familiar and peaceful lanes and streets of my neighborhood until we came to the end of my housing society where my uncle turned on to a very broad tree lined road, which ran past the beautiful and majestic Quaid’s mausoleum.

He then turned sharply to the left on to a broad but highly traffic - congested road with all manner of transport, ranging from bicycles, motorcycles, rickshaws to cars, wagons, buses and trucks interspersed with the occasional donkey and camel cart. I was assailed by a cacophony of sounds from all directions, the screeching of tyres and, the noisy sputtering of rickshaws without silencers, the rumbling of trucks, and the blaring of pressure horns of buses. My senses were numbed by these sights and sounds and were further aggravated by the diverse smells which wafted through the open windows of public buses emitting noxious exhaust fumes, mingled with animal sweat and the occasional smell of cooking from wayside restaurants and tea stalls as well as that of ripe fruit emanating from the barrows of fruit vendors.

We progressed along M.A Jinnah Road and as I had never been in this part of the city, my uncle kept on pointing out major landmarks and areas. We drove past the Plaza spare parts market on towards the Karachi Station of Radio Pakistan passing by the Jamia Cloth Market, K.M.C building, Jodia Bazaar and on through to Ranchore Lines.

These were names, which I had heard for the first time, let alone see. This part of the city did not resemble modern Karachi. The buildings here were old decrepit stone and wood structures with ornate balconies and decorative carvings. They were clustered together with no yards in front. The ground floor of all buildings comprised of only shops dealing in a wide variety of goods with their wares spilling even on to the footpath.

We finally arrived at a heavily congested area where all types of cars, motorcycles, pushcarts and even donkey carts were haphazardly parked along both sides of the road. We managed to park our car with unsolicited but helpful guidance of shabbily dressed street urchins. My uncle took me by my hand and together we crossed the street and entered heavily crowded narrow by lanes made narrower by street vendors who had spread their wares on each side of the road. They literally grabbed the hapless passersby to draw their attention towards the cheap, gaudy items they had on sale. After being thus grabbed a few times I learnt to dodge these vendors, but was then startled by having plastic flowers and toys thrust in my face by other walking peddlers who had their wares suspended from cross sticks carried by them tied around their waists. I could not take all this and hence tightly hugged my uncle around the waist by both hands and buried my face under his arm.

After maneuvering through these meandering lanes suddenly my uncle excitedly pointed in one direction and declared, “There you see my child is the famous Khori Gardens! I looked and gazed in that direction but could not see any trace of a Garden and said so. Thereafter my uncle lifted me and put me on his shoulders and again pointed out. I finally saw some scraggly looking dust covered palm trees. As we proceeded further I noticed a plot of land enclosed with a wrought iron fence with an odd bench strewn about. I realized then that this Garden had seen it’s hey days. Today it looked more like a rubbish strewn dumping ground.

We finally came to a side lane facing the Garden and there my eyes confronted the most amazing sight - books piled over books — rows upon rows, rising to unimaginable heights with peddlers having their book wares spread on mats. Behind them were proper shops, which were also exclusively stocked with books. Along the roadside were numerous pushcarts, which were also piled with an assortment of books, magazines and journals. The entire street was thronged with a wide assortment of customers. There were groups of school and college students apparently searching for various course subject books. I could see well dressed middle aged gentlemen in trouser and shirts rubbing shoulders with shabbily shalwar kameez clad unshaved men leafing through, what appeared to be, either technical books or a collection of Urdu poetry. There were burqa clad ladies with grubby children in tow mingling with fashionably dressed young women who appeared to be teachers. The book vendors and shopkeepers also comprised of different generations, some were young men dressed in jeans and T-shirts, others in shalwar kameez.

I could not contain myself and shook loose from my uncle and ran from one shop to another. It was like a royal and sumptuous feast placed before a starving person who had not eaten in days — not knowing where to stop and what to pick first. Finally my uncle with great amusement and considerable patience managed to calm me down and explained how to go about selecting and choosing books according to my budget. After studying my booklist he ticked about twenty titles and led me to eight or nine different shops where through all the clutter and confusion he seemed to know exactly where various authors, subjects and titles were placed.

After loud and occasionally heated negotiations and haggling by my uncle he managed to purchase eighteen books with a paltry sum of rupees two hundred and sixty nine. The same would have cost almost rupees one thousand in regular bookshops in downtown Karachi. The condition of these books I purchased was as good as new.

The uniqueness of all these book retailers is that they stock primarily secondhand books which they not only procure locally but also import from various English speaking countries, in bulk containers. They pay minimal duty as they import these under the custom heading of “SCRAP PAPER”. I was so impressed by the way the shops were organized and the immense variety of their books on virtually every subject that I asked my uncle as to how Khori Gardens book market first came into being. He was also not aware of its history and decided to ask a shopkeeper of the shop we were in. When we asked he thought for a while and then said that it was originally a Khajoor Bazaar that gradually diversified into books. On hearing this, the neighboring shop keeper, an old man, strongly contradicted him by saying that in Gujarati dates are known as Khajoori and “Khori” means cheap and discounted items. It is not in reference to the Garden. He went on to explain that originally this market was formed by Hindus from Gujarat. They used to sell different commodities at wholesale prices. After partition, Memons from Gujarat and Surat took over this business and gradually narrowed it down to dealing in old books, magazines, journals and even old phonograph records and continue to flourish in this business even today.

This was one of the most overwhelming experiences I have had in buying and selecting books. I returned home with a bag full of books of my choice and my taste.

I strongly recommend Khori Gardens to all my friends. As for myself... yes, you have guessed right, I plan, a repeat visit, in the not so distant future to the most economical book-buying place in Karachi - Khori Gardens.

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