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This blog is part 2 of a three-part series. Read part 1 here.
I never knew longing could be so physical especially longing for a place. I long for Karachi with every inch of my being. I see what is happening in Karachi through the eyes of my family and friends. I gauge the mood of the city on my visits but that sweet/bitter reunion is a topic for another narrative.
It’s a Karachi of hot and humid weather. Hot and humid days, breezy balmy evenings. The humidity almost makes you feel and taste the salt on your skin. It makes your skin glow (albeit because of sweat) and your hair go wild. I guess the most unruly part of your body takes on the character of the city. It is exciting, scary, and can be sometimes lonely, yet familiar. The city exudes the essence of youth and like any youth it often gets hormonal and goes haywire.
The sky is always blue. The beaches are soothing with warm weather, pleasant breeze and the water's temperature is perfect. I once took a French speaking friend to Alliance Francaise in Karachi. There she struck a conversation with a French staff member who had recently been posted here from Paris. Afterwards she translated their conversation for my benefit. The French staff member found Karachi beautiful with its clear blue sky and warm weather, unlike Paris that he found cold, dark and rainy. It was the middle of summer and therefore, terribly hot during the day. I found his observations totally hilarious. Firstly, Karachi being compared to Paris needs a Karachiite to get her head around the fact that her city just got compared to a city considered one of the most beautiful and romantic in the world. Also, in the summer heat of a Karachi afternoon, it was hard to comprehend that someone would prefer it over the cold of Paris. But now living under the dark, cold and treacherous sky of another world, I can appreciate what was then said.
With all the trouble and violence that continuously brews in this city, you might think you will feel confined. But it’s strangely liberating to see traffic even at two in the morning.
The only time I found Karachi eerily quiet and troubling was on the way to the airport, the day after “operation clean up” in Sohrab Goth and the killings that followed in Orangi town. It was the mid-80s and Zia ruled and pillaged but so did everyone else who preceded and followed him, some more than others. Since then, the city has gone through many such cycles of violence, each worse than the last. An eerie calm always prevails before the full devastation of each violent storm is revealed.
A taxi driver in Lahore, who had lived in Karachi, told me “Baji, Karachi is the goose that lays the golden egg”. My parents’ cleaner, hailing from up country Punjab once said, “Baji, even a tehlay wallah is a king here. At least he doesn’t have to be a slave to anyone”.
I love the bazaars of my city, be it Bohri bazaar, Kharadar – with their narrow windy streets – or Uzmas. I have travelled far and wide but have never come across better customer service that the traders of Karachi offer. The shopkeepers, tehlay wallahs bend backwards to serve you but give you the space to walk away.
I think it’s the merchants and tradesmen of Karachi, whether it’s a cobbler or an industrialist that form its essence. They have made Karachi what it is today. They are its lifeline.
It’s also a very generous place. It has sheltered and absorbed layers and layers of ethnicities. But few have given back what they have gained from this part of mother earth. I guess they may long for some other place they call home. Maybe for their future generations Karachi will be home and then they will become a part of its lifeline.
Read this blog in Urdu here.
The writer is Melbourne based. She has previously worked as an investment analyst and sub-editor for a publishing house. She can be reached at alea.rizvi@gmail.com
