-Photo by Akhtar Balouch
-Photo by Akhtar Balouch
On Sunday, the markets in the Saddar area of Karachi are closed. This is perhaps the only day when the narrow streets of Saddar, that barely allow pedestrians to walk through them on a usual day, happily greet people on foot and vehicles alike. With the sunlight reflecting off the concrete and an almost echoing silence, the streets of Saddar seem to exhale the sadness of a grandmother whose grandchildren who don’t visit her on a day she expects them the most. However, since she knows they are happy elsewhere, she is content even in sorrow.

One street, however, near Regal Chowk is excitingly reeking of a sense of hustle bustle even on a Sunday. Unlike the sad grandmother, this one is more the birthday darling. Full of festive amazement that can be compared to Eid, Christmas or Holi on every Sunday. Everyone is here every Sunday – Hindus, Muslims, Christians, all of them.

And perhaps that is the source of pride for this happy street, her visitors belong to all possible schools of thought in our little republic; there are political activists, researchers, literati, the religious lot, the nationalist, the communist. The air in this street is without prejudice, with the visitors getting swept up in the cavalcade, tirelessly searching for what their heart desires.

You must be now thinking I may be making things up to keep you hooked and reading. Nothing else justifies the mentioning of any such place in Karachi where a dozen or more people are butchered in the name of religion, ethnicity and whatnot. Can a hospitable street even exist in this metropolis, a mere street that prohibits all bigotry and welcome its visitors in complete harmony? My answer is still the same; yes, it does, near the Regal Chowk that was once a centre for activities against dictators.

Bless the journalists who made political parties realise that protest demonstrations at Regal Chowk would not get them any coverage. Now, the learned protestors all come to the Press Club, but that is another story altogether.

-Photo by Akhtar Balouch
-Photo by Akhtar Balouch

At 8:00am every Sunday, the hosts of this street begin arriving with goods for the buyers. You can see rickshaws, pickups, motorbikes, carts and bicycles carrying these goods. Every one of the host has a huge variety, but the goods are all the same: books.

-Photo by Akhtar Balouch
-Photo by Akhtar Balouch

Yes, I am indeed talking about the Old Book Bazaar that is set up every Sunday near the Regal Chowk. Take my word for it and pay the place a visit yourself. If you enter the street from Regal Chowk, you will probably encounter two handsome booksellers who speak beautiful Sindhi, Nadeem and Aslam. Their mother tongue is Urdu.

If you come from the other entry point, you will meet Ilyas sahib who speaks Punjabi and mostly keeps the newer books hidden. Next to him will be an Urdu speaking bookseller with books for the young and old at his stall. After him, there is the bookseller with wonderful works on Pashtun literature. Right in front of him sits a young Catholic with mostly books by Christian preaching organisations.

Keep walking on and you will eventually see a man with a grey beard. He is a Brohi. If you take the time to notice, you will realise that he keeps arranging his books from morning till noon, and then starts packing them back in for the day’s end. If you try and bargain with him over price, the old man instantly spews out references of the year of publication, with statistical analysis of the price of paper and the absence of printing machines in those times. His efforts make it evident that he will only sell the book at a price he deems fair.

A couple of yards more and you’ll meet Khan sahib, the Pashtun bookseller. This is a politically knowledgeable man and if you wish to buy a book at a cheap price, you must answer a couple of his questions first. However, the answers must be to his liking. His queries normally involve the security situation in Karachi and (former) President Asif Ali Zardari. If you prove to him that you have faith in the slogan “Agli Baari Phir Zardari” (another term for Zardari), then you are good to go. Finally, he will deliver a short speech on Zardari’s intellect and wisdom and then, sell you books at a discount that makes the entire process well worth your while. By now, you may also witness a patrolling police van, but do not be mistaken as security is the least of the policemen’s concern; instead they’re probably around to get their cut from the booksellers.

A number of people have differing opinions over the history of this 'book festival'. Some say it is three decades old, while others claim it to be two and a half decades old. However, an authentic version of history can be found in the book Faiz: Yaaden, Baatein, authored by renowned progressive researcher Ahmed Saleem. He notes:

In 1964, monthly Afkaar (an Urdu periodical) announced its Faiz edition. For this special edition, students from all over Pakistan were invited to participate in the academic competition of literature on Faiz and his works. I also submitted my poem Madeer to the desk at Afkaar. I received a letter from the judges, notifying me that my work had been rated the best. The prize was some books to be awarded by Faiz sahib in person.

I cannot forget the day. Starvation had weakened me so much that even walking was hard labour. On top of that, I had the books to carry. I went straight from the prize distributing ceremony to the Old Book Bazaar near Regal Chowk and I sold every one of them. The shopkeeper saw the books with signatures by Faiz sahib and wore a smile that could not have widened more. He gave me Rs30 for them. I rushed my way to the nearest coffee house and had myself a decent meal after months. I will never forget the joy of that luxurious day.

I used to live in a portion of a mosque in Pir Ilahi Bakhsh Colony for Rs10 a month. Three of four days after the luxurious day, someone came searching for me from the Afkaar magazine. Sahba Lakhnavi had sent for me to meet him immediately. When I got to his office, he was swelling with anger and did not even greet me before saying, “Miyan, did you steal the poem or did someone else write it for you?” I somehow sensed it all. I had no answer to why I had sold the prize books for peanuts. He kept mocking me.

He then told me to go see Faiz sahib at Haroon College, Lyari, where Faiz sahib was the Principal. The next day I went to the college, which was also known as the Khadda College. Faiz sahib smiled when he saw me and waved at me to take a seat. He then said, “Bhaee, I need your detailed introduction.” I briefly told him about myself, including the fact that some days go by without a meal and that's why I had sold the books he had awarded to me.

He smiled again and said, “Bhaee, we all have our days.” The essence of the conversation was that I quit my college and start attending his college, where books and admission will all be free, and a job will also be arranged soon. Before leaving, he handed me the same books that I had sold at the Book Bazaar. Probably, Sahar Ansari sahib had bought those books and handed them over to Faiz sahib.

This excerpt tells us that this book festival is at least half a century old.

The Saddar Town administration also appears to understand the temperament of the booksellers. As a result of which, adjacent to every bookstall there is a huge pile of litter and garbage. It is a beautiful combination of garbage and books. Perhaps, they know that the booksellers buy their books from trash. Thus, in their view, it is all trash lined up at both ends of the street; one to be cleaned, the other for sale.

-Photo by Akhtar Balouch
-Photo by Akhtar Balouch

Where do these books come from?

Eminent researcher Aqeel Abbas Jafri answers this question: “The people who buy valuable books from this bazaar also die like normal people, and when they do, their wives or children make sure the books are sold at cheaper prices than they were bought for. It is indeed a favour they bestow upon the new readers; otherwise these valuable books would be rotting in some corner of their house.”

Aqeel Abbas also says that the aggrieved families need some space in their house. The street hosts are always aware of the credentials of their guests such as age, wealth and area of residence. If a guest does not visit the hosts for about 10 or so weeks, then the deduction to the reason of their absence is made on the basis of the absentee’s age.

If the absent visitor is 60 or older, then any of his friends is approached to inquire about the well-being of the absentee.

In the case of late Abbas Kashmiri; news of his dead body being delivered to Azad Kashmir with the help of collection by his friends was spread by someone in the bazaar. That day the hosts made sure there were a number of books on Kashmir, its struggle for freedom and other relevant subjects were present at the stalls in large number.

One day, a host bookseller had a lot of books related to the Shia sect at his stall. I picked up a few for myself. I was then told that Rizwi sahib had passed away. Since then, I have not bothered inquiring who died. I just make a guess by looking at the majority of books that a Shia, Barelvi, Deobandi, Christian, poet or a literato has recently met his end.

It was this street that introduced me to former Indian President Abdul Kalam. It was here that I came to know his full name: Abul Fakhr Zain-ul-Abideen Abdul Kalam. His biography had his signatures. The tired book had travelled from a book festival in Kanpur, India to Amsterdam, whence it was brought to this bazaar.

I found another such book here which is the autobiography of the famous Indian painter M. F. Hussain, and it also has the painter’s signatures on it. Renowned critic Muhammad Ali Siddiqui had signed a book for his friend. I found that one here, too.

My friends Shahid bhai and Aqeel Abbas Jafri have several such valuable books which bear the authors’ signatures. I now give second thoughts to buying a contemporary author’s books and getting their autographs on it, as I am left wondering what people will think of my family.


Translated by Ayaz Laghari


Read this blog in Urdu here.

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