KARACHI: You may argue that there’s nothing creative about the underpasses and the bridge being constructed near Abdullah Shah Ghazi’s shrine because it doesn’t take an extraordinary engineer to come up with a design for such structures. You may also argue that there’s nothing creative about the skyscraper that will soon kiss the sky, towering over the shrine of Karachi’s patron saint. But you cannot doubt the creativity with which some people have made their (temporary) homes under the under-constructed bridge. It is a sight to behold, and validates the proverb ‘necessity is the mother of invention’.

What invention? Well, if you happen to pass by that area, which is extremely difficult if you have an expensive car for the entire stretch of road is dug up or semi-carpeted like a badly begun expressionist painting, (so it’s advisable you go there on foot), you will notice that scores of people belonging to the less privileged segment of society have already settled under the bridge as if they have been living there for ages. You feel for them, both in a good way and a bad way. Good: they have a shelter. Bad, the shelter can be snatched from them any moment.

Some of them seem to be the usual homeless bunch that finds it difficult even to eke out a living, hence no question or renting or buying a house. Then there are those, perhaps, who come to the shrine to get the saint’s blessings, and want to stay for a longish period so that they remain in proximity to the pir. It’s easier for them to crash under the bridge as the cool sea breeze never lets the scorching Karachi summer make its presence felt in the shaded areas of the concrete overpass.

But let’s get back to the subject of creativity. A few days ago, in order to reach an art gallery this writer passed by the Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine. That’s where a young girl, belonging to one of the families who live under the bridge, came into view. She was playing with a toy that looked like a train. The girl had joined a shoebox and a plastic container together with something that may have been paper clips and tied them to a big rope. The shoebox was filled with pebbles and the container too was filled with stones. She gently ran across the bridge, holding the rope tight, pulling the boxes and dragging them along the bumpy road, making with her mouth the sound of a chugging train. And she looked happy. That was her recreation, her playtime, right in the thick of things where people racked their brains figuring out how to build flyovers and high-rises to make life plush and comfortable.

Published in Dawn, April 19th, 2015

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