Katha Aik Mahigir Ki
By Talib Kachhi
Pakistan Fisherfolk Forum 
146pp.

To understand Karachi, one must begin at its edge, where the sea meets the city. This is the coastline where the fisherfolk, the city’s earliest residents, have lived for generations, long before colonial times. Their oral histories and lived experiences are central to Karachi’s cultural memory and offer critical insights into its socio-economic development and the city’s evolving relationship with the marine environment.

This deep, often overlooked connection is beautifully described in Katha Aik Mahigir Ki [The Story of a Fisherman], a recent Urdu book by Talib Kachhi, a 75-year-old fisherman and community activist. In a series of semi-autobiographical essays, Kachhi shares his memories of traditional fishing practices, the communal knowledge system, and the transformation of Karachi’s coast. His writing not only preserves a fading way of life but also highlights the strength of coastal communities as they face environmental and urban challenges.

Kachhi’s family migrated from the Kachchh region of Gujarat, now part of India, when he was just two years old. He began fishing at 12, later settling in Ibrahim Hyderi after spending his early years in Bhutta Village, Keamari. He played a pivotal role in founding the Pakistan Fisherfolk Forum (PFF), along with Muhammad Ali Shah, Majeed Mothani and others, with the crucial support of noted labour rights activists such as the late Karamat Ali and Ely Ercelan. Following Shah’s death, the PFF regrettably split into factions, divided between his family and longstanding colleagues, including Kachhi.

Though not a prolific writer or formally trained researcher, Kachhi’s desire to preserve his memories found expression through Facebook posts and articles in Urdu newspapers. Encouraged by friends, he eventually compiled his reflections into book form.

In a first-of-its-kind compilation of Urdu essays, a fisherman shares his lived memories of traditional fishing practices, the communal knowledge system, and the transformation of Karachi’s coast

The resulting work comprises a series of short essays that delve into themes mostly tied to the sea and the lives of fishing communities, based on Kachhi’s own memories and experiences. These narratives encompass childhood memories, perilous maritime adventures, including encounters with fierce waves and sharks, reflections on iconic islands such as Baba Bhit and Charna, and the ecological significance of mangroves. Kachhi also documents the decline of the fishing industry, the plight of incarcerated fishermen, longstanding community traditions, the art of boat-making, and the early grassroots struggle for fishermen’s rights.

“Fishing in the deep sea is the most dangerous occupation in the world,” Kachhi says. “Yet, local fishermen, to feed their children, sleep soundly in boats rocked by the ocean’s restless waves.”

As a seasoned fisherman, Kachhi performed a wide range of duties at sea, serving as cook for around a 25-member crew, the chief sailor (nakhuda), the supervisor (sarang), and the deckhand or labourer (khalasi). He recalls a time when a two-week fishing expedition cost only Rs1,000, covering essentials such as ice, diesel and food. Today, that same journey can cost up to Rs100,000. He explains that boat-owners, who invest millions and endure countless challenges to acquire their vessels, are fiercely protective of them.

One of Kachhi’s essays about his mother opens with a childhood memory from the coast. He recalls how she would dig into the wet earth with a shovel, collecting the sticky mud (chikni mitti) left behind by the receding sea that is used in constuction. After forming a large mound, she would load it into a metal tray and walk to a nearby neighbourhood, about 200 yards away. She made multiple trips each day and earned one rupee for every 32 rounds she completed.

“Fishermen would go to sea for months for work and, due to poverty, their women worked as labourers in agricultural fields,” Kachhi writes. He also recalls how his mother and other fisherwomen used to lay floors by mixing sea mud with industrial gas residue, substances that caused painful injuries to their hands.

Raised in Bhutta Village, Keamari, Kachhi recalls the 1960s village as a time of sparse settlement, inhabited primarily by Kachhi families, along with Pashtun and Kokani residents. “There was no Shireen Jinnah Colony back then,” he notes. With constant port activity, restaurants stayed open day and night. A sizeable Bengali population also lived in rented houses near the port. “We lived among the mangroves. The sea was as blue as the sky. We swam from Bhutta Village to the Beach Luxury Hotel,” he writes nostalgically.

Kachhi also recounts the displacement of fishermen in the Gizri area, driven by land reclamation and construction led by the Defence Housing Authority. As upscale residences and clubs emerged, the vital coastline was lost, depriving fishermen of anchorage and disrupting their traditional access to the sea.

He also recalls the 1971 war, during which he was fishing in the deep sea. “It was our sixth day in the sea when we heard on the boat radio that Indian forces had attacked the oil terminals in Keamari. Since all of us were from Keamari, we became anxious and began our return to Karachi,” he writes. Upon arrival, they learned their families had relocated to Ibrahim Hyderi for safety.

After the war paused eight days later, they returned to Keamari, sleeping in a single room. “Around 8pm, sirens rang out again, and Indian jets struck the terminals. Fire broke out everywhere,” he recalls. His father advised them to relocate to Bhit Shah, fearing more attacks. As they were leaving, another airstrike hit Keamari, with bombs falling both in the sea and residential areas, killing many, mostly Kachhis and Pashtuns. He notes that plots in Ibrahim Haidri were later allotted to the victims’ families by the then-chief minister Mumtaz Ali Bhutto and the then lawmaker Haji Wali Jamot.

Kachhi’s recollections from the 1960s and 1970s evoke a period when maritime borders between Pakistan and India were comparatively open. He recounts a journey from his wife’s childhood, when her family travelled from Karachi to India’s Kachchh region aboard the ship Haji Qasim. The vessel would depart Karachi at 3pm and arrive in Kachchh the following morning. Passengers were granted entry after a simple registration process with local authorities. From there, the ship continued onward to Mumbai.

He also remembers how relatives from Kachchh used to send gifts, such as bananas, gurrh and peanuts, by ship. “It took so many days to arrive,” he writes, “that the bananas would ripen and turn into sweets by the time they reached us.”

Kachhi laments the environmental degradation he has witnessed over the past seven decades. “There used to be all kinds of seafood, including palla and shrimp, and large mangrove trees. Now, everything is gone.” He cites the loss of 2.2 million acres of farmland and the displacement of over 600,000 people. He also recalls the 13-day march by the PFF in 2018 to raise awareness about the delta’s destruction.

During Gen Ziaul Haq’s regime, the government strictly enforced a fishing ban during June and July to allow marine life to recover. However, he criticises present-day regulatory failures, noting that, although a fishing ban is officially in place during June and July, corrupt practices have allowed illegal fishing to continue until mid-June, undermining marine conservation efforts.

Despite its lack of academic structure and editorial flaws, Katha Aik Mahigir Ki is a valuable contribution. In a context where scholarly work on Pakistan’s fishing communities is limited, it offers rich first-hand insights into the socio-cultural and economic dynamics of coastal life. Talib Kachhi’s work also reflects a growing literary and academic shift that prioritises the lived experiences of ordinary people over elite-centered histories.

For researchers, journalists, and practitioners, it provides a rare grassroots perspective on fisherfolk, marine life and fisheries, serving as both inspiration and a starting point for further inquiry.

The reviewer is a journalist and researcher.

He can be reached at zeea.rehman@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, June 29th, 2025