Many people wonder how come artist Naz Ikramullah, who is seen in almost all events related to art and literature, suddenly disappears for months. And then, when people are about to forget her, she surfaces again. I, too, was baffled, until she told me that she spends seven months in Ottawa, Canada, but is back in Karachi from November to the end of March.

Naz was born in London, where her father was posted as the deputy trade commissioner for British India. After Partition, Mr Ikramullah became Pakistan`s first foreign secretary. He built a house in Karachi just across the foreign office, which was then located at the Mohatta Palace.

He later headed Pakistan`s high commissions in London and Ottawa and at one time the embassy in Paris. The family moved with him each time he was transferred. Thus Naz and her siblings were educated in all these cities.

But perhaps more distinguished than anyone in the family was their mother, Begum Shaista Ikramullah, a lady of learning, who spoke impeccable English and Urdu. She was a cousin of former prime minister Hussein Shaheed Suhrawardy. The Suhrawardys were Urdu-speaking Bengalis from Calcutta (Kolkata).

Ikramullah was partly from Bhopal and partly from Benaras (Varanasi), while Naz`s husband Syed Moinuddin Ashraf hailed from Faizabad, near Lucknow. So much has the bilingual Naz Ikramullah been particular about the purity of languages that she sent her daughter to study at Aligarh for four years.

Naz, who will be exhibiting her latest canvases at Chawkandi in early March — her 18th solo exhibition — studied painting at the Byam Shaw School of Art in London and later studied printmaking, specialising in lithography, at the Slade School of Fine Arts in the same city. She has lectured at the NCA in Lahore and at the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture here in Karachi, but when she is in the Canadian capital she teaches painting and printmaking at the Ottawa School of Art for at least a semester every year.

Does she feel lonely in Karachi?

“Most certainly not. I have so many friends here, and that includes some I have been close to for years,” she said. One reason she doesn`t spend winter in Ottawa is that due to the harsh weather, people don`t generally socialise. They only leave the warmth and comfort of their houses when absolutely necessary.

“What, then, is your home Karachi or Ottawa?” I queried.

“Do you, as a Karachian, want to get an answer that will please you or do you want to know the fact?” she said, sporting a disarming smile. Before I could make a choice she proceeded, “well, they are both my homes. I have friends there and here alike.” All I can be sure of is that she wasn`t being evasive or diplomatic.

But a day after I meet her she should be in Mumbai, where she has a cousin and where she hopes to meet writer-poet-filmmaker Gulzar, whose films she has enjoyed all these years. She will then go to Delhi, before flying back to Karachi.—Asif Noorani

All in a day`s routine

Karachi should be declared one of the wonders of the world for it is nothing less than a wonder how the denizens of this mega-metropolis survive on a daily basis. Whether it is winter or summer, Karachians have to brave not only the elements but everything else conceivable.

Take, for example, my own particular life Despite staying up till the late hours of the night being a part of the journalist fraternity, and, of course, my age, I still wake up bright and early in the morning and wish to freshen up as quickly as possible. The moment I enter the washroom and turn on the taps I am greeted by a hissing sound. Fearing that a snake has crept in, I am momentarily startled only to discover, to my amusement, that the hissing sound is emanating from the tap as there is no water.

Oh well, the usual wait for the tanker and the pump machine to be cranked up, I switch on the television to catch the early morning news. No sooner I switch on the TV and kaput -- the electricity goes off. For the life of me I cannot understand what lingering old grudge the KESC has against the Tauheed Commercial area, where I live. People ask me how often the electricity goes out, to which I retort, `please ask how often it comes on.`

For most people with families I believe gas is in short supply these days which, luckily, I have little use of.

Anyway, having survived the morning problems and taking my morning or rather afternoon shower, I am aghast at the quality of water being provided on a daily basis. It is brackish, filthy and sometimes extremely unhygienic, but what can poor souls like me do?

Then it is the time to go to the office, in my particular case. Being slightly on the corpulent side I usually try to walk as much possible if time permits.

The problem, of course, is that some parts of Karachi are like a battle zone with dugouts, excavated land, potholes, ruts etc. Sometimes I think that in case of war the army already has a lot of built-in trenches, courtesy the city government.

The major disadvantage of walking is that invariably one is accosted by not one or two, but an entire horde of beggars, with each supplicating for alms in their own persuasive manner and style. Fearing that I will burn in hell, I usually part with my meagre pocket change to the first one or two.

Ah yes, I forget to mention the open manholes of Karachi ... a sight to behold in itself. I often contemplate that these manholes will one day devour me, knowing how clumsy I can be.

While on the subject of commuting to work, I do sometimes build up the nerve of taking public transport. The buses and wagons being death-traps I condition myself to being suffocated, elbowed, stepped on, abused and told `Agay jao agay jao.`

Taxis are beyond my budget, whereas rickshaws are within range. But here I have to exercise my negotiating skills as the rickshawala always has an edge over me. These days haggling starts with the lament that LPG prices are soaring and the cost of living is rising (only for these chaps and not for poor souls like me). The oft-repeated excuse is that the particular route in question has severe traffic jams and that is why the extra charge is being levied. Another amusing excuse Saab, wahan se sawari nahin milti (there are no passengers from that place), so I have to make up for the loss.

Once having reached the confines of my office I breathe a sigh of relief for here there are no power outages, no water problems with subsidized food and tea. On the return home I get the company transport, but wonder if electricity will greet me at home. Oh well ... all in a day`s routine!—Syed Ali Anwer

Compiled by Syed Hassan Ali

Email karachian@dawn.com