Summer of our discontent

We are going through a protracted, harsh summer this year. It has been made harsher by the KESC. Load-shedding has become the order of the day. In such a situation, therefore, when my daughter, who lives in the US, decided to come to Pakistan, we were naturally happy but felt perturbed at the same time.

How would the kids cope with the heat? Will their vacation be wasted? What kind of fun could we possibly provide them? In panic, my wife started to make frenzied preparations for their arrival.

“Let us shift into the other room, let them take our bedroom; let’s change the curtains and the sofa covers; let’s get some stocks of imported juices! De-hydration must be avoided. And what about the generator you promised to buy?”

So, I went and did the shopping, even bought a generator, and was ready to receive Aisha and the kids.

“Gosh, it is hot!” were the first words that greeted me as they came out of the arrivals lounge. We came home in air-conditioned comfort, but the electricity went off the moment we entered the house. “The airport was not bad. Now it is hot!” said the guests from the West in unison.

“The generator!,” my Pakistani grandson shouted and ran up the stairs to start it.

“Sounds like a helicopter hovering over my head,” said the grandson from Chicago.

In a few hours all arrangements for their comfort were thrown to the wind.

The boys took off their shirts, pulled the mattress from the bedroom, spread it in the lounge, jumped on it, started to eat their meals there, and slept on it ba-jamaat at night. It became an activity for all five — three from Karachi and two from Chicago — to make a dash for the generator whenever the KESC went for their much denied load-shedding.

Then one afternoon the rains came and the boys had a great time. They bathed in the rain on the terrace, oblivious of the sufferings it had caused to millions. They splashed about, pushed and pulled each other, picked up brooms and swept water from the terrace floor. I sat in my chair watching the proceedings and silently thanked God Almighty.

The children never complained, but the rains had badly affected our life. Electricity was playing hide-and-seek with greater frequency and the telephones had gone silent. The roads were flooded and on the 26th Street of DHA our car floated on the water, bringing peals of laughter from the kids squeezed in the back seat.

Soon we could not go out and no one came to visit us. So, while the kids ran up and down and enjoyed themselves, we grown-ups sat in front of the TV and heard the city nazim, the DHA administrator and other officials clarifying that the area where life had been disrupted was not in their jurisdiction.

Soon, far more depressing news came. A huge fire was raging in the PNSC building. It looked like a re-enactment of 9/11. Will the building come down like the great twin towers of New York?

The TV anchors were having a field day. And there were the minister of ports and shipping and the chairman of the Port Trust figuring out whose responsibility it was to fight the inferno – the city government or the Port Trust?

Though my grandchildren insisted on visiting the flaming building, I refused their request and told them it was not a tamasha.

So, in order to divert their minds, I told them the story of my dog that had gone mad after a fight with another dog and had to be put to sleep. I had gone to Golimar police station to request them to come and put it to sleep, but was told that my house did not fall under their jurisdiction but under Soldier Bazaar police station’s jurisdiction.

So, I went to Soldier Bazaar police station and was again told that I lived in an area falling in the jurisdiction of New Town police station.

“What happened?,” asked the kids.

“Ah! You see, kids, I came home and took the law in my own hand and killed my doggie,” I concluded the story.–S.M. Shahid

Futility stores

There are almost 92 regular and franchise Utility Stores in the city made to ease life for the poor, or at least that’s what we are told. Products are sold on subsidised rates here, though there are quite a few concerns about the quality of the products available. But for the poor the real issue is survival, not quality.

The stores are supposed to stock all essential products like lentils, rice, sugar, oil etc. But most of the time, at least in Karachi, we hear the complaint that Utility Stores’ shopkeepers come up with excuses about the unavailability of one item or the other. This creates an artificial shortage and thus a price hike is unavoidable.

Our government very graciously announces the price of certain products every now and then, usually through an ad in the papers, but what happens is that the stores are found to be shut or the very products that have reduced prices go missing. Apart from this, long queues are seen outside these stores hours before the store actually opens.

A friend, intrigued by the new reduced prices introduced in the budget this year, thought about visiting a Utility Store to see if the government claims were indeed true. When I inquired about what came of the visit, she made a silly face and told me that she first had to stand in a queue for an hour; at last when the shop finally opened the speed of the service was so slow that it took a further hour-and-a-half to get to the counter.

The moment she made it to the counter she was told that some of the products on her list were unavailable. Furthermore, she had to buy some other goods in order to purchase the reduced price items.

So much for the government’s generosity. Who would have thought that the government was working on an obesity control programme for the poor secretively and wanted the already lean ones to look slim and trim by way of its new policies?

Hope they come up with similar plans for those who have loads of money in their pockets.–Meera Jamal

Seeing red

The city’s horrific traffic has been making headlines recently and rightfully so. Anyone who’s braved Karachi’s roads at anywhere near rush-hour will bear witness to the fact that we have a serious problem on our hands.

The learned, or those that appear so, have pointed out various reasons behind the city’s logjam. Haphazard digging of roads, encroachments and the lack of enforcement of traffic rules have been citied as some of the causes behind the crisis. However, one part of the problem the pundits tend to overlook is the people. Plain and simple, far too many drivers make a mockery of traffic laws and put themselves and others at risk, while adding to the traffic chaos.

And perhaps it would not be too much of an exaggeration to say that a good number of Karachians have no traffic discipline.

For example the running of red lights (when they’re in working order, that is) is an incredibly common sight on our roads and people do not realise that by exercising such haste, they help clog up the system bit by bit.

And if some poor soul is observant (or is it naïve?) enough to actually wait patiently for the red light to turn green, often he is harassed by frenzied honking from the rear. Often a nasty look is enough to quiet this cacophony.

What’s the rush? Is there a fabulous, multi-billion rupee prize waiting at the end of the line? If so, then maybe I’d join the mad dash too. But since there’s fat chance of that happening, I’d rather take my time and not travel at light speed to reach my destination.

This is just one of the many examples of people’s lax attitudes towards traffic laws that help aggravate the problem and cause jams.

But then again, people know they can slip out of a potentially hairy situation when actually stopped for a violation by slipping the copper a crisp banknote.

The vicious circle continues.—QAM

Compiled by Syed Hassan Ali
Email: karachian@dawn.com