Out in Karachi's polluted harbour last week, I saw six or so dilapidated wooden boats at anchor. When I asked a friend whom they belonged to, he told me their owners were Indian fishermen who were in jail for straying into Pakistani waters.

No doubt these unfortunate people and their boats have their Pakistani counterparts rotting in Indian ports and jails. But apart from contending with invisible international boundaries, our fishermen also have to face the depredations of large foreign trawlers poaching in our waters, as well as inimical government policies.

Large vessels equipped with fish-tracking sonar and freezing plants fish off our coasts around the year, scooping up thousands of tons of marine life, much of which is dumped back into the sea after valuable species have been separated and put on ice. Naturally, the rejects are dead when they return to the water, causing an enormous amount of biological pollution. To make matters worse, they use fine-mesh nets that do not permit the smallest fish to escape in contravention of laws in most countries. Drawing a leaf from their book, the larger (Karachi-based) Pakistani trawlers use similar nets that are decimating marine life in our coastal waters to the long-term detriment of the industry. Although banned by the provincial government, these nets continue to be used with impunity.

While these larger foreign and domestic operations represent business ventures of varying sizes and sophistication, they are very different from the small, owner-operated wooden boats that set out to sea from coastal villages in Sindh and Balochistan. For those who sail these fragile craft, the size of each catch determines how well their families will eat. And year after year, they have seen their catch dwindle. Unable to sail very far from the coast, they cannot compete with the larger boats from foreign ports that are scouring our waters for species that are popular back home. Lacking facilities to freeze their small surpluses, they are forced to sell them to middlemen who transport them to the market and earn a large profit.

The government has sold out the interests of these fishing folk for a few thousand dollars in fishing licences. Instead of building up our own fishing industry, powerful vested interests (including the embassies of Far Eastern nations whose boats are fishing in our waters) have caused Islamabad to lift the earlier ban on foreign trawlers. Although these well-equipped trawlers are not supposed to fish in our coastal waters, my fishermen friends insist they do so brazenly. The Maritime Security Agency (MSA) that is supposed to prevent such intrusions has been largely ineffective. Again, villagers allege that agents of these foreign vessels pay off local officials to turn a blind eye to their activities.

Whatever the truth, it is a fact that unrestricted large-scale fishing using fine-mesh nets is playing havoc with our marine life, threatening the livelihood of hundreds of thousands of fishermen who inhabit Pakistan's coastline. My interest and concern is not just academic: for the last few years, I have been spending most of my weekends at the beach next to a fishing village. Apart from buying fresh fish, lobsters, crabs and oysters from the fishermen, I talk about the changes in the weather and how it is affecting their catch; the different kinds of fish they have caught; and the impact of the foreign fishing fleet on the local economy. They also bring me up to date with village politics.

Open and relaxed, they are at peace with themselves and the world. Never servile or obsequious, they look me in the eye and when they sit in my porch, they do so as equals. But my special friend is Fateh who lives in the neighbouring village and is my regular supplier of lobsters, fish and fishing lore. A figure from the sixties with his ponytail, jeans and pastel coloured kurtas, he is naturally courteous and over years of dealing with foreigners, has acquired more than a smattering of English.

But despite appearances, Fateh is a deeply religious man without ever flaunting his beliefs. Indeed, the self-righteousness of our mullahs drives him to distraction: "Who are they to tell us how to follow our faith?" he demands indignantly. Over the years, I have observed that the closer people live to nature, the more tolerant they are; I suspect that fanaticism is a largely urban phenomenon.

Of late, Fateh has run into financial difficulties. He, too, has been hit by falling catches caused by the indiscriminate destruction of fish in and out of season, together with the decimation of the mangroves where many species breed. But in the last fishing season, he lost his nets and his ancient boat engine gave up on him. The next season begins in a few weeks, and he does not have the capital to re-equip his small boat.

Too proud to ask for help, he recently wondered if I would invest in a larger boat that would allow him to go deeper and further along the coast, thus increasing his catch. The figure he mentioned was too small to make sense, so I asked him to check the costs. The next weekend, he was very depressed as his total requirement is actually 700,000 rupees, a figure far beyond our combined reach. He then decided to try and raise a far more modest sum for new nets and a second-hand engine. I promised to help him as much as I could, especially as people like Fateh have no recourse to the banking system since he has no collateral and no contacts. Another reason I want to help is that Fateh is putting all four of his daughters through school, despite his financial problems.

While swimming that day, I had the bright idea of exploring the possibility of getting some institutional help. In the past, the Besom Foundation, a London-based charity, had helped buy equipment for Darul Sukoon, LRBT and SIUT. I sent off an email, and much to my excitement, they have agreed to pay for the 30-foot wooden boat that will cost around 400,000 rupees.

This leaves another 300,000 to pay for the nets, engine and ancillary equipment. I will happily kick in 10,000, and my son has promised 7,000. If enough readers contribute relatively small sums, we should have Fateh fully equipped for the fishing season. As a spin-off, he will take young boys along as apprentices if their own fathers cannot teach them the craft. In time, I hope to get him amateur fish-location sonar that is now available for a few hundred dollars. Anybody wishing to help Fateh can do so by contacting me at mazdak@cyber.net.pk

I am really looking forward to Saturday when I break the good news to Fateh.