The now famous song by the Bee Gees ‘Staying Alive’ ushered in the disco era. It was actually written in response to the desperation in the wake of the brutal economic and social breakdown of New York in the 1970s. With lyrics such as, “Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ and we are staying alive, staying alive!” the song was a social statement, a plea — “Somebody help me!”
It was composed for the iconic film Saturday Night Fever, itself carrying a dark message of survival, inspiring young men across the world to strut down the street in white suits. The message of the film was that giving up was not an option. Medical first responders are trained to use the song to get the rhythm of CPR to the 103 beats per minute, literally ensuring people stay alive.
The Karachi of today shares with the New York of the 70s a sense of the city unravelling. That mix of glamour and urban decay, a primarily working-class city facing economic desperation, crime and drugs. To Karachi, one can add ripped up roads, a limited supply of electricity and gas, and a dysfunctional city administration. Yet, like New Yorkers, the people of Karachi are resilient and find ways to rise above the despair.
The most common weapon of combat is dark humour — comparing the city to the ancient ruins of Mohenjo Daro and generating memes about street crime. Lyari, the oldest, yet most deprived locality of the city, epitomises the spirit of Karachi. As the football World Cup approaches, the drab streets are filled with Brazilian and Argentinian team colours and murals. For a while, the boxing clubs and donkey cart races take a back seat. Young teenagers compose rap music, mixed with lewa and dhammal dances by the older generation.
While New York recovered with state and federal help, Karachi stays alive with a parallel citizen-led governance, creating dignity when formal systems fail. They pave their own roads, arrange their own security, instal generators and solar panels. Philanthropists build free hospitals and schools, provide ambulances, distribute food twice a day for the needy, and form committees of the concerned who hold press conferences to shake the government out of its stupor.
Amid urban breakdown and political uncertainty, the people of Karachi rely upon humour, community and citizen-led governance in order to soldier on
Meanwhile, restaurants and street food flourish, small workshops hammer out products, embroider delicate fabrics — as the electricity supply allows — and families flock to the seafront for respite. It still attracts economic migrants from across the country.
Yet, there is a grim reality that looms behind the refusal to let the powerful define their existence. The drums of war are only a heartbeat away. With rising global uncertainty, governments and armies spring into action to save the state. In the larger scheme of things, death is a statistic, whether civilian or soldier.
For individuals, life is relationships, personal ambitions for an imagined future, a home, a city or village of shared memories. As peace is invaded, we wonder how does one stay alive? Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally? A series of Instagram posts show cameos of everyday life — a pregnant woman, an artist painting a new canvas, a family dinner — against a generic backdrop of the flames of war. The river flows onwards, regardless of forest fires.
Poets such as Habib Jalib, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Kishwar Naheed, N.M. Rashid and Shakir Shuja Abadi, speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Freedom is a state of mind, a way of protecting one’s inner narrative.
Once Pakistan’s folk music aired on radio and television in 1960s and 1970s, the voices of Zarsanga, Faiz Muhammad Baloch, Reshma, Mai Bhagi, Pathanay Khan and Saeen Marna reached every household, carrying the pain, the joy and the longing of Pakistanis beset by poverty and powerlessness, yet choosing life, if only for small moments of happiness. It set the musical tone for subsequent generations of pop groups, ghazal singers and qawwals. Sajjad Ali sings “Mein doob raha hoon, abhi dooba tau nahin hoon [I am drowning but I haven’t drowned yet].”
Survival is a basic human instinct to avoid death or meet physical needs. Staying alive has a much wider ambition — to lead life with meaning, passion and purpose. It is also the art of staying human under pressure.
Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.
She may be reached at
durriyakazi1918@gmail.com
Published in Dawn, June 21st, 2026