The deep green Ford Lincoln gleamed in the bright daylight as Joseph, our driver, polished its windshields more to kill time than clean the glass which remained without a streak. The grand car at the sole disposal of Bari Begum Sahab, my Dadoo, would mostly be kept parked away in the garage until she needed to be driven somewhere, which rarely happened as, her being the family elder, everyone else would be coming over to see her. That’s why her going out every once in a while was an occasion in itself and it usually happened in order to take care of the needs of the entire family.

The gardener gathered the freshly-cut flowers from the neat rows of red, pink and white roses in a cane basket as he kept a vigilant eye on the main door from where the Bari Begum Sahab would be emerging any minute now.

The door finally opened but it wasn’t Bari Begum Sahab who emerged. Both the gardener and driver smiled on seeing me pop out from there. Approaching the old man (Mali baba) I jumped up and down until he lowered the flower basket for me and I carefully selected a medium-sized white rose that was without any thorns before running off to the Joseph who helped me into the back seat of the big car.

In a matter of seconds we were joined by Bari Bagum Sahab, who could keep the world waiting but never her little granddaughter. Meanwhile, Chotti Begum Saheba hurried out adjusting her dupatta. She handed a flask to her mother-in-law with a request to not let me have anything to drink from outside. “Of course Beta, don’t worry,” she smiled before taking the flask from her, which she carefully placed between herself and me before ordering the driver to move. And hence would begin our interesting little shopping expedition.

From our house in PECHS we were soon driving straight up to Saddar on Sharea Faisal. Our first stop Hotel Metropole didn’t see us getting out of the car. But Joseph was sent to that small shop to get us a couple of packets of those chocolaty Rozanne toffees, the ones that got stuck to your teeth and gums… but who cared about that as long as the flavour lingered?

From Metropole to Elphinstone Street (Zaibunissa Street now) where our first stop was Sanaullah. “Look what a big shop he has now,” my grandmother told me about the owner of the business. “He used to sell the material door to door on a bicycle. Now look at this shop!” She marvelled as we entered the place hand in hand to take care of my mother’s little list. Later a little turn into that narrow lane on the sides also took care of my stationary needs — pencils, crayons, sharpeners, nicely scented erasers, colouring books and copies from Razzak Book Depot.

That done and with plenty there to keep me occupied and happy, it was back to Elphy and to Chottani, the jewellery shop. As Dadoo talked jewellery and polish and change of dorian for necklaces, etc., I turned my attention to the various showcases admiring all that glittery stuff on display. I remember Dadoo glancing at me for a second before pointing to something in one of the showcases and the jeweller brought out a tray of ruby, emerald, sapphire and diamonds studded in gold earrings of all kinds and shapes. One pair of studs with a ruby at the centre and little diamonds caught both our attention. My grandmother suspected my interest and so they were promptly deposited in her big black purse following a lengthy discussion over the price and how much the man was charging for its ‘making’, etc.

From the jewellers it was a short drive to Mehbub Cloth Market. This was a very funny place for me as I watched the salesmen putting on saris and modelling for us. I was allowed to climb onto the platform with them and touch all the colourful embroidered material in rolls and piles there. I loved the fragrance of new cloth. Nothing was bought but armed with a good idea of the latest prices, we popped into the nearby Banaras Silk House where the aged salesman acknowledged us with a welcoming smile. Boxes and boxes of all kinds and colour saris were bought for my mother and Phuppo. And with all that loaded in the car with Joseph’s help, we crossed the street to M. Jallaludin & Sons for safari suit, trousers and shirt material for Dadajan and Abbu. It was the most boring part of our shopping. I don’t like grey, brown, black and white.

The visit to the dupatta shop in Bohri Bazaar was slightly more uplifting until I realised that we only wanted rolls of white dupatta material. It was later to be cut according to the need and given for colouring at the dyer’s shop. Oh well …

A visit to the long winding lanes of the Jama Cloth Market got us plenty of bed linen. On the way, the Mama Parsi School was pointed out to me as usual. “Look, your mother’s old school,” Dadoo never failed to show me the yellow stone building. But my school would come, too, of course on the way to Empress Market. It wasn’t my school as yet, as I still attended its kindergarten section that we had already passed by after getting those toffees from Hotel Metropole, and which my grandmother, due to her disapproval over my attending a co-ed school, had conveniently forgot to point out.

"Look, look, Dadoo! My school!" I said as soon as the huge Karachi Grammar School senior school (middle school today) building came into view as we turned towards the Empress Market. "Yes, beta …" she sighed. "I will be coming here soon," I repeated what my parents would say to me when passing by the building. "Yes, beta …" she sighed more deeply.

Soon we were at the smelly Empress Market. The fish market in there was the worst. “Fish is good for you. It is good for your eyesight. See, I have so much fish that I still don’t need glasses,” I am told. Hmmmn …

The knives, sil/butta and other grey-stone crushing or masala preparing devices are of particular interest to my grandmother.

Inside, a little further there, is this man who crushes some kind of fruit to get oil out of it. They call it ‘amla’ and the oil ‘amla oil’, the green oil that they love massing into hair on weekends.

The far end of Empress Market is what I’m really interested in. Joseph takes my hand and we stride over to that part of the market with Dadoo’s permission and a couple of red colour notes from her purse of course, while she herself bargains with the shopkeepers, scrutinising their stuff at her side. We are going to the kite shops for brightly-coloured kites made of crisp tissue paper. I want all kinds and Joseph lets me have my wish. We blow away all our money!

More stuff with medicinal value is to follow at the Hamdard Dawakhana. The Inshallah Mashallah itr shop is next on our agenda.

I like the bottles more than the itr. The same goes for the sparkling silver surma bottles at the Hashmi Surma shop. We have been driving in circles as Dadoo remembers something or the other at every turn but Joseph doesn’t complain. The streets are vacant with very few cars and all the shops are open despite it being pretty early in the day …

Those were the days … the same roads today are jam-packed for much smaller sized cars to pass through. I wish I had that luxury of relaxing in the back seat with the windows rolled down to bask in the gentle breeze as someone else drove me past the shops. But no such luck here! My windows are rolled up tight as even the car AC can’t save me from the sweltering Karachi heat.

The car doors locked to discourage the mobile phone snatchers looking for opportunities in traffic jams. I sip from my little box of mango juice as I honk for the idiot parking his car in the middle of the road right in front of me. My hands reach my earlobes in nervous frustration as I adjust my ruby and diamond studs while I wait for the chap to move his vehicle to one side as someone else honks from behind for me to move ahead.

This is just perfect! I swear under my breath as I manoeuvre my little Suzuki to get myself out of the jam. What a chaos! I can’t imagine what makes me come to this busy part of the town again and again!