In case you didn’t know already, we Pakistanis like to do things differently to the rest of the world. Our talk show billboards feature men who look like walruses instead of women who look like models. Our overpriced lawn exhibitions have larger stampedes than the Harrods sale. Our wedding guest lists feature not only people we have not met in ages, but also people we actively dislike. And, more and more often, we go to the seaside, not for the beach, but for the hut.
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| Talk Show Promo, Pakistani Style. Seriously though, who is this guy, and what is his deal? |
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| This stampede is to buy clothes at full (over)price. Go figure. |
In the rest of the world, people have residences on the beach, where they live, or run boutique hotels. Not so here. In Pakistan, we have huts on the beach. A lucky few own their own, and the rest rent, steal or borrow theirs. Top companies (and clandestine government agencies too, allegedly) have their own dedicated hut as a management perk, often booked months in advance. And there are gated hut communities, where entry is as restricted as the best beachside residences anywhere else.
The best huts, the coveted ones, have their own power supply, running water, air conditioning, and other mod-cons. Others are no more than a weatherbeaten exoskeleton with a roof and the obligatory verandah. And just like having a Neelam Colony right next to a Zamzama is perfectly natural, so too can two such huts be right next to each other, awami yang cheek-by-jowl with elitist yin.
The quality of the hut can often determine whether your beach plan will be a resounding success or an unequivocal failure. People have been known to feign a relative’s terminal illness to skip work just because a prominent FMCG’s hut was up for grabs, while others have been ‘called away for urgent work’ at the mere smell of the musty cane sofa in Munnoo uncle’s one-room wonder. In fact, some people will often ask which stretch of beach a hut is on, and which multinational owns it, before committing to turn up.
The reason for this is not the mere fact that our beaches are undeveloped and there are no facilities around. In the ‘good old days’ (you know the ones, when children spoke to their elders with respect, there was not so much fuhaashi on TV and party slims was the only junk food around), our aunts and uncles were not that bothered about whether the hut had satellite TV or not, but a hut there had to be. And if not a hut, at least the gatekeeper at the French Beach could be given a bit of pocket money to let us use the verandah of an unoccupied hut. After all, you don’t need changing rooms when your swimming costume is the shalwaar kameez you arrived in and scheduled to be your attire on departure to boot.
So why the insistence on the hut? There are a couple of practical reasons. 90% of Pakistanis, male or female, are afraid of all animals, male or female, that are not already on their plate. As a result, the raised surface of the hut provides a useful barrier between themselves and the dogs, horses, mongeese, camels, killer jellyfish, known locally as “blue bottles”, and other citizens of our beaches.
The best huts, the coveted ones, have their own power supply, running water, air conditioning, and other mod-cons. Others are no more than a weatherbeaten exoskeleton with a roof and the obligatory verandah. And just like having a Neelam Colony right next to a Zamzama is perfectly natural, so too can two such huts be right next to each other, awami yang cheek-by-jowl with elitist yin.
The quality of the hut can often determine whether your beach plan will be a resounding success or an unequivocal failure. People have been known to feign a relative’s terminal illness to skip work just because a prominent FMCG’s hut was up for grabs, while others have been ‘called away for urgent work’ at the mere smell of the musty cane sofa in Munnoo uncle’s one-room wonder. In fact, some people will often ask which stretch of beach a hut is on, and which multinational owns it, before committing to turn up.
The reason for this is not the mere fact that our beaches are undeveloped and there are no facilities around. In the ‘good old days’ (you know the ones, when children spoke to their elders with respect, there was not so much fuhaashi on TV and party slims was the only junk food around), our aunts and uncles were not that bothered about whether the hut had satellite TV or not, but a hut there had to be. And if not a hut, at least the gatekeeper at the French Beach could be given a bit of pocket money to let us use the verandah of an unoccupied hut. After all, you don’t need changing rooms when your swimming costume is the shalwaar kameez you arrived in and scheduled to be your attire on departure to boot.
So why the insistence on the hut? There are a couple of practical reasons. 90% of Pakistanis, male or female, are afraid of all animals, male or female, that are not already on their plate. As a result, the raised surface of the hut provides a useful barrier between themselves and the dogs, horses, mongeese, camels, killer jellyfish, known locally as “blue bottles”, and other citizens of our beaches.
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| A Karachi beach, complete with flora, fauna and beach huts of all description |
Secondly, it is vital for our aunties to have a place where they can sequester their daughters of marriageable age, lest they spend the entire day in the sun and turn their skin black as coal, hence ruining their chances of landing any suitable match completely. After all, the dusky hued Bollywood bombshells adorning lawn billboards all over the city are not exactly the Pakistani aunties’ idea of suitable bahu material.
Also, on an emotional note, we need a hut because there are key components of a day at the beach that cannot be accomplished without it. Principal among these is the eating of the pateela of biryani / qeema on melamine plates while seated on a dastarkhwaan. Also featuring prominently is the exchange of gossip, resolution of old feuds, initiation of new ones and making of matches by ladies of a certain age. What remains eternally endearing though is the aunties’ beseeching of the young brigade to stay away from the water, and loud chants to invoke the Almighty’s help in keeping the clan safe for the day from the wrath of the waves after their inevitable refusal to comply.
Also vital in the beach experience is the hurling of imprecations at the youngsters for dragging sand on to the verandah floor. We are probably the only nation where people go to the beach for the day, but refuse to have anything to do with the sand. Like I said earlier, we Pakistanis like to do things differently to the rest of the world.
Originally published in Dawn, 2011
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