Karachi Counterpoint

There is a famous saying: “Nothing changes; nothing stays the same”. When I sat down to put pen to paper today, this phrase kept coming back to me, for I was writing about the different things we Karachiites do to amuse ourselves. Even the most blessed among us would not disagree that day to day life in the City of Lights (and it seems like I am the only one who uses this former name any more) is more stressful now, than ever before. And yet there is this nagging feeling in many; that this, too, shall pass. And, like the generations that have gone before, we Karachiwallahs of today are as determined to enjoy our times of peace to the fullest as we ever were.

Nothing changes; nothing stays the same. When I was growing up, weddings were rescheduled at the last moment due to the venue being in a ‘curfew’ area. Now, weddings are rescheduled at the last moment as the venue has been changed into a high security zone and all bookings unceremoniously cancelled.

Nothing changes; nothing stays the same. A generation ago, ‘going crabbing’ meant going out into a rickety launch, laying some traps down in the Kemari harbor, and catching what one caught. With the harbor waters now resembling the contents of the average septic tank, this is no longer possible, so you have three options. The first is to go out into the harbor in a rickety launch, and eat crabs that have been caught earlier in the day, several miles away. This is still as much fun as the original, with all the benefits of the sea breeze, the journey itself, etc.

For those who prefer to be able to see what they eat, the captains of the ship (somehow they all seem to be called Saleem) will also happily come over to your house with their trusty kerosene stove, and cook the goodies in your kitchen, clean plates and all. And if even that is too unhygienic for you, just ring up a new service advertised on a website for snobbish Karachiites, and have the finished product delivered to your door.

Nothing changes; nothing stays the same. Street food remains king, whether it is on ‘food streets’, or just regular old streets, where food can be bought. You can enjoy a gourmet meal at a bistro on a food street with a high cover charge (the better to keep out the riffraff), or a bun kabab (diesel fumes thrown in for free) at a street-corner where the seller has been using the same family recipe for three generations. Which tastes better? The answer to that lies in the tastebuds of the beholder.

And when it comes to eating out, nothing beats the Chinese restaurant. These purveyors of Hot and Sour Soup and Chicken Manchurian are the great social levelers of our times. The preferred restaurant of a family spans the entire age spectrum, sometimes four generations can be seen contesting the last piece of spring roll. And not only do these restaurants help bridge the gap between generations, they are second only to the seaside in equaling socio-economic divides. People will drive great distances to partake of the Sticky Chicken from their preferred restaurant-in-a-bungalow, and think nothing of sitting cheek-by-jowl with another family from a part of town they may not even have heard of.

Nothing changes; nothing stays the same. Weekend afternoons can comfortably be whiled away at the weekly bazaar. It used to be held on a Friday, and now is held on a Sunday. What remains in common is the fruit and vegetable stalls, the booksellers from Khori Garden, sorting through whose wares can easily take up half a day if you are not careful, the street urchins willing to carry your bags for you, and the outlets selling cut-price cooking oil. What has changed (other than the day it is held) is the proliferation of shops selling the castoffs of European charity stores, from clothes to broken-down toys, always worth a rummage just in case you can find a working Lightsabre.

Nothing changes; nothing stays the same. Hundreds of families still ‘go to Clifton’ to ‘eat the air’. The Hully Gully and the Pirate Ship are still there, only now as an aside to the Ibn e Qasim Park. However, just like that huge clock tower in Makkah does not at all steal the thunder from the reason you are there, the huge expanse of grass, even in a city as devoid of them as Karachi, does not detract from the dodgem cars.

Of course, the Ibn e Qasim Park does not open till the late afternoon. So, if you want to sneak away from college for an illicit date (complete with school bag and uniform in some cases), there is only one venue for you, just as always: the zoo. There are plenty of secluded spaces where a bit of sneaked hand-holding can be managed away from the prying eyes of school groups and Maya Khan-types, and so what if Anarkali has departed for the great big herd in the sky? In her place you have two new pachyderms to make friends with; Madhubala and Noorjehan. Not to mention the half-eunuch, half-stuffed fox that is Mumtaz Mahal, always worth the (two rupee) price of admission.

At the seaside too, some things change, while others stay the same. Sea View no longer has the beached shipwreck so many Karachiites grew up with, although the camels and horses remain. Hawkes’ Bay and its associated beaches have not changed much at all in the last few years (the absence of lifeguards and the sad news stories of drowned picnickers included), complete with snake charmers, hawkers and pye-dogs. And, although Paradise Point has lost a lot of its mystique as the iconic blow hole has eroded away, and Devil’s Point its cachet due to a nice smooth road leading weekenders thence, there are few things the residents of this city would rather do than head for the seaside when there is some leisure time to be had.

That, then, is Karachi in a nutshell. A city which finds stability in its instability, constancy in its change. And, of course, for its ‘entertainment starved’ population, its leisure wherever and whenever it can be had. 

Originally written for Dawn, 2012.