Sea, by a city called Karachi.

My impressions of Karachi have changed.

A fishing village a hundred years ago, today is completely bereft of a seaside culture. A very strange phenomena; but then Pakistan never ceases to amaze.

There are no seaside cafes as such, no sea sports or sportsmen/women/children noticeable anywhere. The public beaches are frequented primarily by burka clad, high shallu wearing families strolling along the outskirts of the sea and beaches; very incongruently and awkwardly engaging with nature’s source of life. Occasionally a child will rush into the waves out of curiosity and quickly retreat in response to worried cries. The Maya Khans of the world have ensured the few adventurers or romantics will never be swaying hand in hand along the waves of Sea view.

Of course this is completely not the experience of many Karachites who don’t share public spaces with the many. The hut culture, the private beach parties and GTs don’t quite contribute to the ‘feel’ of a city; that’s inside stuff, hence I exclude it from the ‘Karachi as it is seen.

   

What I enjoy about this megla polis is its multi cultures; segregated by ethnicity and religion, but the milieu is nevertheless fascinating. Sufi shrines at so many corners, with traditions and rituals so specific to each, one can't be blamed if one thought how powerful rituals have overtaken the spiritual. An Italian convert and a mureed visiting a ‘saint’s’ grave everyday to wash and cover it with fresh flowers for 30 years; has found a following of her own, by amazed bewildered and awe struck locals. Paying homage to ‘Qalandars’ of the water, Karachites, feed crows and fish at ‘Netty Jetty’ (netty having come from ‘native’) to wade away ‘evil eyes’.  The city is full of mystery, rituals and folklore. 

Ranchore Line a neighbourhood with Shia Boras living alongside their Imambaras and five beautiful Hindu temples and its communities, is special; the Rangers are visibly all over, reminding us the communities may have lived here for generations but perhaps aren’t too friendly any longer. The kind of garbage and the heaps piled outside the Mandirs are also testament of disregard, disrespect and pure civic apathy.

Conversations about civic social responsibility are also interesting in this city. Private neighbourhood committees in Mohammad Ali colony, primarily an ‘Urdu speaking area’ share their views on the new ‘dirty Memons’ who have moved in recently and will not pay Rs.50 per month to clean the neighbourhood garbage.  Such clear-cut ethnic geography and anthropology is bewildering to an Islooite’ or just naïve to think caste was left behind with partition.

Memories of Burmese Muslims who moved into P.E.C.H in the 1960s are very insightful; I am curious given the focus it has garnered in our public forums. It is a small community in Karachi. Some of them are ‘Irani’ some from ‘Silit’. The community is tight nit and practising. Memories of Burma from a member of the community,  Temples, Pagodas and Mosques side by side, but there were clashes between Muslims and Buddhists for sometime, primarily because Muslims were uncomfortable with ‘idol’ worshippers and tried to intrude and convert. These influences of ‘seeing differences’ and trying to change the equilibrium of religious tolerance are blamed on outside money and outside Muslim clerics. Interesting, the observation of the Buddhist monks attacking the Burmese Muslims was doubted, Burmese monks don’t wear brown habits, which is what the monks were wearing in the video.

A city which had 13cafes and bookstores on just one street, Regal Road (now chowk) today has, the lone pre partition bookstore Thomas and Thomas amidst the electronic khokas run by beards & paan chewing hawkers; completely bewildered why Mr. Naqvi refuses to pack up with next to no customers frequenting his very quaint literary establishment. I suppose it is because of Mr. Naqvi and his ilk, that a city develops and maintains its character. Kudos to Mr. Naqvi and his perseverance.

I love sweets. I don’t appreciate the nerve numbing fructose overdose of the Pakistani variety. In Gulsan e Iqbal, at Dacca sweets, on the other hand, the ‘Bingos’  have brought a little of Cal or Dhaka  with their Sandesh and  metha dhai which is just… divine.

The Dhaaba, Biryani of the Seas, not by the sea, but along posh Bath Island serves gorgeous, mouth watering seafood grilled, fried and in biryanis; interesting was the Goan curry, although not so Goan, but the variety of South Indian coastal cuisine on the menu.

Karachi, outwardly sea less, a city under siege by the beards, and thugs is layered by so many cultures and yet, looking for a Sindhi restaurant in the city is impossible; finding a scholar on Hinduism outside the Temples is next to impossible; but in these contradictions and within the city’s energy there is still hope.