Home Sweet Home {Karachi}
"Bleep! Bleep!" Aunty's ( A common word used for an older lady) profanities in Punjabi sounded louder than the splintering echo of her window. Which was soon followed by yells of "Abey Jaani bhaag!" (Dude run!) and "Yaar ruk!" ( Wait for me!), as the boys ran for their lives.
Enraged screams from the woman's red-faced, paisley-dressed body shot through the air, with the same speed as the cricket ball that had whizzed past and became the reason for the bellowing collision between leather and glass.
This was an everyday ordeal. Boys played cricket on the worn-down paths while the neighbors became tiresome with the number of damaged windows and shattered windshields.
Cricket wasn't the only thing happening on the streets of Karachi, as the sun bade farewell to the troublemakers below.
Vibrant aromas of brewing Chai (tea) and sizzling Parathas (flat, thick pieces of unleavened bread fried on a griddle) wafted in through balconies, covered with drying clothes flapping along with the balmy breeze. Stomachs churned and mouths salivated as one came close to a stall of freshly cooked Kebabs and Naan (leavened, oven-baked flatbread).
Due to the abovementioned circumstances, entire streets and areas have been dedicated to traditional and modern cuisine. A way to satisfy the appetites of the food-loving Karachiites. From Paye to Pasta, Gulab Jamun to Garlic bread and, Ravioli to Rabri everything is a hit in these dazzling street-side eateries.
As a metropolis of Pakistan, my hometown is a labyrinth of contradictions. A bystander of architectural wonders as well as a throne for structures dating back to the Victorian era. A place which is cheap transitions promptly to a grand and admirable atmosphere.
Karachi is sadness and, yet it's the smile on my face. It is the City of Lights but, darkness claws through it in the form of crime. It is fancy with winding roads and highways but modest with straw huts and black burkas (abayas). It is fashionable with cashmere sweaters and skinny jeans but down to earth with our shalwar kameez (a traditional outfit).
Karachi is noor (radiance) but, it is deprived of luminance due to its illiteracy rates. It's conservative in its views but, open-minded in its laws. It is a battlefield for politics but pure patriotism for cricket matches against India and Independence day parades.
It had seen Jinnah ( Founder of Pakistan) grow up, back when it was known as Kolachi, but it has also seen from afar as Bhutto (Influential Leader) was executed. It has seen bloodshed and, it has also faced criticism.
It is vice and, it is a virtue but above all, this big city with a small ego is compassion, it is kindness and, it is love for the diversity which dwells within.
Karachi is an archaic blend of dialects, religions, and races. Urdu, being the most shared language is casually mixed in with English along with Punjabi, Pushto, Balochi, Sindhi and other regional ways of communication.
Islam is prevalent but, Christianity, Judaism, and Hinduism are also practiced by some, out of a population of more than 22 million people. However it might exceed because judging by the number of stray cats and dogs, we might be taking them in as citizens very soon.
When I hear the word Karachi, my mind goes overdrive with scents, sounds, and tastes of all kinds and origins. The sound of harmonic waves within seashells, the smell of salt and sand and the image of the ocean meeting the horizon is drilled in my childhood memories.
Speaking of childhood, kids over here are adrenaline-fueled and hardened by the briny air. They run across dusty alleys and pathways from dusk till dawn, ramming sticks upon spare tires and creating makeshift football fields to entertain their rowdy spirits.
The Quaid's (leader, aka Mr. Jinnah) mausoleum lies in the exact center of the city he was born in. It overlooks the bad and the good, but above all, it witnesses free cancer hospitals, universities, and colleges emerge over time. Facilitating his people and making it a slightly better place to live, one brick and one book at a time.
Aside from this real yet outward description, I would like to highlight some of the more mundane qualities of this humble abode.
The plain walls and curtained doors of tightly-knit mohallas (neighborhoods) and roofless houses portray a powerful message.
There is fear, there is poverty and, there is death.
Our fervor lies in our aesthetics, and our weakness clearly sprawled over the helpless condition of our people.
But where there is misery, there is life. No matter the happenings, the core of Karachi lies in its thumping bazaars, its pulsing malls, its paan-stained sidewalks, and its overcrowded buses.
There is vigorous color in our rosy cheeks and in our truck art as we hold rallies and marches for justice. There is vitality in the hands that carry the lifeless coffins of our soldiers and officers, martyred in combat with terrorists.
There are tears in our eyes but, within shines a promise for a better future. The fingers that plant trees rebel against deforestation. The Eidhi ( Welfare Institute) workers that welcome the helpless aid our growth. The students that stain our walls with shades of hope and invent "Walls Of Kindness" for the less endowed are a stroke of brilliance upon our ashen canvas.
We are battered and hurt but, we have not lost. Our sorrows like our joys conjoin us.
Our water is unsafe to drink, our roads are littered with garbage and occupied by homeless people. But this is still home, emanating a sense of belonging.
From acid-washed buildings to blackened sea-shore rocks, from vendors chanting to drivers cursing. Everything calls back to the footsteps that once traced these pathways because Karachi is not just any other city. It is the courage of the awaam (citizens), the strength of our souls and the pride of our nation.
Like a wilting flower ready to blossom again.