Introduction

A series of stories & vignettes about our lives and experiences living in Karachi

Introduction

I’ve always liked the address of our home in Karachi: 786 Hilal[1]. It appeals to a sentimental attachment to our faith. The religious significance of the number ‘786’ seems doubled by the crepuscular name of our street. 786 is, of course, the numerical equivalent of the Arabic phrase, ‘In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful’, while ‘Hilal’ is the crescent, a symbol of Islam.

786 Hilal has been HQ for my family since we came to live in Pakistan in 2001. It’s a gloriously breezy, somewhat cavernous villa spread out on three floors with a capacious garden on two levels. After looking at almost 40 houses, I knew when I first walked into 786 that this would be our home: spacious within and without, light, unpretentious, surrounded by empty plots, and within walking distance of a tiny but pretty park. Not to mention a mere 10 minutes from the children’s school.

These stories are more than just about life at 786 Hilal. It’s the safe base from which we daily foray out into Karachi and experience the kaleidoscope of its colours, scents and events. It’s also where we receive all manner of life enriching guests, human and animal. Barely a day goes by without something memorable or eventful happening. Given the recent political unrest that’s an understatement of course. I mean ‘eventful’ on a small scale. Scale has never mattered to me all that much. I see meaning in the seemingly trivial and humble as well as the grand and epic. Probably more so for the seemingly insignificant speaks directly to my mind and heart. These messages may seem simpler and more immediate, but they reverberate audibly through the concerto of our lives here in Karachi.

From media coverage and press reports, Karachi is forever teetering on the brink of implosion. To those who live here, we know that in spite of everything life goes on. We live on through the turmoil. Needs does as needs must. Having grown up in Beirut during the 70’s, civil unrest does not faze me. Which is not to say I am inured to the daily reminders of life’s fragility, or to the social injustices suffered by most people, or to the perverse polarization of rich and poor. And its not just sheer momentum that keeps the wheels turning. I often joke among friends that living here one is daily given proof of the existence of God, for where would we all be without the constancy of His mercy raining down upon us when we have wrought a desert out of civil unrest, inept civic planning, and a breathtaking inability to think long term or to behave in a way that shows we understand that the common good is our good.

One word alone yields proof of a higher divine entity overseeing the torrid affairs of Karachi: traffic. The law of averages should surely dictate greater numbers of accidents than do occur. So common are the skin-of-teeth misses that my own fight or flight response has been dulled, if not switched off.

What makes living in Karachi so agreeable, however, are its people and the relationships we’ve forged with them. I have never found it hard to be moved and touched by the fortitude, patience, forbearance and generosity of its Karachiites. One could just as well write the opposite and it would be equally true, of course. Its often a matter of socio-economic class.  But this is what our experience has been.

Being congenitally positive, I am inclined to be hopeful and in love with life with a capital L. I accept human frailty – though in others it is easier to accept than in oneself, it has to be said. In spite of the myriad off-putting things one can identify about Karachi’s residents, all around me I see mirrors that reflect at times my lowly self and at others my nobler self. Its an education alright!

Karachi comes into a clearer focus when one visits Pakistan’s other major cities. Lahore always strikes me as a place with a clear identity, rooted in history, with Lahoris unapologetically enjoying their heritage and lifestyle. In short the city feels ‘bien dans sa peau’, though perhaps a little too much for its own good. Islamabad’s raison d’etre is government, so order, practicality and decorum dominate. Dull would be another word that could justifiably be applied to our lush capital. Pindi, a more natural city, is almost too far gone but I’ve hardly been there of late so will refrain from more comment. The nervy, edgy feel to Karachi is a natural consequence of its patchwork of different communities, Sindhi, Pathan, Punjabi, immigrant and emigrant, jostling alongside each other. The promise of a better living if not a daily wage has brought a mind-boggling array of peoples together in an uneasy modus vivendi.

Karachi is full of contradictions and frustrations but also it is against this backdrop that our lives here are filled by moving themes of suffering humanity and noble forbearance and by events at times sublime, at times ridiculous, but always edifying and humbling. 

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[1] In fact the real number of our home is different but equally Islamically significant. For privacy’s sake I have changed the number and street name.