The Karachi breeze   October 2008

Artwork: A R Nagori

Karachiites love the sea. On days when the blazing sun scorches the land, they flock to the beaches to relish the cool waves; when the fiery sun is hidden behind the dark monsoon clouds, they rush back to the beaches to savour the falling raindrops against the roar of waves. The sea does not care whether you are rich or poor, happy or sad, in love or not; it remains indifferent to the emotional upheavals of humans. The self-absorbed waves continue to sing their own song of freedom, and in the dreary metropolis the resulting ambience can be strangely uplifting. To the city’s inhabitants, the sea provides a brief interlude from the fret and fury of modern life. Children splash about in the waves; the unemployed smoke cigarettes, absent-mindedly looking at the setting sun; and boys sell roses to new lovers walking at night time. The sea lures all.

For centuries, waves from the Arabian Sea have lapped at Karachi’s shoreline. For just as long, as night falls, the salty sea winds blow onto the shores and into the city. To the stranger who cares to listen, the wind whispers many tales, singing of a time when Karachi was just a small fisherfolk settlement. It hints darkly at the heavy rains of 1728 that silted an estuary leading to Karack Bunder, an important port during the late 17th and 18th centuries. This led the merchants to relocate their activities to Kolachi, from where grew modern-day Karachi. As the wind continues to blow through the coconut trees dotting the city, it sings tales of even earlier times.

To the person sitting in Aram Bagh, once called Ram Bagh, the winds whisper legends of Ram and Sita resting here on their way to pilgrimage to Hinglaj, Balochistan, to atone for the killing of Ravana. It mocks the humans who think that history can be erased by changing names, and urges the stranger to look at the temple of Mahadev, in Clifton, believed by some to be centuries old, and which remains a centre for the festival of Shivratri. Merrily the wind caresses the white jasmine flowers, spreading their sweet fragrance throughout the garden. Naughtily it shakes the branches of the trees, unsuccessfully trying to awaken the perched birds but in the process freeing a kite caught in the branches. Fallen to the ground, the kite impatiently waits to be picked up by the boys who will walk along this path early the next morning. Tomorrow, the kite will again fly into the city’s skies, experiencing a freedom that earthbound humans can only admire and envy.

Knowing that the stranger is eager to know more about the city, the wind tries to remember the time when forces under the command of Alexander the Macedonian stopped here. But it cannot remember the details correctly. Did the troops really come all the way to what are today the Karachi shores? Was Alexander the one who slept with a copy of the Iliad under his head? Was he the one who stood here, alongside his troops, planning the siege of Babylon? Why do humans call him ‘Great’, anyway, when all he did was conquer; why aren’t artists and painters and philosophers called ‘Great’ – ‘Da Vinci the Great’ or ‘Beethoven the Great’? And did his army really call this land Krokola, the land of crocodile worshippers?

The wind muses on the idea of ‘crocodile worship’. Its thoughts wander and it remembers the ancient Egyptians, who also worshipped a crocodile god, called Sobek. Perhaps, as in so many other cases, this too was a case of placating through worship what they feared. Fear and deification linked so closely together was a worrisome idea; dissatisfied with its own explanation, the breeze moves to other times. It sings now of the 16th-century capital of Raja Diborai, today buried deep beneath the city. The wind then remembers Morero, and sings his tales through the poetry of the 18th-century Sufi poet Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai, whose persona and poems remain deeply interwoven in the hearts of all Sindhis. The brave Morero had lost his six brothers to a crocodile. He avenges their deaths by outwitting and killing the beast. The breeze blows towards a place near the old city, where Morero’s tomb still stands.

The wind knows many tales. But it likes most those that are from the distant past – for unlike the Greek goddess Athena, Karachi did not suddenly emerge fully grown. These stories give voice to the ancient structures still standing in the city today, visible yet unseen. They point to the shrine of Abdullah Shah Ghazi, believed by many to be standing on the shores since the earliest days of Arab Muslims’ contact with Sindh. His patronage is considered by his followers to be the reason why a tropical disaster such as a cyclone or a tsunami has never hit the city. Yet will the power of the saint hold out against the melting glaciers, as well as consequences of the rise in sea levels attributed to climate change?

The breeze talks of the time when the British segregated the city on the basis of skin colour, and of the time when freedom fighters were hanged or shot from the city cannons – their names are nearly forgotten today, their bravery almost erased. It speaks of the Hindus leaving the city at Partition, and it feels very old and tired, remembering the many atrocities humans have unnecessarily inflicted upon each other through the ages. Saddened, it stops blowing. In the resulting stillness, the chirping crickets suddenly sound very loud. An old lady, half-asleep in her room, wonders at the unexpected stifling heat, and hopes that maybe the rains will soon fall and clear up the oppressive temperature. She hears the muezzin calling for morning prayers, and knows that soon it will be time for her son and daughters to rush to work. As the sun rises, another chaotic day will begin in the city.

The city stylings
Nowadays, not many in the city like to listen to the stories of the past, those that the night breeze likes to tell. Instead, they are too caught up in the fast-paced life of the city. In the morning, many will be rushing to work, in cars, scooters, inside and atop buses, and sounds of honking will fill the air. The newspaper boy will throw his papers into homes; along with stories from within the country, the headlines will likely include references to the situation in Afghanistan. With the ‘war on terror’, the country has once again become the centre of world attention. The geography of the city as a natural harbour continues to influence present-day politics, as it did in the past. In 1843, the British occupied Karachi, which served as a landing port for their troops for the First Afghan War. Now again, the strategic importance of Karachi for the allied forces stationed in Afghanistan is high, especially as it is the supply route for heavy items such as tanks that cannot be airlifted, and for crucial oil supplies. The old Great Game has been replaced by a new one.

Some of the city’s people reading their morning papers feel apprehensive about what is to come. They wonder how, after being an ally of the US for decades, Pakistan is now being perceived as a dangerous enemy, one to be destroyed. “What’s in a name?” asked Shakespeare, but changing the name from mujahedeen to Taliban changes the fate of the person. They see the carnage, one after another – Iraq, Afghanistan, now possibly Pakistan; and they read about the number of people killed. They wonder at George Orwell’s prescience when he wrote that some animals are more equal than others. They wonder how the land of Thomas Paine and Thomas Jefferson, the land that upheld the Rights of Man, can be inflicting this kind of destruction on ordinary people, many of whom care little about world politics and condemn the acts of 11 September 2001.

Yet there has been another process afoot since well longer than 2001, impacting the character of Karachi just as forcefully and perhaps more insidiously, but making the newspaper headlines much less frequently. It has long been said that the essence of a place can be found in its architecture. But with the ever-increasing impacts of globalisation, certain visual markers have become common in many cities worldwide – in the process, blotting out many of these elements that had previously made urban areas feel unique unto themselves. A British art professor, excited about coming to Karachi for the first time, was disappointed that a McDonald’s sign constituted his very first glimpse of the city. The experience is shared by many, for the impact of this ‘global architecture’ can certainly be seen in cities across the globe.

But perhaps one should not be too harsh, for Karachi has long nurtured architectural styles from afar. During the British Raj, Karachi acquired its first neo-Gothic building, with the construction of Frere Hall. Some of the most beautiful buildings in the city, including St Patrick’s Cathedral and D J College, were designed by the eminent architect James Strachan. The Tudor style was used for the Karachi Gymkhana and the Boat Club, while the Sindh Club and St Joseph’s Convent were designed to reflect Italian Renaissance. The first Christian church in Karachi was built 1843, and is still in use today as the assembly hall of St Joseph’s Convent. A Classical style was used in the Lady Dufferin Hospital and the Cantonment Railway Station.

With the rise of the nationalist movement, architectural styles in Karachi became self-consciously Indo-Saracenic (otherwise known as Anglo-Mughal); arches, minarets and cupolas were now visible in many buildings. The local mercantile community adopted the Indo-Saracenic style to show their familiarity with both Western and their own culture’s stylings. The Hindu Gymkhana and Mohatta Palace were designed by architect Agha in something of a Mughal revival style. After Independence, the Quaid-e-Azam’s mausoleum has become perhaps the overriding visual symbol of Karachi. Interesting architectural ventures continue to be developed, prominent among them the Aga Khan University, which combines state-of-the-art techniques with Muslim landscape traditions of courtyards, flowing water and colours that blend with the local soil.

Surrounding this handful of pleasing and interesting architectural landmarks, recent times have seen a proliferation of purely utilitarian structures, almost entirely lacking in aesthetics. If this were not enough, gardens and traditional open spaces are being obliterated by local land mafias. The built environment affects the psyche, and these dull new structures tend to have an unconscious but notable depressing impact on the mind. The sadness is compounded by a host of other problems as well, such as irregular electricity, skyrocketing cost-of-living, and the ever-growing lure of materialism.

The economic ripples in the global market, fluctuating oil prices and political uncertainties have had an adverse affect, leading to an increase in the cost of almost everything, including such basic necessities as bread and milk. Luxury items became accessible to many through the trade-liberalisation policy, which also made easy loans available through banks; and all the while, the city roads become more and more jammed with traffic. Today, almost a million and a half vehicles are thought to ply Karachi’s streets, while road construction is unable to keep pace with the cars being bought. Fisherfolk are being evicted from the lands on which they have lived for centuries, to make way for glamorous hotels and vacation spots. Who wants to listen to ancient tales of brave Morero as the local inhabitants are being displaced? The foe today is much more deadly than the sharp-toothed crocodile of yore.

Resilience
From 1947 till 1958, Karachi was the capital of Pakistan. For reasons that continue to be debated, General Ayub Khan decided to shift the capital to a new city in the north, one yet to be created – Islamabad, with Rawalpindi as the interim capital. But Karachi continued on as the nascent country’s industrial and commercial centre, generating well over half of the national revenue. Industrialisation continued, bringing along its myriad advantages, but most of the butterfly species that used to flutter in the gardens have disappeared with the pollution. The stars no longer twinkle at night, unseen even in the darkness during times of load-shedding.

Meanwhile, Karachi continues to swell. At the time of the Partition, its population was less than half a million, who were joined by some 60,000 as migrants from India. In the following decades, people continued to arrive from all across the country and beyond, looking for jobs or fleeing conflicts – and, in the process, pushing the population to over the 10 million mark. This breakneck increase in size has not been matched by planning and city management. Many who come to the city with the dream of a better life are unable to find it.

And yet, despite the problems, there are things in the city that have attracted millions who either would not leave or, having left, keep coming back. Karachi is indeed its people – those resilient spirits, who continue to enjoy life despite the socio-economic difficulties and eruptions of violence. It takes all sorts to make a city – the street-smart taxi driver, who will converse on the current political woes with great confidence and cynicism; the mother completely devoted to her children; the teenage girl, who calls the radio stations and breathlessly declares her infatuation for the DJ; and even the criminals, who make money by selling ancient Gandharan art on the international market. The city is also made of individuals such as the social worker Abdul Sattar Edhi and his wife Bilquis, who have devoted their lives to taking care of others. It is about the blooming art scene, and about artists who are socio-politically committed. It is about the dynamic musicians endlessly experimenting with a fusion of Eastern and Western music, and the young people helping to combat social ills through art, writing, poetry, theatre and social action. Karachi is also the colourfully painted buses driving through the roads.

As Karachiites go about their daily lives, engrossed, the salty sea breeze softly touches them with compassion. It knows that each life is merely a short story in the fabric of time, and even the Great Alexander becomes merely a half-forgotten tale to be whispered into the ears of a stranger after the sun has set. It watches the people pouring towards the seaside, but knows that the lullaby of the waves can soothe a mind only for a short time. As night falls on the city again, the wind begins to blow in from the shore. It looks for another stranger to whom it can whisper its tales, but finds that most have stopped listening. The city stands without a memory of its past, absorbed in the present and unable to find comfort in what it sees of the future.

~ Amber Romasa Nagori is a Karachi-based writer.

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