Lahore in an insouciant sprawl, fecund and purposeful. Karachi is jagged, angry angles, brittle as glass and twice as sharp.
Lahore to me is a city of desire and Karachi an ode to frustration. Lahore in an insouciant sprawl, fecund and purposeful. Karachi is jagged, angry angles, brittle as glass and twice as sharp.
I once wrote an article mocking Lahore. I got hate mail. I have regularly written articles lamenting life in Karachi; they have led to the start of many a beautiful (email) friendship. Ashes. Phoenix. Enough said.
Early mornings in Karachi these past few days have had a bite to them. Even the weather tests the air before making a move here. At its absolute worst though, the most a winter in Karachi can do is nip at your heels, there is no rabid biting of buttocks by frosty breezes as there is up north.
I got a letter from a friend from up north the other day. When we say ‘up north’ here, we generally mean (insert hand wave here) towards the mountains where all the politicians, diplomats, tribals and other crazies live. He said they were burning CD’s and electronic equipment in his neighbourhood and nobody down south seemed to care. For a second I considered firing off a reply asking why they didn’t just buy heaters instead, but reconsidered and settled for simple silence. It was an unfair response to an unfair accusation, and everyone knows the best way to cope with things like that is sticking your head in the sand.
Speaking of air, I saw a mobile dispensary for a skin lightening cream for men making its way slowly down main Sunset Boulevard. Yes we have a road called Sunset Boulevard in Karachi, especially popular with trucks carrying garbage, offal and rotting fish for chicken feed, which seems strangely appropriate. So between those pungent dumper trucks, what seemed to be a refurbished ice cream truck crept along, and on its side was a picture of a happy, white-ish man beaming self consciously.
While I have read of the popularity of such concoctions in India, in Pakistan this madness has so far been restricted to women. No more though. What came first I wonder, demand or supply? And why does anyone in this multi-hued melting pot think it will make a difference to the quality of their lives?
My friend M insists that all seats are rigged, be it seats in the national and provincial assemblies or the one on the skin-lightened bridegroom’s horse. We should be happy with what we have for as long as we can before it is snatched from us.
She has recently done what she considers to be the smart thing and moved to Berlin.
(Shandana Minhas’ novel, Tunnel Vision, published by Roli Books, will have its launch in Delhi, at Jamia Millia on November 5)
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