Of modernity and optimism

Karachi is as eager as any other large city in the world to grow beyond it’s barriers.

“Do you find our society somewhat schizophrenic?” a dramatically made-up Karachi socialite asked me, while discreetly tapping the ash from her cigarillo. “No more than our own in Mumbai,” I laughed. Perhaps, the answer disappointed her, for she turned away haughtily and went in search of a drink. “Doesn’t the hypocrisy get you in our town….

Look at the double standards…Why do people hide their alcohol in glasses of Coke or Sprite?” I pointed out that it happens in Ahmedabad all the time. Any ‘dry’ state forces people to beat the authorities at their own game.

The first question local hosts ask the minute you arrive in Gujarat is, “What would you like to drink — beer? Whiskey? Vodka?” And this can be thrown at you mid-morning! Ditto for Karachi/ Lahore where well-meaning locals obsess over booze — it’s lack of availability or the abundance of bum stuff.

“Can you believe it? There’s not a bottle of white wine to be found in Karachi. I’ve exhausted all my sources,” a very polished single man despaired, while apologetically offering red wine to us. As I don’t really care one way or the other and actually prefer ‘dry’ evenings, I assured him it was no big deal. Amused and touched by everybody’s genuine desire to pamper my husband and me by sharing their hoarded stock of Scotch so generously, I felt we had much to learn about hospitality and graciousness from our neighbours across the border.

“Do you feel scared in Karachi when you go out into the streets?” another lively young woman enquired as she took me shopping to an area called Zamzama. To begin with, I loved the name. Zamzama — it sounded musical and intriguing. I expected to find exotic dancers and still more exotic wares. Instead, I came across Mumbai-style fashion boutiques crammed with bling couture of the Manish Malhotra variety.

Where were the beautiful shalwars (Baluchis or Patialas)? The perfectly cut Patthani-kurtas? The crochet-trimmed dupattas? The short shirts worn with panache over lace-edged churidars?

“Oh…nobody wears traditional clothes anymore. It’s considered passe and old-fashioned. We love the Bollywood style of  dressing…,” an alluring TV- anchor told me brightly, adjusting her pastel-coloured georgette dupatta. Not one to give up that easily, I scoured all the markets from Jubilee to Zainab, I went from Tariq road to the Gulf Centre, in search of Gul Ahmed lawns and exquisite 220-count cotton fabrics. Bingo! I managed to find a few. But was unsuccessful with the chintz prints I so love. My expedition had more to do with getting a sense of the city (it was my first trip) than to buy anything.

Bazaars provide a fabulous insight into a destination’s real personality. Away from the chic ambience of ritzy boutiques and arty stores, it’s the hustle and bustle of over crowded bazaars that get me going. Which is why I made a nuisance of myself by insisting on visiting the Jhumma Market and the Itvaar market, where vendors arrive in droves to sell their produce — fruits, vegetables, grains, kitchen-ware, towels, bedsheets, toys — you name it.

The atmosphere is abuzz with shoppers haggling aggressively as coolies with large baskets stand around waiting for Bibijaan to make up her mind.
Of course, most wealthy Bibijaans are accompanied by body guards who keep a watchful eye on their clients as the ladies pick pomegranates and custard apples, pistas and cashews. This is the real Karachi — a city of merchants and professionals, not just feudal landlords and hucksters. It is also a city that hosts notorious gangsters like Chhota Shakeel, who lives in a grandiose bungalow in the sprawling Defence area of Karachi, with his wife and four children, surrounded by a personal army of well-armed guards.

The scenario is sinister, but to me it appears like an over-the-top Bollywood film, scripted by someone with an overheated imagination. Maybe I am too much of a romantic, for all that I’ve just described, is but a tip of the iceberg, according to Karachi residents themselves. The reason why there’s a sense of disbelief in my mind is because every single person we met, was a crack professional with an impressive string of degrees from Oxford/Cambridge/LSE/Harvard/Yale.

Since Pakistan is a young, young, nation, with 50 percent of its people under the age of 25, there is plenty of hope combined with optimism. The restless community of 20 somethings is least interested in dirty politics. The young are in a hurry to join their counterparts in the rest of the world, be it in the cultural/social choices they make, or the way they think and dress. The boldest and smartest thing Pervez Musharraf has done is support the women’s bill, in the face of vociferous opposition from the maulvis. It’s a huge step in the right direction. Whatever the canny general’s real motives, let’s forget his personal agenda for the moment and rejoice at what the Bill means for women in his country.