Three more days in Karachi

Its been an unreal, at times frustrating, sometimes thrilling and oftentimes sobering experience in Karachi. I've been here for exactly two months now and my stay lasts onlya few days more. In these sixty odd days I have tried to do all that I have missed for nine years. I have burdened myself with busy days, roamed these streets from end to end all the while inhaling the smoke that envelopes this city, hoping against all hope to become (if even for one week) a Karachiwala.

From four straight days at an India vs. Pakistan test match to having fish at the edges of this great city. An edge that is not really an edge mind you, but it was once before the city limits decided to further themselves again. This is Karachi my darling, where you can get a copy of each and every brand name you wish. Heck, you can choose what you want in what style, in what cut and then decide upon whether you'd like a Dolce & Gabbana tag on it, or if you'd prefer an Armani one. This is Karachi, where every street is incomplete without a gaping hole dead centre that makes your rear axle screm in agony every time you bump over it. This is Karachi where a night out with the guys doesn't mean just one place to eat, no, it means atleast four stops. A place to eat, then to have dessert, then to have paan (a concept I am unable to explain unless you have been to India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka or Pakistan; in which case, you know what I am talking about) and then to top it all of, another stop to have juice. This is Karachi, where people love to eat; Its their only intoxicant and so, they know where you can get the best carrot halwa, or the best sweet lassi the most delicious chicken soup or the best chicken biryani or the best shrimp. Just ask, someone will know. Then we'll all go with you. This is Karachi, where mosques come in all shapes and sizes; from narrow corridors enough to fit only ten people to mosques that I can only describe as a heavenly oasis amongst a desert of stores and business on each side.

This is a city that runs to its own tune. The noise emanating from it providing a soundtrack more fitting than the most exhilarating Chemical Brother song. Horns, cowbells, rickshaws spewing smoke from coughing tailpipes, colourful buses with musical honks, the call of a guy that will sharpen your knives, a street vendor that sells popcorn, or french fries or oranges, the call of the azan, the sounds of hymns, kids arguing over cricket, the constant whirr of overhead fans, the whistling of traffic police, tea shops full of loud polical conversations; the conflux of these sounds is the basis of all that is to love in this city.

This is Karachi my darling, and I know I shall miss it dearly when I have left.