There is something about Karachi that captures your heart and makes a special space in it that no other place can take. Unfortunately it is only when you leave that you can appreciate it properly. May Allah’s wrath come upon those evil no good scoundrels who are creating havoc in our beautiful city. And Allah if you don’t mind, could you hurry it up a little?
Although it is hot and dusty, I miss Karachi. I miss the mornings and the busy buzz of people going about their activities, I miss the subziwalla ringing my door bell so violently that I trip on my own feet in my rush to reach the door. I miss the intellectual discussions I had with him on the current situation of the city. It never ceases to amaze me how the sabziwalla and the dhobi seemed to know all the inside information about what was really going on in the country and why.
I miss the influx of phone calls while I tried to get my house work done. The concerned caller would insist on filling me in on all the latest news of family and friends while my salan was burning on the stove.
I miss my massey. I think of her fondly as I wash the dishes, wash the clothes, cut the vegetables, iron the clothes, scrub the bathrooms, water the plants, do the dusting, sweep the floors, mop the floors, put things away, clean the cupboards, knead the dough, cook the roti…sigh! You get the message.
I miss my afternoon nap with the A.C. on full. I never seem to have time for naps now. Sniff! I miss my massey! I even miss swearing my head off at KESC when the electricity would disappear and the room would turn into a tandoor.
I miss the frequent evening visitors, never mind that evening in Karachi extended to 11 p.m. and beyond even on a week night.
I miss the smell of frying samosas and crispy jelaibees at the mitai shop when I would got to get some stuff to munch on. I miss the smiling mitai walla as he nodded and got my order ready without any instructions because he already knew my regular order by heart.
I miss the littered streets and the paan stains, the crows rummaging through the plastic bag of biryani someone had thrown in the heap of garbage on the street corner. The cats who fought over a chicken leg they managed to dig out of the biryani much to the dismay of the crows who had gotten there first.
I miss my friends, the lunches we had managed to get together for. The lawn exhibitions we had saved up for, the rush and the pushing and the shoving and the fights that would break out between customers. We would stand and watch the entertainment. Then we would go out for coke and garlic mayo rolls. The fact that my best friend would drop all the stuff she was doing and come and drive me to the bazaar to help me get my chores done. I miss all the people and all the things that make Karachi ‘Home’.
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