A Love Letter to Karachi: I miss the old you
- By Shargeel Sheikh -
- Mar 21, 2022
Karachi, the city that breaths the most life and money into Pakistan, a vibrant agglomeration of cultures, languages, festivals, and cuisines.
I would say it was then country’s whisperer to the sea, means the only piece of land that had full fledged access to the ocean for a very long time until the realization, recognition, and the utilization of the Gawadar port.
The city that welcomed the people without the land during the partition to the city that became the economic hub of one of the handful nuclear states of the world. Karachi has a lot to tell to today’s generation. Behind the contemporary façade of corruption and mismanagement lies a history that speaks of grandeur, peace and prosperity.
I am proudly writing about the Karachi this city was, not the one it is.
I will not mention the historic dates, the fancy names, and other details. Those are already available on the internet. I simply want to express how it was in that era as a simple person-to-person, reader-to-reader.
Despite being a city of Sindh, Karachi was named after the Balochi tribes. The massive influx of diverse people started moving in from different parts of British India and became part of the heritage. Even today, due to a variety of ethnicities, Karachi is proudly mentioned as “mini Pakistan”. Some of the other British Indian cities that share similar background are Bombay (Mumbai) and New Delhi of India.
The sun used to rise brightly upon Karachi. The city was turning into an economic gem of the British Empire. Red and brown stones would welcome the rays. Some say the buildings were made from the same stones used in the making of the lavish Rajput castles. It was as if the buildings colors had turned brightly red.
A sky view of then Karachi would remind you of today’s aerial views of the European cities of Florence and Vienna. As I had mentioned, the Karachi then was more vibrant and diverse. A flourishing community of Parsis and Hindus had tremendously made a name for themselves.
The St. Patrick’s Cathedral towered its then skyline and still reminisces massively of the artistic heritage. Karachi was not one of the largest cities then. It was a small decent city limited to certain areas.
The Saddar area was from where it all had begun.
The magnificent Parsi Temple used to roar with its beauty near where the Empress market proudly stands. The divine edifice still boasts the same beauty as it did in those years. The area of Saddar was where It was all happening, the business, the decent bustling, all the chitter chatter. It was a peaceful era. At night, the city used to turn into one of the most glamorous spots in South Asia. Cinemas, theatres, hotels, the night was never this much young.
The city then was the slowly growing darling of British India, a secret mistress one would often hear of in the old European literature, being doted in clandestine and in a hush. The Guajarati community had developed a particular interest in the city due to the economic boom and had begun to settle. As a result, the famous Parsi colony had emerged with Spectacular houses inspired by the Georgian and Victorian architecture. The houses of that era today speak of the withering grandeur that once dominated.
In the historic Ranchore Line area, the area where my father grew up has many mysteries and stories. There was this mysterious man. Nobody knew much of him except for the fact that he was a Jewish Rabbi, of the only Synagogue of Karachi. Not much people are cognizant of the once flourishing Jewish community that was residing. An ancient Jewish cemetery is still present that one can easily locate on the internet.
The Ranchore Line area was also the home to the Mewar community. These Muslim migrants were from the mystic land of Rajasthan (Land of the Kings) in India who had settled in after the 1947 partition. Little am I aware of the community’s present status, but my father speaks very highly of them and how they had maintained their culture and language even after the great migration.
The Beaumont Lawns (Now Karachi Zoo) are still a sight to behold. Even today they offer strong vibes of an era long gone, like in the Victorian movies in which the royal princes would chase their princess in the spur of a romantic scene. From vintage buildings such as the Nigar Cinema to the gorgeously architectured Christian missionary schools. It’s like each building has a long story to tell. You just have to observe it more deeply, not only with your sights, but with your heart.
The Persian Cafes that were always found cozily nestles in the corner of a building, these were the places where debates and casual discussions used to come to life. The designs were inspired by the Persian culture itself. It was believed to bring prosperity. It did bring prosperity, and along with it, life.
The people of the old Karachi were much organized.
Trams were a popular means of transportation in those days. There was this sense of pride for the people, for leading a life of culture and embracing this modern city at the same time. If we were to travel back somewhere between 1930s and 1970s, we would witness a smaller city with whom different religious communities had fallen in love with.
One would often spot the jolly nuns passing by for shopping while greeting Muslim children returning from the Friday Prayer. The roads were broad and long and the gentry was naïve but curious.
The city was getting all the attention of the world. From the first astronauts touring to the Queen herself on a drift for some traditional shopping experience, it was all a norm for Karahi.
The nights were younger than ever. Live music was a big thing, and so were the clubs and pubs with all the glittering and glamour one would see in the old Gangster movies of Martin Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino. The city had turned into the ”city of lights”, a title it still enjoys today.
I long for those forgotten days of this city, the days that I have lived only in my Parents childhood pictures and the ones I see on social media. No city in Pakistan has ever been this much accepting to such a plethora of people. I miss hanging out in the old garden and enjoying some jazz music at the clubs.
I enjoy sharing the unconditional bond between families and neighbors. I miss the time which I have lived only through pictures and documentaries. Even today while passing any old edifice, things come to life for me. The sound of the chattering, the laughs and the sorrows, it’s all in that thought’s gentle yet vivacious beauty. A thought that depicted this city as an ancient land where dreams used to come true.
Karachi to me is an old man telling me all his days of glorious youth while I startle at every bit of it. What I see today is that old man is weak and perplexed and miserable.
He has lost all his charmed. He longs for love and care and I’m not even sure if he will ever get the life, the care and the love he’s dying for.