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'A polity shielded from the truth is but one step away from its own destruction.' Kolachi highlights the security problems which plague Karachi

By Cyril Almeida

The first month of the year has been a mixed bag for Karachi. The unusually cool and long winter temporarily quelled the consternation over black outs and a flurry of cultural activities and road shows were a much needed poultice for a city staggering drunkenly from one crisis to another. Yet, the cosmetic relief has done little to mask the danger and extreme volatility of Karachi; a cursory glance at the news will confirm the worst suspicions of a city in terminal decline. Time will surely prove the city's overlords to be no more than Neroes fiddling with their harps.

The urge to resist labelling Karachi as a vortex of mayhem and an urban catastrophe is hard to shake off; denial is, after all, a national trait of a people that considers no news a distinctly lesser evil compared to full disclosure. But the head-in-the-sand routine does no more than leave one exposed - no good has ever come out of averting one's gaze or settling for anything short of an unflinching look at reality. The individual may feel powerless in the face of inscrutable and unfathomable forces, but he surely cannot be worse off for knowing that reality. A polity shielded from the truth is but one step away from its own destruction.

Consider the Taliban: for the majority of Karachiites they may appear a distant entity, one that does no more than burn effigies and the odd business or car when cartoons are published half way across the world. But the Taliban are in our midst, perhaps hiding, but certainly plotting their revenge against the Pakistani state that has become beholden to the hated American establishment. The Pakistan bureau chief of the Asia Times wrote earlier this month of a meeting with a Taliban commander, Moulvi Abdul Jalil, in the environs of the bustling Lea Market. Over a cup of green tea the bearded moulvi casually discussed the Taliban and the ongoing insurgency in Afghanistan. Karachi, with a population drawn from every ethnicity in the region, provides a ready cloak of anonymity to any criminal, terrorist or ideologue who needs to disappear or plot their own particular version of mayhem.

It is terrifying to think of the destruction that could be unleashed in this city by a disaffected group that connects the dots: if Manhattan was the financial heart of the United States, Karachi is the body itself of Pakistan. A coordinated attack on the port, the electricity grid and the financial district would decapitate the country. Yet, if there is any evidence of this city being more secure than it was before the turn of the century, it is certainly not known to anyone. A three-hundred rupee million water fountain funded by the port authority, on the other hand, is an indication of horribly misplaced priorities.

Yet, set aside terrorism, sectarianism and politically motivated killings and the city would still be left to deal with a host of senseless murders and crime. Bromides notwithstanding, the value of life in Karachi is lowered by the day. The first day of the year, coincidentally the first day of Eid-ul-Azha, was the occasion for a killing that symbolised the staggering loss of respect for life in the city. A group of bored young men set upon a sacrificial cow, harassing the poor animal and making a nuisance of themselves, when the owner of the cow pleaded with them to stop. An altercation ensued which escalated to fisticuffs before a gun was pulled out by one of the louts and used to shoot a man at point blank range. A man died. For a dispute over a cow. On the first day of Eid.

Then an elderly man was killed when he tried to intervene to save his nephew who was being thrashed mercilessly by neighbourhood bullies. The reason for the dispute appeared to be a petty debt. Note the gratuitous nature of these killings. Hideous and unforgivable as crimes against women for reasons of "honour" or obscurantism are, their genesis is in a social system that elevates certain values above the sanctity of life. The two men who lost their lives over Eid, however, were victims of base instincts given a freehand in this city.

Fear of the potential for life to change suddenly and very violently in this city is palpable. An American academic on a research visit to Pakistan told of the nagging fear in the back of his head in this city. The man could only be described as a hardened traveller who was familiar with not only the region, but developing countries across the globe. Not for him was the distant and anaesthetised version of Karachi that the more exclusive hotels offered; he stayed in the heart of Saddar in a cheap motel and travelled by public transport. Fresh from a visit to Peshawar and Quetta, he talked of his discomfort at walking around in Karachi. It is food for thought that an American feels more comfortable walking the streets of Peshawar and Quetta than Karachi's.

A South African woman, whose job in the news industry makes her no stranger to the world of crime and disorder, described Karachi on a recent visit to the city as "dangerous and dirty with pockets of magic". She was particularly horrified by the violence perpetrated against the women of this city, despite the fact that South Africa has an appalling record of rape. Why this reaction from a worldly, black, middle-class woman with little cultural or religious baggage? It is too easy to argue media-stereotyping or image problems; Karachi's problems are perhaps best perceived by fresh eyes that are untainted by prejudice.

Yet, the matter cannot end with the crime and disorder and savageness with which life can change here. Reasons for the degeneration are not hard to find though; affixing responsibility for the mess is the first step towards regeneration. A week ago the Capital City Police Officer, Tariq Jamil, dramatically left his post citing harassment and victimisation by the powers that be. A pre-arrest application for bail was made to the courts to stave off what Mr Jamil considered to be his imminent arrest on charges of corruption by the National Accountability Bureau. If Mr Jamil has been corrupt, then he should undoubtedly be dealt with according to law; however, when those charged with enforcing the law themselves are suspected of complicity in crimes, there is every reason to be sceptical.

Firmly into the second half of this decade, the police today is little different from its predecessors. Designations may have changed, administrative control may have been shuffled and many promises may have been made, but there is nothing to show for it. Yesterday the denizens of this city were told that things would be better, they are told so today and will undoubtedly be told so in the future.

Such mundane worries, however, are not for the Nazim, who is rushing off to Davos, Switzerland – Karachi has been chosen as one of twelve mega-cities with potential for investment and business. Mr Kamal crowed to the media, "We have spent a lot of time and efforts in trying to improve the image of Karachi abroad and assure people it is a safe place to invest, do business and also enjoy a quality lifestyle." The Nazim's gaze like that of the Federal Government is firmly set on the outside world. Yes, nice things may be said about Karachi abroad, but how about Karachiites wanting to say nice things about their home?

Experts at a first of its kind conference organized in the country with the collaboration of Hyderabad Press Club urged the government to take urgent measures and save dying species of snakes. Traditional snake charmers also demanded establishment of a research institute to look into ways to develop medicine out of snake poison for human welfare. For centuries snake charmers of the region have been using snake poison for treatment of various ailments.

According to Mureed Ali Shah Bukhari, there is a dire need for research on snakes as internationally a lot of progress has been made in this regard. He also urged the need for making efforts to better the situation of snake charmers or Jogis who find themselves at a loss in times when their century old profession doesn't have a market anymore. Provision of basic facilities to Jogis would in turn help in saving many rare species of snakes as this work could be only be done by snake charmers.

Snake charmers are increasingly becoming a rare breed. Jogis and the performing species of snakes are also decreasing with no attention from concerned quarters.

Snake charmers (saperas) a regular feature in rural Sindh are a group of people who hypnotize snakes with a special instruments, the been. Snakes usually do not respond to any aerial sound but are controlled by movement.

Snake charming is a full time profession and an art for and is traditionally an inherited trade. The art of snake charming is passed on from one generation to another and secrets of the trade are well guarded.

Sindhi snake charmers are gypsies and even in this day and age the only profession they engage in is snake charming. They keep snakes in boxes, colorful bags and earthen pots and carry these from one weekly market to another or get stationed in one town for months and then move to a new destination.

Even if they are settled in a small city they tend to live in closed groups in areas known as Sapera villages.

Average snake charmers do not catch snakes on their own but buy it from professional snake-catchers but all of them are likely to keep a number of snakes in their possessions. Cobras and pythons are the most favored species. Cobras are preferred because it can raise its head to an appreciable height and inflate the hood displaying its spectacular pattern. In addition snake charmers keep many non-venomous snakes.

As the charmer plays his flute and chants mantras moving his head, elbows or knees all the while, the cobra sways its raised hood and body and fixes its vision towards the moving object and not the music, as is widely believed. The cobra is teased to attack the snake charmer and once the snake fixes its attention to the object it dares attacking it either with an open mouth or amidst loud hissing noise.

Most snake charmers use snakes whose poison fangs have been removed avoiding the risk of being bitten fatally. Such snakes fail to eat their usual diet of rats and other prey because they cannot utilize their poison gland for paralyzing the prey and die within six months or so.

This is the reason why snake charmers get replacement snakes every couple of months. Often the teeth behind the uprooted poison fangs somehow get attached with the poison gland. Therefore, these so called 'fang-less' cobra bites become fatal for snake charmers themselves. Most snake charmers ultimately die from the bite of such snakes.

A few extremely daring snake charmers keep poisonous snakes with fangs. They use their venom and herbs to produce medicines to heal snakebites - some also sell it as good luck charms.

However, with the passage of time things are changing and even the snake charmers are changing their lifestyle. Forced to beg because of a sharp decline of interest in their art form, they are now turning to the cities in search of a better life.

Urs Faqir Behrani who is popularly known as the King of Snakes in his detailed conversation with Kolachi revealed many hidden and interesting aspects of snake charming, snake charmers and snakes itself.

Behrani who is also a journalist was awarded with this title during a nationwide competition among snake charmers held at Mirpurkhas in 1982. He has so far researched on 56 species of snakes.

Apparently, almost all Jogis who receive this title belong to Sindh and the Garnari Jogi community. They are the most famous among the snake charmers and have a distinct way of playing the been. "The snake's teeth start growing soon after the removal of the poison," Behrani reveals, adding that there two types of snakes are found in pakistan one that gives birth to children and another that produces eggs only.

Behrani says that snakes are found in Sanghar district of the province in Pakar Lake while sea snakes are in abundance in Thatta and Badin. Species of desert snakes are also present in Sindh while cobra is found everywhere.

Talking about the gypsy community, Behrani says that snake charmers don't want luxuries or utilities of life in their huts. "They don't even keep water in their huts," he tells of their simplicity. Behrani further revealed that the women of the snake charming community feed snake poison to their young ones and prepare handicrafts out of the skin and bones of snakes that they sell for money.

Faqir Behrani has also been awarded the Prince of Snakes title in an international competition in 1978 held in Karachi, for his research in the field. Average saperas do not engage in formal research but only use their skill for a living.

Though, the Hyderabad Press Club has taken an initiative in the right direction but it is up to concerned authorities including the Livestock Department to formally initiate research on snakes and save the dying species and provide facilities to snake charmers. Universities can also be asked to contribute in the effort and carry out extensive research in this regard with the support of Jogis and individuals like Urs Behrani. It is essential to support this cause - not only to preserve the art of snake charming but organizing such events on national and international level would also promote another neglected aspect of our country.

Hardly anything in Karachi is still the way it used to be. Not only have most things changed, they've mostly changed for the worse. One of the few exceptions to this trend is the Sindh Club, which is probably the last bastion of old world-style gracious living left in the city.

Although I'm not a member of the club, nor of any other club for that matter, I have been a regular visitor to the Sindh Club over the last five decades as a guest of friends who are members.

I mention this fact in order to make the point that I am pretty familiar with the pattern of life at the club and the doings of its members. Its membership, today, includes many people I am privileged to call friends.

One of my oldest friends, Ashraf Liaquat Ali Khan, the elder son of Pakistan's first and greatest prime minister, Liaquat Ali Khan and his wife Begum Ra'ana Liaquat Ali Khan, a great personality in her own right, is currently the president of the club. He was elected president for a one-year term in October last year and will be eligible to run for a second term in October this year.

I have known Ashraf and his younger brother Akbar Liaquat Ali Khan ever since the early 1950s when we were students in England. Akbar, too, is a member of the Sindh Club. He became a temporary member in 1969 and later a permanent member.

As befits the sons of such illustrious parents, both brothers are gentlemen of the old school - than which, in my book, there is no higher accolade. As far as I'm concerned, they and their wives (Ashraf's wife Patricia and Akbar's wife Dure) are Pakistan's First Family, and I consider it a very rare privilege indeed to count them as my friends.

As a longtime student of Karachi's past, I was delighted when Ashraf recently presented me with an inscribed copy of the history of the Sindh Club.

The book covers the history of the club from its founding in 1871 up to 1991 - a period that saw Karachi grow from a small outpost of Britain's Indian empire into the first capital of the new independent state of Pakistan in 1947 and then, over the subsequent decades, into Pakistan's biggest city and the country's commercial hub.

The book was published by the club in 1992. It is divided into two parts, the first covering the British period 1871 to 1946, which was written in 1946 by J. Humphrey, one of the club's British members (Humphrey's book is now out of print), and the second covering the period from independence in 1947 up to 1991, written by my old friend Azhar Karim, a member of the club and, incidentally, also a former member of Pakistan's bridge team.

Humphrey's work has been incorporated into the 1992 edition as Part I and Azhar's work has been incorporated into the book as Part II. The 1992 edition also contains several appendices, including a list of all the club presidents from 1871 to 1992, and a list of all the club's honorary secretaries and secretaries from 1871 to 1992.

The appendix that makes the most fascinating reading of all, however, is a list of items presented to the club by various members over the years. The items range from a Ram's Head Snuff Box, presented to the club in 1880 by Lt. Colonel Warren and the Officers of the 78th Highlanders (aka Roshire Buffs), to a framed photograph of Karachi from the air, presented to the club in 1928 by Group Captain H.M. Cave, Brown Cave, D.S.O., D.F.C., and the Officers Far East Flight, Royal Air Force, to a portrait of the Quaid-e-Azam, presented to the club in 1963 by portrait artist H.C. Bevan-Petman.

Bevan-Petman was an Englishman who chose to stay on in Pakistan after independence. He lived in Rawalpindi until the end of his life and painted many portraits of various prominent Pakistani personalities, including President Ayub Khan and my late uncle Maj. General S. Shahid Hamid, the first Pakistani Master General of Ordnance of the Pakistan Army and earlier, as a Guides Cavalry lieutenant colonel in pre-partition India, private secretary to Field Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck (affectionately known as "The Auk") - the last commander-in-chief of the British Indian Army.

In his foreword to the 1992 edition of the Sindh Club's history, the club's then-president Pir Ali Gohar writes: "The Sind Club (that's the way Sindh was spelt in those days) has remained a premier institution for over a century and has retained its unique position throughout a period that has witnessed profound changes in our society, reflecting movement from being a part of the British Empire to Independence and beyond. The Sind Club is an outstanding example of an institution which has retained its values while adjusting to the inevitable transformation in social conditions."

Pir Ali Gohar adds: "This book provides a historical perspective covering a period of over a century and should be of interest not only to members of the Sind Club but also to a wider audience. Most important it will help members, old and new, understand the traditions of the Sind Club and also be of guidance to future committees."

The reference to committees, here, relates to the committee that runs the club's affairs. The committee is elected annually by the club's members, and is divided into several sub-committees that are responsible for supervising various aspects of the club's operations.

In recent years, my old friend Hussain Haroon, a former Speaker of the Sinfh Assembly, has been one of the committee's leading lights and has also served as the club's president. He has been so active in running the club's affairs that one could almost call him "Mr Sindh Club".

A bon vivant and gourmet food afficionado, Hussain is known for keeping an excellent table. On one occasion in the early 1990s he invited me to lunch at his house. When he discovered that his cook was on leave that day, he said to me, "I suppose I'll have to rustle up something myself. Will a caviar omelette do?" What could I say except, "It will do very well indeed!"

The moral of the story is that it always pays to have a few jars of caviar handy. Some people rave about Beluga caviar, but Hussain says it's not a patch on Iranian caviar from sturgeon caught in the Caspian

Other prominent club presidents in recent times (recent, that ism by Sindh Club standards) have included such luminaries as Masud Karim. president from 1965 to 1967, (whose wife Zohra Karim is the founder and editor of Karachi's She magazine); and Ishaat Habibullah, president from 1967 to 1969, (a former chairman of Pakistan Tobacco and the maternal grandfather of the up-and-coming young novelist Kamila Shamsie, author of "City by the Sea" and three other highly praised novels).

At an exhibition of paintings at the Karachi Arts Council back in the 1980s, Ishaat Habibullah told me that he had enjoyed reading a recent article of mine published in a Karachi newspaper. "It was almost as good as the stuff I used to read at Cambridge," he remarked.

When I related this anecdote to his daughter Muneeza Shamsie (a well-known literary critic and editor of OUP's 1997 anthology of Pakistani prose and poetry in English "A Dragonfly in the Sun" and OUP's 2001 anthology of Pakistani prose writing in English "Leaving Home", she chuckled and said, "Coming from a Cambridge University man like my father, that's just about the ultimate compliment!" Of such moments is life made.

At the time of its inauguration in 1871, the Sindh Club had a total membership of 76 - of whom 63 were "Resident" members, meaning, that they lived in Karachi, and 13 were "Provincial" members, meaning that they lived in other parts of Sindh. All the members were British (membership was not opened up to Pakistanis until after Independence).

By the time the 1992 edition of the club's history was published, the total membership had risen to 1,932, of which 178 were "Resident" members. The club's first habitat was a house rented for the princely sum of 90 rupees a month.

At the time of its founding, the club's total assets were 7,750 rupees, of which the monthly income was 270 rupees and the monthly expenditure was 250 rupees. In other words, the club had a surplus budget - which is more than can be said for the deficit-ridden federal budgets Pakistan has been saddled with for decades.

Faisal, is a smiling teenager who sells hot chicken corn soup on the streets of Karachi. In his early teens, Faisal was born and raised in Karachi. From his short, prompt and rather innocent answers it is easy to tell that he is a quite and shy chap.

Faisal lives in Federal B Area and loves watching television and listening to music whenever he gets free time from his work. With a pleasant smile, which suits his persona, Faisal serves his customers well. Kolachi caught up with this young man on a cool winter night...

Kolachi: Are you from Karachi?

Faisal: Yes, I consider Karachi my hometown as I was born and brought up here but originally I am Bengali. I live in Karachi with my family.

Kolachi: Tell us something about your profession? How did you start?

Faisal: Making chicken corn soup during winters has been our profession since a long period now. My grandfather, as my father tells me was also engaged in the same profession as we are. Even though it is seasonal work it can be quite profitable at times.

Kolachi: Do you study as well?

Faisal: If you are talking about going to school and getting formal education then no, I am not getting any formal academic education unfortunately. But Mashallah I am learning the Quran at Jamia-e-Usmania, in Gulshan and by Allah's grace I am on my way to

becoming a Hafiz.

Kolachi: What about your family?

Faisal: I have five brothers and two sisters. I am the eldest. The major but superficial difference between us is that they are studying in formal schools unlike me. I am very satisfied that at least they are getting proper education.

Kolachi: Faisal it seems like your family is dependant on you financially.

Is that so?

Faisal: Yes, you can say that. But at the same time it's not as if my father does nothing and I am the only one who makes money. He too sells soup but on a separate cart, at a different place because as you know, it is not that simple to survive in a cosmopolitan like Karachi. One has to work very hard. I feel that it would be unjust to put all the burdens and responsibilities of a family on the shoulders of a single person. That's why I share the workload with my father.

Kolachi: The demand for soup is drastically high during winters, but not the whole year round. How do you deal with that?

Faisal: Yes, that is true. Obviously people are not going to have hot soup during summers. But in winters for small vendors like me there is no other business like selling soup. We make only four kilos of soup in summers and twelve kilos in winters. The difference is huge. So during summers and the rest of the year we sell jamun and faalsa.

Kolachi: You sell soup in the evenings. What do you do in the day?

Faisal: I come here usually around five in the evening. In the day I make the soup that I sell. So my whole day is pretty much spent in arranging for and preparing soup at home.

Kolachi: What kind of costumers do you usually get?

Faisal: Mostly pedestrians. Right in front of my soup cart is a shopping

mall. People who go there to shop are my usual costumers. Then there is a walking track next to my spot where you will mostly find families. After a good walk they help themselves to my hot Chinese soup. Children of a nearby school are also my costumers.

Kolachi: Do you feel that what you earn is sufficient to feed you and

your family?

Faisal: Oh, absolutely! At least for our family it is. Together my father and I easily earn enough, which even though is not much but is also not too less for our family. We earn a reasonable amount and are quite happy in fact.

Kolachi: What about Karachi and the people here? Is there anything you don't like?

Faisal: Oh! I cannot say anything bad about Karachi and its people. I really love this place. It is worth a place to live in. I like everything about it and definitely there is nothing, which one could say, is bad about it.

Refreshing to hear that when most Karachiites are quite fed up with the state of affairs in the city. Faisal finds nothing out of order and loves Karachi the way it is. A happy-go-lucky boy, Faisal likes to live in the present and not worry about things he can't fix. Optimistic and satisfied even when life is not all that - such is Karachi's character.