This blog is part 1 of a three-part series.
How do you separate yourself from the place you were born and grew up? You are inexplicably linked to that place. Good or bad, bitter or sweet, it becomes a part of your DNA.
Karachi, my city, is a part of my being. The memory of the depth of sadness I experienced looking at the city skyline from my hotel window, knowing I will call someplace else home, will always stay with me. I was not thinking of family and friends then I was only thinking of my connection with my city – a place which is so close to my heart that for me it’s a living, breathing being. A metropolis that is so familiar yet, can be so strange with its own dark side.
Most of my family and friends laugh when I express my feelings for Karachi. They always point out how hard it is to live with the law and order situation here. Although, I don’t live here but my heart bleeds when my city bleeds. Anyone who has been in love would know how easy it is to overlook the imperfection of your beloved.
Was my life in Karachi always a bed of roses? The honest answer is “no”.
When I first moved to Karachi from a smaller city, I was seven. At that age my life revolved around school and my siblings. We were sent to a local public school – schools were not such a status statement back then. The primary section that I was sent to was separate from the secondary section my sisters attended. Coming from a small town, it was very hard to break into the social fabric of a big city. We found it impossible to make friends. The girls were mean and cruel. To give my readers a feel for the place, there were massive overgrown reeds where the school premises ended. There were stories of a murdered woman’s headless ghost doing the rounds at all unexpected hours. No one, not even the bravest amongst us ventured that far. Why challenge and invoke the unknown? At seven, it all seemed very real and daunting. My sisters and I had no friends but they had no qualms about acknowledging their friendless status I, on the other hand, used to tell tall tales of friendships and endless fun to my sisters. They never suspected that something was amiss. Back then it was a guilty pleasure but even today it seems incredible that they believed my stories. After all they were the pinnacle of wisdom to me. Mind you, they were only 10 and 11 themselves.
Gradually, we found our bearings in the big city. And so, my love of the city began. I always find it amazing how people here are generally smiling despite the struggles of daily life. Now I can draw out a conversation with anyone irrespective of their socioeconomic status. Karachiites even complain about the city and its problems with a sense of humour. You can still find people willing to help in the face of adversity.
I have lived all over Pakistan but I find Karachi strangely liberating. Gossip does not do as many rounds here as in other places, plus people are selective as to what to gossip about. I have seen millionaires become nobody and nobodys become somebody within my lifetime. Karachi still has many opportunities to offer to those who are game enough to try their luck and potential. The city offers growth and danger. Where else will I find such contrasts, excitement and most of all familiarity? So now you see my problem. I am in love with what is no longer truly mine.
When I was young I used to think a man will take away the agony of loneliness. But now in my middle age, I realise that a loving husband and a beautiful child cannot compensate for the lack of every relationship left behind in another world and time.
It is said that when a person dies with unfinished business in this world, sometimes their soul cannot cross over to the other world. It roams the earth in sheer agony. Having lived in limbo for nearly 20 years, stuck between two worlds, not wanting to belong to one and losing connection with the other, I can relate to the agony of that lost soul.
It is also said that between death and the day of judgment, our souls inhibit “barzaq” , the space between life and our eternal destiny. I have experienced barzaq in this life. How will I tolerate the agony of another barzaq?