Good Old Karachi

PAPER BOATS.

By Michael Meik

A few weeks ago, it was the start of the fall season, and I was looking out of my apartment window, the sky was overcast and it had started to rain. My balcony door was open, and having not rained in a while, the ground was dusty, and the fresh scent of the damp earth rose up to my apartment. It smelt really good, so I decided to go downstairs and sit on the covered bench at the entrance. Just then a couple of excited kids came rushing out of the building in their raincoats with their dad, they had an exercise book with them and walked out towards the little puddles that had formed in the front courtyard, and he was showing them how to make paper boats. I noticed they were the same kind we made when we were kids, and it brought back a flood of memories from my own childhood.

It was 1972 and I remember when I was in the 5th grade at the P.A.F. Model School on main Drigh Road, our young class teacher Miss Ruben was telling us the story of Noah and how it rained for 40 days and 40 nights, and how all the animals came on board two by two so they could be saved from the floods. While telling us the story, she was building a large model of the Ark with us. I think it must have been a model kit, as there were little plastic animal figures that went into it. However, it was not much fun, as we could not test out the boat anywhere. We wanted to see it float.

This inspired us to build our own boats and test them. Our classroom was on the first floor of the original sandstone building, and that afternoon there was a torrential downpour, and through our classroom window, we could see large pools of water forming in the maidan behind the school, this field was used for most of the school’s sports activities throughout the year.

Four of us made a plan to sneak out of class, making excuses to either get a drink of water or go to the washroom, not forgetting to take our exercise books with us for raw material. We gathered behind the newer row of classrooms that had been built along the boundary wall, then crept out through the unmanned back gate, which always squeaked when you moved it. Luckily, because of the rain, no one heard the noise, or so we thought. Once safely outside, we started ripping out the pages from our books and made at least 40 to 50 boats and we set sail in this large muddy pool which was about six inches deep. We then started splashing around in the water, throwing rocks to sink each others’ creations, stirring up the thick clay from the bottom.

We were having a blast, oblivious to the fact that our sports teacher, Squadron Leader Aaqil was standing right behind us in his always neatly pressed white pants, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. One of the boys threw a rock, which landed right at his feet, splashing him with clay-filled water, and he yelled at us. We froze, not expecting to see him there, that was the end of our fun and games for the day. We were all marched off to our principal, Simon D’Lima’s office, which was at the other end of the school, it meant we had to go past nearly every classroom on the way.

Walking in silence behind him, our shoes now completely soaked with water were making funny squishing sounds, and with every step, muddy bubbles would rise out of the top of our shoes, we could not stop giggling, Mr. Aaqil, a slim man with a large mustache, would turn around and give us this big eye stern look, but every time he looked ahead you could tell he was smiling to himself.

The rain had more or less stopped by the time we got there, and the slushy clay-filled water had started to dry on us. When we entered the office, the secretary Elizabeth seemed in shock when she saw us. She was asked to call our fathers who were all in the Air Force and working on the base. We were told to wait outside on the verandah and not drag the mud into the office, and by the time the dads showed up, the slush had dried hard on us, it was in our hair and our nice crisp uniforms were anything but, we were a sight to behold.

The other fathers arrived and were trying to be serious and scold their sons, when my dad turned up, he burst out laughing when he saw us as to how funny we all looked, this got them all going, probably thinking back to their own childhood and the mischief they got into as kids. With the rain completely stopped and the sun shining, the gardener was called and instructed to take us out on the lawn and hose us down to get the mud off. Even though school had just ended, and everyone was standing around us watching the spectacle, it did not bother us in the least, it was one of the most memorable fun days I have ever had at school.

By Menin Rodrigues

When time stood still in Karachi:
A GLIMPSE INTO AN ERA OF TRANQUILITY AND SIMPLE PLEASURES OF LIFE

In the bustling metropolis of Karachi, Pakistan, an era once existed where time held a
different value, and leisure was defined by simple joys and human connections. This
city, known for its vibrant culture and dynamic energy, was witness to a time when
technology had not yet woven its intricate web around human lives. It was an age of
tranquility, a period when children, youth, and adults alike engaged in activities that
nurtured bonds, fostered community, and celebrated the art of living in the moment.

As the digital age surges forward, with the omnipresent internet shaping the contours of
modern existence, a lament arises for the intangible treasures that have been
overshadowed. The era of connectivity and information has given birth to a new way of
life, marked by the screen’s glow and the allure of virtual realms. Yet, in this transition,
the profound value of face-to-face interactions, outdoor games, and unstructured leisure
time has receded like a distant tide, leaving nostalgia in its wake.

The journey from then to now is a tale of progress, innovation, and advancement.
Television, once hailed as a marvel of technology, captivated families, and individuals
alike in close nit neighborhoods, drawing them into the realm of fantasy. Eventually, the
internet emerged as the catalyst for a global village, shrinking distances and expanding
horizons. The past yielded to the present, not in resistance to change, but as the
foundation upon which the present stands.

However, as society embarked on this evolutionary trajectory, it also waved goodbye to
the unhurried cadence of yesteryears. The cricket matches played in narrow alleys, kite-
flying everywhere, the hopscotch chalked onto pavements, and the communal laughter
echoing across parks and ‘maidans’ – these vignettes of leisure painted a portrait of a
simpler time, when joy was found in shared moments and the embrace of real-world
experiences.

It’s undeniable that progress has bestowed countless gifts upon humanity – from
medical breakthroughs to space exploration. The march of time, unyielding and
unstoppable, ushers in the new while nudging the old towards antiquity. The past, with
its sepia-toned memories, becomes a repository of sentiments, an era of reminiscences
that reside in the hearts of those who lived through it. Yet, no matter how advanced
society becomes, the allure of those bygone days persists as a testament to the beauty of
simplicity.

Time, akin to a flowing river, cannot be diverted or held back. It rushes forward,
carrying with it the stories of generations and the echoes of history. In Karachi, where
life has perpetually pulsed with an irrepressible energy, time has been both a companion
and a marker of change. As children frolicked in the open spaces, adolescents engaged in
spirited competitions, and adults found solace in leisurely conversations, the city’s
heartbeat reverberated with the rhythm of human connections.

During this time, wars were waged and concluded, economic tides surged and waned,
and innovations reshaped the landscape. The world was not a static tableau; it evolved
in parallel to the passage of time. However, the essence of those years lies not in the
grand narratives, but in the intimate narratives of everyday lives. It’s the memory of
warm afternoons spent under the shade of trees, the anticipation of the evening game of
cricket, hockey or football, a multitude of games we ‘invented’ and played in
neighborhood compounds and the joy of sharing anecdotes that now form the tapestry
of recollections.

As Karachi, much like the world at large, embraced the digital age with open arms, the
contrast between the eras became stark. The city that once resonated with the shouts of
children and the laughter of families now hums with the whirr of gadgets and zombie-
like individuals glued to their devices. The shift is emblematic of a global phenomenon –
an intricate interplay between the allure of technology and the yearning for simpler
times.

In essence, the world that was once shaped by the touch of human hands, the echoes of
conversations, and the resonance of genuine laughter now finds itself woven into an
intricate web of cables and signals. Progress is not inherently negative; it’s an
embodiment of humanity’s thirst for knowledge, growth, and exploration. Yet, as
Karachi’s landscapes transformed to accommodate towering skyscrapers, bustling traffic
and an exploding population, the yearning for the past’s gentler pace remained, an
undercurrent of nostalgia that refuses to be silenced.

The Karachi of yore stands as a testament to a time when life moved at a different pace,
where the concept of leisure was entwined with human interactions and simple
pleasures. The transition to the present, shaped by the relentless march of technology,
has bestowed undeniable benefits upon society. However, it’s also cast a nostalgic light
on the days when time seemed to stand still, when the greatest riches were the moments
shared, the games played, and the connections forged.

As the world hurtles forward, perhaps there lies a lesson in revisiting the ethos of that
bygone era – a reminder that amidst the cacophony of progress, the value of time well
spent, and the purposeful embrace of leisure – the sanctity of human bonds should
never be forgotten. © Menin Rodrigues 310823