Seventy Days in Karachi

It’s amazing how one can get lost in the motions of daily life without even taking time out to just breath and relax. I spent seventy days abroad in the country I was born in 20 years ago, and I enjoyed every moment of it. I never really realized how quickly time would run out like sand in an hourglass. It had been ten years since I laid eyes upon my maternal grandfather, my extended family, and the city of Karachi. Two moments in time basically sum up my fascination, love, and sadness caused by being ripped out of my world and landing in the center of another universe.

Karachi is located geographically very close to the equator. Due to this unfortunate location, it is very hot there. On top of that the humidity caused by the excessive amount of pollution don’t make the temperature any bearable. The first thought to hit my mind, initiating a cascade of fears and opportunities, was where am I. Relatives, of arriving tourists and those that had been long departed from their families and homelands, were waiting behind the doors of the air-conditioned terminal eagerly. As I walked through the air-conditioned sliding doors and passed into atmosphere of Karachi I could literally feel the atmosphere just devouring my skin, invading my lungs and sinuses. The first few hours were unbearable in such humidity and heat even at nighttime. And yet, this is still one of my most memorable of memories from my stay in Karachi. Everything else seemed to be a blur.

The instant when I felt conscious of the atmosphere of Karachi I was swallowed alive in hugs and kisses from people whose name I wasn’t sure of. However, I welcomed them all the same. They were my maternal aunts and uncles. I found it very strange that they showed so much emotion towards us. It was definitely new to us. I don’t think we even ever said, “I love you” to each other. However, I liked their show of emotions and of course the royal treatment.

Even though the climate was so intolerable we still made the best of it. It seems as if we spent most of our times in places like Paposh, Faisal Market, KDA Market, Gul Center, Tariq Road, and other shopping centers. It was as if we were buying clothes and items for many celebrations to come. The only times we actually wore or used the fruits of our shopping were within those seventy days, in the endless wedding ceremonies of somebody’s sister’s boss’s niece’s friend or of someone’s mother’s cousin’s aunt’s son.

My grandma’s rooftop was almost checkered in permutations of white, black, and little specks. The staircase was of the same kind of tile. During the day the ground was hot enough to make charcoal smolder. At night, if the humidity was low the floor was cool to the touch. The view from the roof was amazing, since most houses in Pakistan are enormous to begin with. I can still remember that rooftop from when I was younger, it was amazing to come back there and relive the memories.

On the eve of my departure to the states, I was having a difficult time falling asleep. The house was packed with guests who wished us well, but barely knew five solid personal facts about us that were not linked to our genealogy. As I tossed and turned in bed I knew the only thing that would bring me piece was either the air-conditioner or the rooftop. Since I had broken the air-conditioner from excessive, non-stop usage. I decided to find my way upstairs through the endless stairs and space. The only light I had to guide me was the moonlight that shone in through the filth in the air. Without looking back at the room I left, not realizing that this may be the last time I experience 2 a.m. in Pakistan Time.

My flip-flops shuffled through the family room, the dining room, past the kitchen, through the door, up the forty to fifty narrow steps, out the rooftop door, and onto my beloved rooftop. I didn’t feel like pacing around the roof aimlessly from corner to corner, I saw my destination at the other end of the terrace. I drifted towards the charpai trying to cool down and relax so I could get some sleep before I board a 22-hour flight to JFK to be greeted by the confusing rituals of the airports.

I lay on the charpai trying to calm all the rush of thoughts running through my head. Do I have all of the necessary items ready for the airport? Have I misplaced anything? Am I forgetting anything? How am I going to be able to sit for 22 hours? What if something goes wrong? What if our tickets expire? What if we board the wrong plane? Am I ever going to see grandma again? Will they forget us again? Am I ever going to see my cousins again? Am I happy here? Or in the states? Well I knew the answer to the last question I knew I was happier there, but at what expense? The questions were circulating at lightening speed through my brain like agitated little neurons firing at the drop of a pin.

Somewhere through that ongoing battle in my head I connected literally with my environment, without the help of any hookah of course. I just stared off in space into the night sky trying to lock as much of it as I could into memory. I knew I wouldn’t forget that night because it was so peaceful. Peaceful nights are like rare gems in Karachi. The atmosphere, the humidity, and the temperature are in perfect balance and alignment. There was actual wind in the air that carried only minute quantities of pollution, in my opinion anyways, I’m sure that could be disproved through scientific study. The air felt fresh, maybe because of the slightly higher altitude of the rooftop, probably because of the refreshing mercury drop in the air. My seventy days had been hectic in Karachi. I connected with my extended family, the city, the way of life, but never with the nature of Karachi. Even from the moment I stepped out of Jinnah Terminal I knew that it would be hard to spend seventy days in such heat. Fortunately, I managed; sure I took five showers a day on certain days when I felt like I wasn’t traveling abroad on the earth but on the sun. However, Karachi would not let me leave like that without embracing me at the very least, no matter how brief it was.

I fondly remember how I told almost everyone I ran into about how Karachi smacked us in the face when we stepped foot on the pavement outside Jinnah. For the sake of my memory, Karachi unfolded that night at a very basic and fundamental level. There was no noise, which is very rare for Karachi. No honking cars, even though we did live a good mile away from the main road. No screaming vendors, well it was two in the morning. No relatives, to try and persuade me to think or act in a certain way. Just silence. Not boredom but just a moment to breathe.