Adventures
on a Karachi Street
By Rafiq Ebrahim Valjee
Glen Ellyn
Strolling on a street near
a corner of eating center at Clifton, I was pondering
on how busy these eating places are and how much
money people spend, when a sudden commotion in
front of me attracted my attention. Out of three
young boisterous youths, one had gone down the
ground level. It was no transportation from here
to eternity, but the fellow had fallen down in
an open manhole.
“See,” said my friend who was walking
with me. “One has to be very careful on
the street. Anything can happen. You have to be
‘manhole conscious’ and keep away
from them by keeping your eyes open, unless of
course if the holes are very deceptive. Didn’t
I tell you before that you would observe queer
human behavior on our streets?”
“I bet you are right,” I said. Coming
back to Karachi on a visit after some fourteen
years, I had forgotten most of the familiarities,
and I was so glad that I had Altaf, my friend,
as a guide. “ Manhole without lids are associated
with human behavior, because it is man himself
who pilfers the lids. Caring nothing about the
safety of the pedestrians, he sells the lids to
make a few bucks for himself. This is human behavior
at its coarsest; another example of it is the
theft of bulbs from street lamps.”
We walked ahead, about to enter an eating-place,
when a shabby smiling man, crossed my path. He
was definitely a lunatic, because he was shouting
his head off and throwing stones freely in all
directions before two hefty individuals checked
him. My friend caught my arm and rushed in the
restaurant. After having some delicious kebabs
and parathas, we came out and immediately saw
a policeman arresting a man for having teased
a girl.
We walked ahead. More adventures were in store.
A man walking just ahead of me suddenly stopped
in his stride and began combing his hair. I almost
collided with him. He didn’t say he was
sorry, but looked at me with fire in his eyes,
as if I should have anticipated his act of combing
in the middle of the street. “Such things
do happen on the street,” said my friend.
“You have just seen an example of how some
people behave out of sheer indifference and thoughtlessness.
The man ahead of you may be full of surprises.
Depending on his temperament, mood or breeding,
he may, besides combing his hair, stop abruptly
to stretch his arms and yawn contentedly, to shake
hands with an acquaintance, to turn back without
notice or to look at the headlines of a newspaper
sprawled before a hawker”.
A few paces away, a man, obviously in haste, brushed
my shoulders to get ahead.
“Brushing of shoulders and a blow here and
there are a common feature,” pointed out
Altaf. “One doesn’t give such occurrences
a second thought, unless one’s pocket has
been picked.” I immediately looked to see
whether my wallet was safe in my pocket. It was!
As we passed by an apartment complex, my friend
cautioned, “Be very careful. All of a sudden
some foul-smelling rubbish may descend on your
head from above. It is no gift from the above,
but only a housewife emptying her garbage can
on the road.”
Just as he was delivering his caution warning,
a heap of rubbish did descend, but luckily a few
inches away from us! Shuddering at this, we started
to walk back towards my home, but not before a
man very near to us sprayed paan-eaten saliva
here and there on the street.
Back home, my wife immediately noticed some red
marks on my white shirt collar. I am sure she
must have thought that I did have a time with
some girl. But considering my age and also since
she was kind and softhearted, she got frightened.
“ You are bleeding,” she yelled, looking
at my neck. She was relieved when she found no
scratch or cut. I was at my wits’ end, unable
to fathom how these damned red marks appeared
on my shirt.
Altaf, who had accompanied me to my place, began
laughing. “The mystery is easy to solve.
You don’t need the services of Sherlock
Holmes or Hercule Poirot. A little taxing of your
gray cells would reveal to you that those marks
on your shirt are the result of that paan-eater
who was near us and who was indiscriminately spraying
his saliva.”
Thus ended my adventures that evening in Karachi.
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