ghazi52
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‘Area Baazi’: A tale of two Karachis
These two Karachis are each totally disconnected from each other. —Creative commons
Nothing divides people more than money; no religion, caste or creed creates more division than our social status.
We are measured by the size of our backyard, the make of our car, the price of our handbag and the zeroes at the end of our pay cheque.
In Karachi, you are largely defined by the area you live in; it is a quick shot bio-data of your entire life.
‘Aap kahan rehte hain? (Where do you live?)’ slots you into the happening or not-so-happening piles immediately. And then, there is no redemption from that.
Middle- and upper-middle class folks aspire to mingle with the solid rich; the old rich enjoy their cocktails with the powerful lot — that leaves us with the ‘mailas’ (dirty ones). And, let me assure you, nobody wants their selfie with a ‘maila’.
The term itself is so offensive that one wonders if this category of Karachiite is even considered human by others sharing the city.
That Karachi is divided along political lines is well-known, but the stronger grid lines are formed along economic status; I like to call it ‘Area Baazi’.
Generalisation is the name of the game
Class consciousness plays a pivotal role in everyday life here: residential areas have names and traits associated with them.
For example ‘Nazimabadiye’ is presumably someone living on the ‘other’ side, unpolished, speaking Dilli wali Urdu and slurping on nihari and haleem. A ‘maila’ or ‘bun kabab’ lives outside Defence and Clifton, areas that pride themselves on hosting so-called sophisticated Pakistanis.
Defence is what Bandra West is to Mumbai or Gurgaon is to New Delhi; it’s perfectly alright for people to prefer certain areas for their security or infrastructure, but must we be insensitive towards others who may be struggling to survive in the city?
There are two Karachis, each totally disconnected from the other. Spaces such as Karimabad, Bufferzone, North Karachi, etc. are taboo words for the Defence walas, who, if they had a chance, would import their oxygen too, I'm certain.
People take pride in throwing names around here: association with politicians and industrialists means their peers will respect them more.
Nobody goes: ‘Hey! I know a compounder possessing a great character. I think we should hang out with him more often’.
I’ve also learned that the secret social code here is minimum words exchanged with anyone below your class. And if someone does indulge in friendly banter with the ‘lowly’ you are allowed to walk around all day feeling like a philanthropist, like you've done some grand favour for humanity.
The city is in a pitiable state morally, but let’s not blame the elite exclusively for the collapse. The ambitious folk in the middle somewhere can’t stop labelling people either.
Their sense of inferiority is apparent in stories of exaggerated wealth, in hesitating to speak in Urdu at posh places or even dissing Bollywood, perpetuating this apathy across all strata of society. Yes, the ‘maila’ watches and discusses Hindi films, but funnily, it is the non-mailas who die for a meet&greet even when a relatively small celebrity from India arrives in Karachi.
In my case, I prefer eating rice with my hands, have often taken a rickshawto Dolmen Mall and love dissecting Bollywood — unapologetically. I am amaila.
A bigger mafia is at work in Karachi, more terrifying than the mobile snatchers, that lurks around every corner and must be dealt with urgently: dignity snatchers are robbing people in broad daylight.
Humility has been kidnapped and taken to an unknown location — away from our hearts.
The tailor down the street may turn out to be a great source of wisdom, be a hero to his children and may have contributed more to your personal world than the lame politician who is making you empty promises live on TV right now.
So then, would you be willing to accept that friend request from your darzion social media? If the thought makes you uncomfortable, think about where the dirt really resides.
.....
‘Area Baazi’: A tale of two Karachis
Nothing divides people more than money; no religion, caste or creed creates more division than our social status.
We are measured by the size of our backyard, the make of our car, the price of our handbag and the zeroes at the end of our pay cheque.
In Karachi, you are largely defined by the area you live in; it is a quick shot bio-data of your entire life.
‘Aap kahan rehte hain? (Where do you live?)’ slots you into the happening or not-so-happening piles immediately. And then, there is no redemption from that.
Middle- and upper-middle class folks aspire to mingle with the solid rich; the old rich enjoy their cocktails with the powerful lot — that leaves us with the ‘mailas’ (dirty ones). And, let me assure you, nobody wants their selfie with a ‘maila’.
The term itself is so offensive that one wonders if this category of Karachiite is even considered human by others sharing the city.
That Karachi is divided along political lines is well-known, but the stronger grid lines are formed along economic status; I like to call it ‘Area Baazi’.
Generalisation is the name of the game
Class consciousness plays a pivotal role in everyday life here: residential areas have names and traits associated with them.
For example ‘Nazimabadiye’ is presumably someone living on the ‘other’ side, unpolished, speaking Dilli wali Urdu and slurping on nihari and haleem. A ‘maila’ or ‘bun kabab’ lives outside Defence and Clifton, areas that pride themselves on hosting so-called sophisticated Pakistanis.
Defence is what Bandra West is to Mumbai or Gurgaon is to New Delhi; it’s perfectly alright for people to prefer certain areas for their security or infrastructure, but must we be insensitive towards others who may be struggling to survive in the city?
There are two Karachis, each totally disconnected from the other. Spaces such as Karimabad, Bufferzone, North Karachi, etc. are taboo words for the Defence walas, who, if they had a chance, would import their oxygen too, I'm certain.
People take pride in throwing names around here: association with politicians and industrialists means their peers will respect them more.
Nobody goes: ‘Hey! I know a compounder possessing a great character. I think we should hang out with him more often’.
I’ve also learned that the secret social code here is minimum words exchanged with anyone below your class. And if someone does indulge in friendly banter with the ‘lowly’ you are allowed to walk around all day feeling like a philanthropist, like you've done some grand favour for humanity.
The city is in a pitiable state morally, but let’s not blame the elite exclusively for the collapse. The ambitious folk in the middle somewhere can’t stop labelling people either.
Their sense of inferiority is apparent in stories of exaggerated wealth, in hesitating to speak in Urdu at posh places or even dissing Bollywood, perpetuating this apathy across all strata of society. Yes, the ‘maila’ watches and discusses Hindi films, but funnily, it is the non-mailas who die for a meet&greet even when a relatively small celebrity from India arrives in Karachi.
In my case, I prefer eating rice with my hands, have often taken a rickshawto Dolmen Mall and love dissecting Bollywood — unapologetically. I am amaila.
A bigger mafia is at work in Karachi, more terrifying than the mobile snatchers, that lurks around every corner and must be dealt with urgently: dignity snatchers are robbing people in broad daylight.
Humility has been kidnapped and taken to an unknown location — away from our hearts.
The tailor down the street may turn out to be a great source of wisdom, be a hero to his children and may have contributed more to your personal world than the lame politician who is making you empty promises live on TV right now.
So then, would you be willing to accept that friend request from your darzion social media? If the thought makes you uncomfortable, think about where the dirt really resides.
.....
