Mustafa Qadri

The default mind frame for negotiating transactions in Karachi is suspicion. Occasionally suspicion spills over into outright hostility. Today I visited the bank to open an account. I was a little exhausted owing to the heat and while I patiently waited for all the formal things to get processed a gentleman sitting with another bank clerk went on this giant, loud ramble about how horrible the service was. During the ramble he rattled off the names of a few people he knew, including the Governor of Sindh. The poor bank clerks were left to stand there and soak it all up, chiming in with the occasional “sorry, sir.”

Yesterday Akhtar, a bright faced young man, installed our electric generator (technically, it’s're called a UPS). He gave us a bit of a shock, however, when he explained how much the batteries would cost. We both got a little hot under the collar with him. As a foreign-living Pakistani you’re always conscious of being ripped off. A lot of people think you’re made of money.

Alkhtar explained earnestly, while a sprinkling of sweat beaded onto his forehead, that this is how much the batteries cost. He insisted that he had told us this before, which may be true. My Urdu isn’t particularly amazing, certainly not with some of the local inflections and speed of speech, and my dad’s hearing is really bad. So bad is my dad’s hearing that I can’t remember the last time I’ve not had to repeat everything I say to him two or three times. Occasionally, it gets me so angry I start swearing. Not at him, just more generally. Thankfully, he usually can’t hear my expletives. I’d have to repeat them.

But back to the UPS. At that moment, lost in our irritation, we simply could not stand for it. So I decided to go with him to purchase the batteries. If they really were as expensive as Akhtar claimed then I’d pay the money myself. We hopped onto his little motorcycle and went on a long chase for the cheapest batteries in town. He weaved that little motorcycle through traffic and pedestrians visting around five stores in different parts of the city. It was rather fun.

In the end, it dawned on me that he had not been trying to rip us off. Batteries really were that expensive. We returned to our apartment with the goods, he installed it post haste, and we now have relatively continuous electricity. I apologised for being so combative before and my dad offered him a prayer. He left with a smile.

Now, of course, we aren’t entirely immune from blackouts. Not even now. It’s been raining torrentially right this moment in Karachi. In fact, I’ve never seen it rain in Karachi before, but I’ve heard stories about it on many occasions. Buildings leak, roads flood, and raw sewage occasionally stalks the streets like an aimless stray dog (which do actually wander the streets at night, one chased our taxi the other night). Well that is precisely what has happened. The electricty failed and I got worried it would be lost for the entire night. Thankfully, it has returned.

We discovered that although our balcony has only a very small water drainage hole, it slopes in the opposite direction. Dad spent some hours sweeping the water away from the slope and towards the hole in his underwear and I had to use all my strength not to take any photographs.

Tomorrow I’m going to Hyderabad, Sindh to meet some bonded workers who have imprisoned their feudal landlord for assaulting some of them. I’m hitching a ride with a local TV crew. More on that after tomorrow.

UPDATE: due to the rain I may not be able to go to Hyderabad tomorrow…

[A local live talkback show with a modest host.]