Seaview followed by chai aur paratha…umm…dual Karachi ka mazaa!

Sunday morning sunshine has a very foreboding quality to it especially at an hour when one should be nestled snuggly between bed and blanket. I sit here displaced yet content after a one and a half hour photography session that started off at 6:30 am at the Karachi Sea View. They say if you truly want to experience the essence of a place, sit where there is culture, where you can hear the common man’s lingua and you will taste all that the place has to offer. So I like coming here every once in a while, a place not included among those that the social circles I belong to frequent often. A place that acts like a reality check for me when I get too caught up in the dynamics and glitz of the intimate and excluding circles I am part of in this currently not-so-westernized-neither-truly-ethnic-confused-state-of existence, in this metropolitan that is Karachi. I come here not to be among the “artsy fartsy” who are rumored to frequent places like such in order to prove a point to the individuals devoid of the higher understanding of artistic sensitivity. However, I don’t even agree o that notion, but that is a discussion for another time and place. I frequent it to actually observe life from a different view point for at least some moments of the day, to look at things as they exist outside my limiting circles, to fine tune into the diverse variety of all that this city has to offer.

One street across from my college, an unassuming sort of a place nestled between a well recognized food chain and several other roadside type restaurants is my favorite place for a relaxing cup of tea, a “dhaba” by the name of “Quetta Hotel”. A place where some of my classmates and I became regulars during play rehearsals in the month of Ramadan at iftaar. Coming back to where I started from, I sit here exhausted after a morning of clicking away in all sorts of odd and painful positions to get good shots, my stomach growls at having to go empty since last nights meal and working overtime. This place not just offers absolutely delicious food but engages each of the senses in such a manner that it becomes an experience for any keen observer. The smell of Karachi, intimately known and recognized by people living in the city for sometime surrounds you, a salt watery warm kind of welcoming fragrance, this morning mixed with the aroma of ‘daal’ frying in oil, parathas being made on a flat round metal pan blackened with years of usage, and in a silver pan the handle of which is plastic and wrapped around with a cloth in order to avoid burns, tea simmers, the aroma of which is a tell-tale of its sweet flavor. Usually Sunday mornings are relatively quieter than the weekdays and the only hustle bustle is that of shop vendors and workers at the dhaba. As I approach the dhaba, the young boy who works here brings out a chair from inside for me and keeps it at the only table placed outside. The only customers besides me are 3 men, who sit at tables inside the ‘restaurant’ alternating between watching television, reading the paper, and conversing. I sit with both legs folded on top of the plastic chair, for it is too early an hour for anyone to judge the impropriety of the position of this displaced young lady. My camera bag rests on the chipped, age worn table with metal legs and traces of a Formica top. All the cooking being done outside in the open air in front of me, temptingly indulges my sense of smell, and makes the growling of my stomach grow louder by the minute. The big-built, bearded, sweet faced man who is the owner of this joint, swivels the paratha that I asked for, with one finger on the black skillet, to make sure it browns evenly, emitting a ‘whoosh, sizzle’ sound every now and then.. While the cup of tea I patiently await for is being monitored by one of his helping hands, being poured from a metal cup consistently back into the pan its brewing in, guaranteeing as perfectly brewed a cup as possible.

As I get distracted by the men raising the metal shutters of the street shops my long awaited tea arrives in a small ceramic cup one corner of which is slightly chipped and the once off-white color now an almost dirty brown from the tea seeping into the crevices, the cream on it rising well above the rim. I take a whiff of it and the flavor promises of a delectably sweet treat. The owner himself then brings over the paratha in a white plastic plate, I thank him and receive a gracious smile in return. I break off a piece of the bread in front of me and dip it into the chai, an absolute treat! The perfect balance between crispy and soft layers that only an expert ‘paratha maker’ can achieve. I let the warmth of the cup seep into my hands and then slowly raise it to my lips to take a sip of the chai and savor the rich, thick, creamy, hot liquid on my tongue before gulping it down, enjoying every penny of the 8 rupees it is well-worth. Enjoying both to their absolute limit and having been refreshed by the entire experience I pay the man and gather my belongings, and head back towards the tiny circle of my life as I know it.

Gratefully satisfied by the frivolous engagement of each and every one of my senses and being pleased with the re-realization of the dualty that exists in Karachi, of the vast experiences one can be a part of here and for knowing it intimately enough to call my own.