In these troubled days, I tend to sit down and think of all the violence and strife in the world today. To get away from it all, I sometimes make myself go back to my childhood days and my hometown of Karachi, to the fond memories of a time gone by.

Remembering the Karachi of yesteryear, not the Karachi with a population of ten million. Not the Karachi with the bazaars teeming with thousands of souls and streets filled with garbage and refuse. Not the Karachi full of traffic jams and pollution, but the Karachi with clean, wide and unpolluted streets, with friendly people and safe and fun places to visit.

Going back to my childhood, I remember sitting on my grandfathers shoulders by the side of Drigh Road and waving to president Ayub Khan as he went by in his motorcade. I remember going with my friends and cousins for a Tonga ride from Nursery to Empress Market down Drigh Road. The evening were spent with the nannies in the park and on weekends with my grandparents at the Karachi Club annex, sitting by the edge of China Creek and having butter egg toast, brought on silver trays by turbaned waiters. I remember my grandfather’s gleaming white Chrysler Desoto and the white uniformed chauffer. As I write the memories come back slowly bringing back the good carefree times; sitting on the lawns of Karachi Gymkhana with my family and drinking Pakola Raspberry. I remember going shopping to Bohri Bazaar with my mother and aunts and looking forward to visiting Noorani store and having my favorite mango drink, Mangola.

The Clifton area used to be called Hawabander and I can go back to time to see the magnificence of the pink colored Mohatta Palace towering over Old Clifton. I remember going for rides to Clifton with my parents in my father’s Buick Roadmaster and walking down the Jehangir Kothari Parade to the beach to buy shells from the Makrani vendors sitting along the beach.

It was always a treat to have my father take my brother and I to Shezan for pastries and biscuits or to Zelins for ice cream. Other times we would go to Café Grand to get chocolates or nutty biscuits. Coming back from school we would stop at Boman Irani restaurant in Bohri Bazaar and get freshly baked bread and small cakes, while the shoe shine boys outside polished our shoes.

As we move along in time, I remember Karachi as a teenager. We would try to sneak into the bar at Hotel Columbus with my friend whose father was one of the owners, to get a peek at the go-go dancers. These were the days of disco music and dancing, of Samar at the Metropole hotel and 007 at the Beach Luxury hotel. We had The Three Aces across from Central Hotel and Cavalier behind Maxims at Clifton. This was the time of tuning up your V-8 powered muscle car and drag racing on Karsaz Road or Drigh Road at six on Sunday mornings. I remember the smoking of tires and betting on who can spin the car’s tires for the longest stretch, picnics at the French beach and camping at Haleji Lake. .

Food was another of the finer things in life that we spent a lot of time in enjoying. It used to be Nihari from Sabris, Paya from Star of Pakistan, Biryani and Korma from Sindh Islamia and Seekh Kebabs from Farook Restaurant or the Frontier Hotel. I remember going to the Sindh Club for brunch and having special soup and cordon bleu chicken.

Alas the Karachi I knew is no more. Things have changed for the worse. Along with a population explosion has come crime and pollution. Neither the city nor the people are the same but I guess that is the way of the world and things have to change though unfortunately not always for the better.

As I sit here looking out at the water from my office window in Florida, I remember the Karachi that is no more and the people who are no longer with us and tears roll down my cheeks, but the fond memories that I have will remain and will never go away for as they say home is where the heart is.