Pipe Dreams - Huma Yusuf (a pretty nice article i thought)

Pipe dreams
Huma Yusuf
From oil spills and road thrills to Sheesha and Lazer Tag, 2003 was the year Karachi inhaled a host of new influences Karachiites had a doozy of a December. A bajillion shaadis with gratuitous functions like pre- shaadi "young people" disco nights and post- valima time-to-unwind qawaalis had socialites in a tizzy. Fashionable aunties were forced to give their husbands uncomfortable ultimatums: either you give me a lakh and a half so that I can wear twelve thousand rupee joras to every function I attend, or send me to Singapore for the season (turns out the latter option is cheaper). The only night off was new year’s eve, when chooridaar pyjamas were laid aside in favour of D&G to attend not one, no, two fabulous new year balls. The MALC vs SOP debate raged all through November. Eventually a neat schism prevailed: the young and uppity trotted off to the Special Olympics ball, while old, staid corporate heads treaded to MALC (and bridging the divide were those crazy Lahoris who had tickets to both balls and actually party-hopped). Why this year-end frenzy? Was 2003 so lacklustre that we felt the need to compensate?
Internationally 2003 was downright depressing. The usual dose of war, famine, and natural disaster was compounded by the worldwide SARS scare and the Declaration of Impotence by most international organisations. Pakistan had an embarrassing run, what with bimonthly accusations of us selling nuclear technology to every international ruffian in the scene. Our menopausal relationship with India continued, replete with mood swings, hot
flushes, and cravings. But at home, in Karachi, the year panned out quite well. For the most part. The most obvious glitch had to be the pungent de-spiriting of the Tasman Spirit. The worst environmental disaster in the history of Pakistan, the oil spill was a true test of the vigour of Karachiites, forced us to look within ourselves, and gave us a new self-awareness. We learnt that the city’s eve-teasers really can’t survive without Clifton beach; we discovered the first case of a collective-urban-attention-deficit-disorder; we found that we have an immense capacity to forgive, for once the KPT apologetically decorated the Netty Jetty flyover with pretty fairy lights, we dutifully forgot about the big bad oil spill.
Hydrocarbons aside, Karachi had a great year. Culture, art, lifestyle, music - the whole shebang was pretty exciting. Many may argue that the most intriguing battle has been the you’re-cool-but-we’re-cooler conflict between Noori and Fuzon. Perhaps it’s because this battle of the bands neatly encapsulates the Lahore vs Karachi conundrum. 2003 saw Fuzon jamming at the Royal Albert Hall, while Noori enticed Defence-dwelling burgers out to Lyari for a tub-thumping concert (who’s to say which is the more impressive achievement?).
Meanwhile, not bothering with pop-politics, Strings launched Dhaani and had the whole city under their chaaye chaaye. On the flip side, Café M-Live replaced Blue and made underground music a Karachi-thang all over again.
Thursday nights were enlivened with chill performances from Aaroh, Mizraab, Humaira, and Ali Zafar. And for those who still hadn’t had enough, frequent karaoke nights at Purple Haze made music an eight-days-a-week-affair. Seems like the only musical venture that wasn’t a smash hit this year was the launch of FM station Apna Karachi 107. Oh well...
Of course, for those without an ear for music, there was always fashion. And art. And film. And more film! With a notorious cross-dresser at our helm fashion was jumpstarted: to celebrate the banning of fashion shows, the
Carnival de Couture took place, the House of Dior arrived and Benetton miraculously survived. Water pashmina was a hit, and kurtis were the best fit. Maria B launched Mafia, Nadya Mistry introduced the Mistry Man, Maheen
racked up Oliver Stone in her list of clientele. The art world responded to fashion bigwigs in a retro-cool sort of way: sure, Sadequain and Jamil Naqsh may be schmoozing at Mohatta, but the real art-vibe this year came from the
city’s students. The 2003 Degree Show by KU students was titillating enough to provoke a riot, and subsequently media brouhaha. But the medium of choice this year was definitely film. The plethora of independent TV channels brought us Umrao Jan Ada and Chaahatein (what it didn’t bring us was cricket...). Mohsin Hamid’s Mothsmoke was passably regurgitated as telefilm Daira, a venture that should be lauded for setting the precedent of marketing killer soundtracks in the local TV and film industries. Ironically the first new cinema house in decades, the Universe Cineplex, opened in 2003 - one of Lollywood’s worst years, ever. Lollywood had to ride the wave of 2002’s smash hit Yeh dil aap ka hua as it went international earlier in the year. Our local answer to Lagaan, Rauf Khalid’s Laaj, unfortunately went the way of the empire, being less colonial than comical. But all filmic fiascos were redeemed by the fantabulous KaraFilm Festival in December.
This artsy stuff isn’t the only thing that hiked the Karachi lifestyle up a few notches this past year. There was also that inexplicable influx of imported flowers. First twisty bamboos became ubiquitous, then orchids and birds of paradise became the flowers of choice for spoilt rich adolescents suffering the pangs of unrequited love. Agha’s Supermarket turned twenty-five and commemorated by selling carnations and baby’s breath, and introducing the complete line of Maybelline make-up. Like mindlessly privileged American suburb dwellers, Karachiites became mall rats extraordinaire. The Forum had an impact of Graeco-Roman proportions on ditzy consumers, while The Point took weekend hanging out to new heights with live music, food stalls, face painting, karaoke, and bimonthly Black Fish improv comedy shows. Tariq Road’s Dolmen Mall (the choice of yesteryear’s shoppers) reinvented itself as oh-so-hip and Defence-like and made a killer comeback, while Federal B Area’s Aladdin Mall turned shopping
into a Karachi-wide magic carpet ride. Completing the city’s transformation into an American suburb was the sudden popularity of Chinese take-out. No GT was complete without a quick call to Chairman Mao or Chopstix. And then there was Lazer Tag. As if our gun-culture wasn’t problem enough, teenagers and yuppies can now be found running around shooting each other for fun. Despite all our attempts to Westernise our pastimes, the craziest craze this year (after the kurti) had to be the mad popularity of sheesha. When did the hookah, age-old opiate of choice for farmers and waderas become the too-cool sheesha? Who knows the difference? And when did tobacco get mixed up with rogue elements like essence of papaya, rosewater and cantaloupe? However it happened, sheesha has been a runaway success with bored Karachiites. In our sheesha nashas we have forgotten that "good girls" from "good families" don’t smoke in public. Moreover, we’ve been numbed to the fact that Damascus, the biggest bestest sheesha joint in town, the place to see and be seen, is actually a parking lot located downwind from Karachi’s stinkiest, most excrement-laden nala. You know you’re bored when...
The only thing discussed more often by Karachiites in 2003 than the endless debate over the best sheesha flavour (really, it’s between grape and triple cappuccino) was the dismal state of our roads. This year, Karachi’s roads
dissolved. Yes, this is an annual occurrence in our city of lights (and not much else), but this year it rained. A lot. Also, the disintegration of the city’s roads was more obvious than ever before, because as Korangi Road became a pile of rubble, highways that would put Germany’s autobahns to shame started popping up all over Defence. 2003 was Khayaban-e-Ittehad’s year. This became the road in Karachi to race along and kill yourself on. With direct access to Creek City (Karachi’s upcoming self-sufficient posh settlement that facilitated some of the year’s biggest scams) and its outdoor sheesha café, Ittehad saw many a kurti -clad youngster dash along over the course of the year. As Ittehad and Creek City became the domain of the young and restless, the middle-aged had to bid an understated goodbye to the last bastion from Karachi’s good old days. Without so much as a whimper, Hotel Metropole closed down this year, and only a few aunties missed their perfect lemon meringue pie. Witness to the days when Karachi was a city of casinos, clubs and cinemas, its closure was almost poetically timed. Just as Pakistan’s supposedly becoming moderate, liberal, an institution that has seen the heyday of our liberal ways closes its doors.
Contrastingly, going out with a true bang was the Kavish Crown Plaza, lair of an infamous Bombay gangster and officially the ugliest building in Karachi (yup, it’s the one with the big crown perched above it). As the international war on terror raged on this year, a new menace, the aesthetic terrorist, one offended not by religiosity or politics but by architectural disasters and sheer bad taste, emerged as the real menace to Karachi’s sanctity and blew up this godforsaken eyesore. Admittedly, it’s taking the idea of a "fashion police" a little too far, but who’s to say?
Over all 2003 gets mixed reviews. Women no longer need the consent of a wali to marry, but 45% of Pakistani women have reconciled themselves to living with violence as a part of their daily lives. Charged parking has helped
clear Karachi’s bottlenecks, but CPLC’s Jamil Yousuf was messily removed from his post. Ups, downs. Every new year’s day, Irish poet WB Yeats would read through one of his own poems, The second coming, for comfort and to
reflect on the past year’s events. Not the most comforting poem in the world, but neither is the world, in his lifetime or in ours. So let’s end (and begin) with that cheery mixture of despair and hope that best characterises Pakistanis and poets alike:
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
...
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand