A page from a book about life in Karachi
Paradise Point
The construction site was in the suburbs of Karachi city, on Stadium road,
next door to the famous cricket ground, we were
on good terms with the management, in fact the ground staff often borrowed our
heavy rollers when they had a special need, we never charged them a fee, but
suffice it to say that complimentary tickets to the test matches were made
available to all our departments. We were employed by a well known British
company engaged in the construction of a large hospital funded by the Aga-Khan.
It was thirsty, and dusty work, especially in the hot and sultry Summer months.
We laboured six days a week and on the seventh we did rest.
Fridays were the highlight of the week, there was no doubt, in fact, we
measured the passage of time by Fridays. For instance we
would say, its three Fridays since we went to the ship breakers yard at Gadani
Beach. Or, don’t you remember it was the Friday after we all got drunk on big
Alec's pea wine. Or. The Friday after we went crabbing in the harbour bunder
boats, and got presented with T shirts sporting the motif. MI caught crabs in
Karachi.”—And so on. Come to think of it, the day we all caught crabs in
Karachi, was the day of Alec's pea wine. He brought a gallon of the stuff with
him in his coolbox, he said it is great for sea sickness, we were inside
the harbour walls, where the water is quite calm but it was good of him to
think of the poor sailors in our party. We had bunder boated before, and it made
a pleasant change to our routine, This particular Friday evening a small party
of us, (Dave, and myself, big Alec, and Bemie who all lived together in a
company villa in addition Tommy Foy, who's wife was back in the UK. For medical
treatment, and Alan, decided, after a quiet afternoon spent in our social club
to round the day off with a crabbing trip in the harbour.
Alec's pea wine was well known to Dave and myself, we became acquainted with
it a few years ago on the Taif job in Saudi Arabia. Alec assured us that he had
now perfected the art of brewing it, and although it was not yet quite a vintage
Cabernet Sauvignon, it was
all the same a very pleasant wine. And so it proved, it went down very easily,
and we were a merry crew before we had even reached the crabbing grounds at the
extreme comer of the harbour where the sea wall meets a shallow cliff.
The Karachi crabs, are quite tenacious in their determination to surrender,
and who can blame them, living as they do in a muddy stew of effluence, they
practically tie themselves to your baited line in order to escape. In no time at
all, we had a boat full, Our boatman was a huge scar faced Baluchi, he had deep
set black maniacal eyes, which almost met across the bridge of his nose, He
balanced a huge voluminous turban which, defying gravity, remained immaculately
coiled atop of his bullet shaped head. This gave him the appearance of one of
Ali Baba's thugs.—Ali, for such was his name of course, had been around the
block a time or two, or so he re-assured us. He had a very limited vocabulary of
English, which consisted of “Yeah, you bet, sure thing bass” this was delivered
in a strong Louisiana accent. He always avoided questions on his sea faring
experiences, I’m sure that none of them were even remotely associated with the
sea. but I did learn for a fact that he was once employed as a Chowkidar
(caretaker) at the American embassy in Riyadh.
Ali, despite his enormous size, was a quiet, gendemanly person, and really,
in hind sight it was a grave mistake to offer him a glass or two of the deadly
wine. The usual Bunder boat trip ended on a sandy beach, where the crabs would
be cooked and we would all have a lovely time drinking, eating the (delicious) crabs,
and singing. As I said, Ali was a quiet guy, he only wanted to please his
passengers. So, that was the reason he decided to cook the crabs on board to
give us more time on the beach. The cooking was done on a makeshift fireplace
made of bricks, the crabs were boiled in a large aluminum pan.
After the third glass, Ali lost some of his reticence, he now was Captain
Ahab, in charge of the Peqoud, he stamped up and down the narrow boat, his
weight causing it to rock alarmingly. He wanted to keep an eye on the boiling
crabs, so he had to keep leaving the tiller to check on their progress. Whilst
checking the crabs, and keep-
ing an eye out for any approaching craft, He stood too near the well lit fire.
The hem of his flowing robe caught light, Ali danced around trying to shake the
flames out, he grabbed the plastic flagon of wine out of Alec's grasp and poured
it over his burning dress. Now, pea wine is quite strong stuff, it must be at
least 40% proof. A sheet of flame shot up Ali's body, and the flare up from the
fire which caught most of the wine caused panic, every one near the cooker
jumped back wards or forwards, he danced about,in fear and pain, and the
inevitable happened, The bunder boat, (which after all was not much larger than
a rowing boat) rocked once or twice, then capsized, into the water we went.
Fortunately we were in quite shallow water and were able to swim to the shore,
Abdul was nowhere in sight, I dived down into the murk, but could not see a
thing, there was nothing to see, in fact the visibility was almost nil I
floundered about, trying my utmost not to ingest any of the foul smelling water.
Dave yelled, “The boat, John, the boat” as he started to swim after it, I
arrived there at the same time, it was upside down, and we could hear furious
banging noises. I took a deep breath and once more dove under the obnoxious,
litter strewn surface of the harbour. Ali was panicking, his head and shoulders
were hidden by the gunwales of the boat, his legs were threshing about below,
looking like a giant insect trying to scrabble out of a slippery bath. Just a
faint shadow of reflected light reached the interior, there was an air pocket of
about 9 inches, his chin firmly touching the boat bottom, he clung desperately
to one of the seats, and pounded frantically with his free hand at the timber
side, reciting his prayer to Allah the merciful, over and over again, I grabbed
his arm, and tried to tell him that we must go down, under the water then we
could re right the boat. Ali would have none of it, I tried to wrench his hand
free, but he shrieked even louder and started to lash out at my head, Bugger
this for a game I thought, and ducked back down under and resurfaced to join
Dave alongside the upturned craft. “He refuses to abandon his ship” I told him,
“We’ll have to tow him to shore” “Aye aye skipper” Dave laughed, he already had
hold of the bow tying up rope, “I' 11 pull, you push,” We pulled and pushed
until our feet were touching bottom.
We rapped sharply on the keel, and tried to right the boat, Ali was not
playing, he refused to give up his life saving hold on to the seat. Alec, was
not amused, he blamed our skipper for the debacle, and the loss of his pea wine,
he charged into the water, and arranged the three of us holding the oar locks
and with a one-two-three-heave we wrested the boat from Abduls grasp and righted
the vessel, Then ensued a terrific struggle to land him ashore, although we were
in only four feet of water he fought us to the last, splashing and kicking,
gasping like an old bull Grampus. At last with extra help from Bemie and Tommy
we managed to land him.
Ali was now a pathetic looking soul, gone was his long turban, he was soaked
to the skin, his ankle length Dishdashah all ripped and scorched and obviously
the wine had affected him far more than it did us, prostrated on the shingle
beach, retching, coughing and spluttering, in between offering up prayers of
thanks for his deliverance. Abdul was making the most of his brush with death,
We stood him unsteadily on his feet, and tried to point out to him, that his
bunder boat, borne on the receding tide was now drifting sedately towards the
harbour mouth. This brought on another noisy bout of lamentations and pleas to
his maker. Luckily for him, another pleasure boat had spotted the runaway, and
swiftly re-captured it, the skipper who was a friend of Abdul's towed it back to
our little beach, The engine, not surprisingly refused to start, so we boarded
our rescuers craft, him, the bright pink of the breast feathers reflected in the
sun-gold of the sea. We had parked up and enjoyed many such days, at this spot
and always resumed our home ward way with a great sense of contentment.
Our reverie's however were shattered by the approaching sound of a straining
engine, as it came close inshore, it was pursued by The Dalek like tones of a
loud hailer. The cliff edge at this point was quite high, and whatever drama was
unfolding below us, was taking place out of our view. We left the car, and
keeping our heads down crept close to the edge. A small fishing boat, lateen
rigged sail furled, was skimming dangerously close to the shore, it was being
shadowed by a sleek, motor launch, standing further out to sea, painted in naval
grey and flying the green Pakistan colours. Two uniformed men were on the deck,
The one shouting into the amplified megaphone, and the other, menacingly sat at
the trigger end of a mounted sub machine gun. It looked like game, set and
match, even with rapidly falling dusk the timber hulled fisherman had no chance
of escaping the clutches of the powerful navy vessel, Still, with a recklessness
born of fear he doggedly continued his mad dash through the rock strewn sallows,
close in to the cliff side, all the time hectored by the armed patrol boat,
They passed our vantage point, and disappeared around a headland. I looked at
big Dave, aI think we should not be here me old son.”—“Aye, I think your'right
an' all, lets scarper, quick.” As we jumped back into the cab, there came a
distinct crackle of gun fire, several short bursts, then silence. I drove back
along the cliff top track, in the opposite direction for a few miles, then swung
right across the scrubby desert to where I knew we would pick up a tarmac road,
which would skirt the coastline, and lead to the main road into Karachi.
During our drive back to our villa we discussed the scene we had just
witnessed. We were both of the same opinion that we did the correct thing in
keeping a low profile, it is not a good move to get involved, even as a witness
in police or governmental affairs. Besides, this area is quite sensitive, as
this stretch of coastline is the location
of the controversial Atomic power station, and we always give it a wide berth.
Another subject we broached was the possibility that what we saw was a spat
between rival smuggling gangs. Battleship grey paint, and naval uniforms are
easily obtainable, as, unfortunately are sub machine guns. The immediate Karachi
environs are reasonably safe for travellers, there is a problem further North
and West of the city. There had been several high profile kidnappings, and armed
robberies in recent years, the English language newspapers blamed the Dacoits,
(bandits), many people were of the opinion that malcontent, political figures
were stirring up trouble, especially in the mountains around Peshawar, and the
remote foothills of the Karakorum and the Hindu Kush, where some regions were
practically no go areas.
This episode was a great talking point amongst us for the remainder of the
week, we looked in vain in the English language papers for any report of the
incident, It was certainly gunfire that we heard that day, and it was
frustrating not to know how things turned out. So, the next Friday, Dave and I,
big Alec, and Bemie, the youngest foreman on the site, set off in two four by
four trucks along the coastal road, to retrace our steps of seven days
previously. We gave the vicinity of the Power station a wide berth, then, when
the tall structures were no longer visible we swung back off the track towards
the sea. I soon found the spot where we swam and snorkelled, so it was a case of
following the cliff top past the point where we last saw the fishing vessel and
the gunboat, the coast line was a ragged wall of sheer rock, but indented every
so often by litde coves, and bays, and we did not have to travel very far before
we spotted our fishing boat.
It appeared to have been run aground at speed, it, or what was left of it was
lying at the foot of the cliff, still facing forward, and was firmly entrenched
on the jagged black rocks, It was half submerged, the cabin, and super structure
were intact, but window less, the mast had broken near the deck level, and,
trapped in a pool surrounded by the rocks, the sail, swelled and subsided with
the ebb and flow of the current, from our viewpoint high above, it took on the
fanciful form of a huge white flat fish, trapped in a stony, watery graveyard,
Travel & Culture Services Pakistan
220A Panorama center Fatima Jinnah Road
Karachi
Email : Click Here To contact us.
Slide Show - Online Booking
| Home | Tours || Hotels | Islamabad | Karachi
| Lahore | Peshawar|
Quetta | Multan |
Hyderabad | Hunza |
Gilgit | Chitral
| Swat | Karakorum
Highway | History of Pakistan || Weather
| Security | Contact
Information |
Web Design & copyright 1997 - 2018 by Jamaluddin Panhwar
Advertise on this site click for advertising rates
