A humming word

No, I am not a native. And no, I do not belong here. But I am overwhelmed by the city’s wind that blows pallus and duppattas , skirts and stoles. And skinny women and men.  When the wind blows the city laughs a nd then smiles with boats that row among towers, on architectural tour. The guide, a medium built Caucasian who rolls her silky hair in a ponytail speaks aloud to 50 curious strangers, busy covering their chest with winter coats and shawls. She asks tourists to be seated when they insist on standing with her. She has to focus on the Fire Accident and the city’s famous Pizza in the same breath. The stories she shares fade out  when my aunt begins to whisper. She chooses this time to tell me about a distant cousin who lives across the lake. But I excuse myself to stand at the edge of the boat, where she is afraid to stand. The majesty of the city sparkles in the night when the lights reflect in the lake and the tour guide’s voice becomes clearer and  I learn that ...

The hustle-bustle and hush-rush; traffic lights blinking and city lights, blinding but... shhhh... close your eyes  listen to the dong at the Mozamjahi clock tower --  any hour, short or long at the Salarjung museum, you'd be decked in your best here, wander at the Karachi bakery, jostle with the traffic;  at the Mozamjahi bazaar, you rest the bazaar that once sold attar, pans, groceries, hookahs and fruit Is now a nest of ice cream made of dry fruits close your eyes and be swooned once at one o clock twice at two o clock and 12 times at twelve o' am or noon PC: Live iconic

Fear is an uninvited friend who visits me, occasionally by the dining table he narrates tales of caution – some true, some fiction but we recount together things that once caused bother and we weigh it against reason fear raises its hand, guilty of treason Since he is seated in my home - i smile he hugs me till we forget everything for a while