Notes on Karachi
Salwa Hussain
1) It is rare for someone in Pakistan to not know of Sadequain. The name means truth & the artist himself was no less formidable and knowing. Creating over 15,000 works, he worked for the masses through poetry, calligraphy and representative epics throughout his life. His mural on the right hangs upright onto the ceiling at Frere Hall, inside the gallery named after him. It encompasses knowledge, creation and thought of the universe in relation to mankind & God. Though left uncompleted by his demise, it lasts for the resilience of Karachi’s people who visit, if not the gallery itself, but the park surrounding the Hall frequently. Study circles, protests, dates are common; research endeavours in the public library situated beneath the gallery are more rare. Though book stalls dot the parking area by the evening, which is always breezy. In 3 days, the Minority Rights March will be held at Frere Hall as part of a nation-wide campaign, not by the State but by civil society members.
2) On way back from Sunehri beach., camera lens dewy in the afternoon. A mix of buildings mushed together, pastel and serried… Truly wearied. My other wearied phone was not so lucky :( bad history with Karachi’s water and devices…
3) A picture I took of a house next door with a family of 3. They have no children & appear fairly desolate, except that the house looks out onto the buzzing street. This was the first and the last time they hung out clothes to dry on the roof; some fell down the drain and others became prey to the eagles. Omens before the monsoon season.
When we shifted to this block 10 years ago, there were barely any buildings around. There was plentiful room to move our eyes to without getting tired. Now it feels like I am looking through a mesh, just like the one in this photograph. Little squares which divide the scene in little compartments, little stories at a far distance. Calculated, closely monitored.
Karachi has become illusionary, like a Saraab - existing yet not; a mirage in the desert. Still, I peek through different holes to map it out. The drawings beneath, made through constant interference of graphite pencil with mesh, are explorations which speak out to the invisible, militarised dis-functionality + an invisible memory of the city I had. Somehow being erased. Always being renovated. Now being encroached. Now entirely absent.
Where is the truth? Where is the Sadiq
- the truth bearer?
When we shifted to this block 10 years ago, there were barely any buildings around. There was plentiful room to move our eyes to without getting tired. Now it feels like I am looking through a mesh, just like the one in this photograph. Little squares which divide the scene in little compartments, little stories at a far distance. Calculated, closely monitored.
Karachi has become illusionary, like a Saraab - existing yet not; a mirage in the desert. Still, I peek through different holes to map it out. The drawings beneath, made through constant interference of graphite pencil with mesh, are explorations which speak out to the invisible, militarised dis-functionality + an invisible memory of the city I had. Somehow being erased. Always being renovated. Now being encroached. Now entirely absent.
Where is the truth? Where is the Sadiq
- the truth bearer?
4) Most recent experimentations with the city were done on bricks, stolen from the house at the back. Stealing is a staple the city, a sign that you definitely are in Karachi. Petty crime in the streets has always existed but addressed to more nonchalantly, more jovially than the land theft by State-backed real estate mafias & business tycoons in the city. There’s anger, there’s disappointment. There is urge to break away. But I don’t know how. I am adamant to find out, to work towards something, but I don’t know how.
