|
|
|
|
 |
 |
   |
city neighbourhood
watch The
way we were karachicharacter
By
Amina Baig When
old orders fade, it is inevitable that new ones will take their place. In
times of upheaval, sometimes the old is not simply replaced with the new,
but both merge subtly, creating a fresh entity all of its own.
With the recent turn of events in the country, young journalists in
Karachi dove Journalists
from all over Karachi convened at the Karachi Press Club (KPC) everyday, and
continue to protest curbs placed on media by the government till they are
lifted entirely. For once, journalists from all organizations, and of all
ages have gathered together to fight their way out of the curbs, and have
interacted as perhaps they might not have in a long time, bringing to the
forefront all the differences that exist between the old and new guard of
journalists. There
might not be any difference between the ethics of the profession whether
being practiced in print or broadcast, or by the young or old, but there are
differences between individuals and generations, as some journalists have
pointed out.
"Editorial
has taken a backseat to marketing in most organizations; they want quick
money and good money. The government in recent times has done many good
things," says Sabihuddin Ghousi, "but those new policies have
widened the gaps in society. A consumer class of 30 million people has been
created, the media angles the 30 million, but the 130 million who live in
inhuman conditions remain ignored." He believes that this has happened
because "newspapers and channels will not get any business out of
reporting the issues areas such as Thatta and Badin face." "The
new generation will not report these issues, but I don't blame them, as
their organizations don't give much importance to these issues." In
Sabihuddin Ghousi's opinion, young people instead gravitate to the more
appealing aspects of news. "They would rather report fashion and
showbiz, or human rights which are more glamorous and then there are NGOs,
environmental and gender issues," which he believes definitely entice
the new generation of journalists more. According
to Sabihuddin Ghousi the gap between the generations also comes from the
fact that unlike "Historically,
newspapers have never been good paymasters. Journalists in the past were
offered temptations which they refused, these were the real
journalists," says Sabihuddin Ghousi, "one has to work for money,
but hard earned money. Some new journalists want quick money, a good car and
home, this didn't exist before." Although he believes that some of the
younger journalists are "exceptionally brilliant," he
says but "they still lack fire." "Senior
journalists have gone through a lot, and while their experiences have made
them confident, they are at times cautious because of it too," comments
Urooj Zia, a young reporter. She refers to the demonstrations held recently
to protest media curbs, "we did have discussions with our seniors, and
the younger lot said that it is important for us to be out there." Khawar
Amir Khan, reporter for a local news channel feels there isn't a
communication issue between senior and junior journalists. He does feel that
"orientation of young journalists is a problem though, for instance,
gaining membership to KPC is not very easy." Khawar also believes that
as the electronic media definitely pays better than print, there might be
"no communication gap, but there is an economic gap for sure,"
with more experienced people sometimes being paid less than their juniors. As
journalism and media in Pakistan has matured, more and more people are being
inducted into the profession, especially broadcast journalism.
Shamim-ur-Rehman , President Karachi Union of
Journalists (KUJ) points to another problem with regard to this,
"the society is rigid, and the older people are not ready to move
beyond what they know. They need to understand that things change, and it is
up to them to decide what is good or otherwise. The younger lot that has
come in has been educated in a different system; they aren't ready to talk
to us, we aren't ready to talk to them. But this issue can easily be
resolved through weekly, if not daily meetings with seniors within one's own
organization." Journalists
of all ages and orientation should ideally be coming together under the very
structured KPC and KUJ, as they are directed to under the constitutions of
both organizations, but as senior journalist Ahfaz-ur-Rehman points out,
"the systems at KPC and KUJ are very stereotypical and
mechanical." Perhaps
the problem just arises out of rigidity on part of older journalists, and
the reluctance of young journalists to approach their seemingly inflexible
seniors, some of whom Ahfaz-ur-Rehman promises are not unapproachable,
"just introverted," or "very busy." But
should differences in age or medium be allowed to stand between
communication which can be pivotal to the learning process which is constant
and lifelong? "Generation
gaps can be found within all sections of society," says Ahfaz-ur-Rehman,
"it is not just true of one profession, but disparity of thought and
opinion will be found between different generations within every
profession." Ahfaz-ur-Rehman
attributes the generation gap between the old and new guard, which is
causing a bigger communication gap between the two as a "phenomenon of
an old ethical system," which seems to direct seniors to keep their
distance with juniors. But as
Shamim-ur-Rehman, points out, "times are changing and with them, values
are evolving as well." The
comment might sound generic, but the underlying truth cannot be denied.
While there is no denying the decades of experience and knowledge senior
journalists have behind them, the new crop of journalists belongs to the
generation that is used to the law of instant; instant access, instant
coffee, instant action, instant reaction. To them, information is a
mouse-click away and they seem to want action to be taken for or against the
things they believe in at the drop of a hat. During
the demonstrations protesting media curbs, young journalists wanted
"more action, more street protests," remembers Urooj Zia. Urooj
identifies another reason for the reticence of junior journalists when it
comes to approaching their seniors. It is not out of arrogance, as some may
believe, but because of "the high pedestals
we put our seniors on; it is out of respect. The icons of journalism
intimidate the younger lot." "This
is the era of technology and advancement," says Ahfaz-ur-Rehman,
"and the concept of putting seniors on an unapproachable pedestal has
been shattered, but in a closed society such as ours, which is slow on the
uptake of anything new, we are unable to break these shackles. And when
junior journalists find their seniors displaying this attitude, they become
reserved as a consequence." Sabihuddin
Ghousi delves deep into the history of journalism in Pakistan to define
where and why the lag in communication between senior and junior journalists
developed. "In
the '70s, there were very few newspapers, and the ones that were printed
were quality publications very choosy about the journalists they
hired," Sabihuddin Ghousi recalls, "at that time my colleagues and
myself were the juniors; 'the kids' as our seniors back then referred to us.
A countrywide strike was observed against the Wage Board back then, which we
participated in along with our seniors, such as Ashfaq Bukhari. That is when
we got to interact with them and the gap between us was bridged." Sabihuddin
Ghousi contextualizes the growth of newspaper publication in the backdrop of
the '80s, the war in Afghanistan which won Pakistan America's favour,
causing the dollars to flow in and an increase in "drug money." "In
the mid-'80s, Mohammad Khan Junejo, the Prime Minister at that time,
repealed the Press and Publication Ordinance, making it easier to bring out
newspapers. The time that followed that saw a mushroom growth in newspapers,
many of them brought out by business minded individuals who identified the
newspaper industry as a profitable one," says Sabihuddin Ghousi.
"Many at that time saw journalism as an easy profession, which would
gain them access to the corridors of power." According
to Ghousi, newspapers sponsored by people with this mindset brought with
them a breed of journalists also oriented towards considering journalism as
a springboard to other avenues. This is how he says the divide between
journalists from the more idealistic '60s and '70s and those who came in the
'80swidened. "In the '60s and '70s, a lot of journalists had come in
from the National Students Federation, they were both left and right wing,
with their own ideals and whether right or wrong, at least they had
idealism." The new
generation of journalists is not without idealism, but according to Afiya
Shehrbano, sociologist and columnist, is "missing politics," which
back in the 80s, during the Zia-ul-Haq regime was a prerequisite for
journalists, along with being well-trained and well-read. With the "IT
generation," Afiya thinks, the process has changed, with many young
journalists not as into reading and writing apart from their work as they
should be. They might hit the news, but miss the analysis. "Women
journalists in the '80s were pioneering, and linked up to political
movements, there was unquestionable objectivity," the new brood of
journalists, Afiya believes, while engaged with journalism on a very
professional, business-like level, seems to be having a "romance with
subjectivity." With
time though, media in Pakistan has advanced, and with it, journalism has
too. Where the '80s saw a growth of the newspaper industry, as the country
entered the 21st century, television channels flourished, literally and
figuratively changing the face of the news. "The
facets of journalism have changed," says Shamim-ur-Rehman. Mass
Communication wasn't the strongest suit of local universities before the
"sudden media proliferation," according to him, with few people
entering the field with a background in journalism, and most just training
on the job. As television became a medium for broadcast journalism, Mass
Communication became a key subject taught at universities for aspiring
journalists and media persons. "Literacy
in Pakistan is low," says Shamim-ur-Rehman, "nobody wants to
learn, and nobody wants to teach. A degree has its own place, but practical
experience holds its own." By and
large, most journalists in Pakistan still learn on the job and this makes
interaction between new and senior journalists even more crucial to media's
learning curve. Broadcast journalism has created more complications in this
process. Khawar
Amir Khan takes a pragmatic approach to why communicating with senior
journalists is a problem, especially for broadcast journalists, as within
that sphere, there is a "lack of human resources, for instance, there
are three reporters in Aaj TV. Most reporters work over time, and there
isn't much time left for interaction with their seniors." If this
generation gap between journalists is clearly understood and defined,
clear-cut solutions can be found to bridge
this gap. Urooj
believes that one way to bridge the difference would be encourage discussion
between journalists belonging to all generations. In her opinion, there
should be no reservation presenting one's point of view during these
discussions, as "if your point of view is valid, respect will develop
as well." Sabihuddin
Ghousi echoes this notion: "You learn through interaction, when old and
young journalists sit down and talk, each will learn something from the
other." The
recent political situation in the country, and its impact on the media has
been "a blessing in disguise," according to Sabihuddin Ghousi.
With journalists regardless of age or gender fighting on one front,
interaction between all has been inevitable. Coming
together in times of crisis is all well and good, but once the storm passes,
will the affinity between different generations of journalists remain? According
to Ahfaz-ur-Rehman: "Seminars should be held at KPC, discussion between
older and younger journalists should take place, and young journalists
should be encouraged to raise questions unabashedly, with their seniors
helping them groom their thought processes and writing skills." KUJ had
already taken a step in this direction. Before the emergency had been
imposed in Pakistan, plans of introducing courses for young journalists
ranging from news writing to conflict reporting were in the offing. Once
these courses are introduced, journalists will learn how their seniors
covered a variety of issues. Khawar
believes that younger journalists should "identify a few older
journalists one can go to for advice from time to time. I myself have
identified seniors who will help me out." He does think that "some
of the older journalists have seen a lot and seem to have become cynical.
Younger journalists need to bring in a fresh outlook and vibrancy." "Interaction
is always interesting," says Shamim-ur-Rehman. "Older people are
aware of their experience and knowledge, while the socialization and
learning process of the younger lot is very different, they should blend
their experiences." Differences
between belief systems should not create fissures; rather they should result
in diversity of opinion. There is a lot to be learnt from senior journalists
and younger journalists should aim to gain from the wealth of experience
that their seniors have. And in dealing with them, it is imperative that
seniors keep an open mind. The result will be a more refined voice of the
Press in Pakistan. neighbourhood watch Rebuilding Heerabad – The modern commercialisation of a historical town Once known as Sindh's Paris, Heerabad is now falling into the commercialisation trap as have so many other areas in Sindh rich in heritage. Kolachi collects some memories and history of the area, by the residents By
Adeel Pathan Heerabad,
an old locality constructed near the forts of Hyderabad was known for
decades because of its cleanliness as the Paris of Sindh. Initially
inhabited by Hindus who belonged to the revenue department of the rulers at
that time, it benefited from the wealth that was brought back into the area
by the people who had earned it abroad. Heerabad
was the only developed locality of Hyderabad when Pakistan came into being
in 1947. A majority of migrants from India settled in this locality. As the
area was populated mostly by Hindus before partition, it also stands out as
the architecture in the area is distinctive from that found in the rest of
Hyderabad. Heerabad
was named after a philanthropist Heeranand, the area was developed in a
manner keeping in view the direction of graveyard. An intersection was
carved out after every fifth lane in the area and each lane had a chairman
who looked after all the affairs of the locality including sanitation. The
houses were built along the haveli structure with about two dozen rooms in a
single house and a basement in every house. Roshandans were put in for
cross-ventilation and sunlight. The basements were used for storage purposes
and sometimes for servants, in which case they were equipped with all
facilities. A close
type of drainage system was installed in Heerabad therefore the area has not
been inundated by rainwater even during extraordinary rainfall in the city
because of the well thought out planning of that era.
Dr
Pardeep Kumar, 52, a lecturer at Liaquat University of Medical and Health
Sciences tells Kolachi that majority of Hindus who settled in Heerabad
migrated from Multan and Khudaabad in Dadu. "The
Hindus constructed their houses close to the qila, as they worked for the
Mirs, the rulers of Sindh," he says and adds that Sindh warki (people
who work outside Sindh and bring their wealth back to their locality),
started living here and constructed big houses and havelis. He says
that Heerabad was purely a residential area but has now been converted to a
semi-commercial area with shops round the corner, as only three to four
Hindu families live here now with no temples, which have been occupied and
demolished. Abdul
Rehman Rajput, member of Provincial Assembly of Sindh has lived in Heerabad
since he was born. He tells Kolachi that it is the most clean and
pollution-free area of the city which is why he never thought to move to any
other locality in Hyderabad. "We
have lived here since the inception of Pakistan, and the area is perfectly
congestion-free," Rajput The
oldest government college in Hyderabad, Government College Kalimori (GC Kalimori) is located in the Aamil Colony of Heerabad. The
institute has produced a lot of prominent politicians as well as policy
makers who are working for the government to date. These include the former
Governor of State Bank of Pakistan Dr Ishrat Hussein, Federal Communication
Minister Shamim Siddiqui, Minister Sindh, Sardar Ahmed and others whose
careers benefited from the education they received at GC Kalimori. Heerabad
presently is also famous for a pan shop, known as Gulab Pan House,
established a few years after independence, where throngs of people of all
age groups can be seen purchasing pan and chewing tobacco. Though
more than four braches under same name have been established in same lane of
Heerabad and the price of pan is higher as compared to other parts of city,
it attracts quite a crowd, especially on occasions like Eid. The
tomb of founder of ancient Hyderabad, Mian Ghulam Shah Kalhoro is also
situated in Heerabad along with the tombs of the Mirs known as Miron Ja
Qubba (graves and shrines of Mirs). Though these archeological sites are
facing negligence by the government and authorities, they are examples of
some of the best pre-independence architecture in Sindh. Dadi
Lilawati Harchandi, the oldest resident of Heerabad who received a
Presidential Award for her contribution to the education sector says, "Heerabad
attracted a lot of foreign visitors before partition because it was so
well-planned and clean." When
asked how she feels while looking at Heerabad today, she says, "I get
tears in my eyes when I see how it has changed, but it is the citizens as
well as the government who are responsible for the poor condition of
Heerabad." "The
Hindu women used to walk regularly in the evenings from Tower Market to
Central Prison," she recalls and adds that rules and regulations used
to be followed in old Heerabad but there is a dearth of respect for the same
today. Some
old schools and Hyderabad
Central Prison are also located in Heerabad along with Tower Market and the
main grocery market in Hyderabad. The only club known as Ladies Club is also
situated in Heerabad where Hindu women used to gather but the club is now
being used as a marriage hall while two schools have also been established
on the premises and builders are eyeing this property to convert it into a
commercial arcade. Heerabad
should be declared as a model locality of Hyderabad and the ongoing
commercialization be stopped immediately, old houses and havelis should be
preserved as they symbolize the rich culture and tradition of old Hyderabad.
Encroachments need to be removed as soon as possible. Not only should the
district and provincial governments take measures to maintain the area as a
clean and organized one in the the district, but the residents of Heerabad
should also start taking care of treasures they are lucky to be blessed
with. – Photos by Mohammed Rehan
The way we were The world of vanished words By
Kaleem Omar The age in which we
have advanced to all manner of instant communication systems - the Internet
and mobile phones, to mention only two - was bound to be the age in which
the individual capacity to communicate would atrophy. I was recently reading
an article by an American in which the author was lamenting the fact that
many high school teenagers in the United States these days can barely speak
English. But then, neither can George W. Bush. Language is now
something other people use. They use it on television. Execrably. They use
it on PCs. Mostly execrably, with some exceptions. They use it on the
Internet, with lots of exclamation marks, as in: The rave was great!!!! They
use it in telephonic text messages. The word 'text' - horror of horrors -
has now become a verb. Since words are not
very important in this new dispensation, communication being fabricated for
us by an outside world, the teaching system has bypassed its once insistent
emphasis on linguistic expression. Hence, the lament of that American in
that article mentioned above. The cultural loss
thereby is enormous, and for the most part people have become sad anonymous
creatures. Not quite zombies, perhaps, but nearly. Language is the method
by which we identify ourselves to each other. To communicate by the present
method of grunts, stammers, "y'knows", "likes", painful
lurching illiteracies (and I'm being polite here), is to define ourselves as
spastic personalities. As somebody once said,
the great glory of human language communication is that it is not an elitist
skill, more easily available to the privileged or educated. In Shakespeare's
day, at the performance of one of his plays at the Globe Theatre in London,
the man sitting in the front row was just as likely to be the local
fishmonger or a dockworker as some scholar. The language of the
British aristocracy was a feeble, colourless, stylised product, as P. G.
Wodehouse spent a lifetime hilariously informing us. The community language
of the London Cockney, on the other hand, was a miracle of quick-witted
invention. Language, in those days, belonged to the workers, not the nobs. Australia, perhaps
because of its Irish component, was once a language-rich country. So was
America, with its melting-pot mix of people from the four corners of the
world. But once again, one was more likely to pick up a living Australian
language at Flemington Race Course than within the portals of the Melbourne
Club. "Bernborough is off like a bride's nightie," was once
un-exceptional for a racing commentator's introduction to the start of a
horse-race. It is instructive now
to look at such an encyclopaedic publication as Sidney Baker's "The
Australian Language". It records a large number of words and idioms
which were obsolescent when the work was issued more than four decades ago.
But in that period the whole compilation is a record of obsolescence.
Scarcely an idiom or rich emotive word survives today. Language as a personal
resource is dying out in many parts of the world, especially among the
younger generation. In America, and increasingly even in Britain, people
tend to live life now with a minimal language, presented to them by the
media, and geared to the lowest common denominator of comprehension. I am not sure whether
it is a hopeless rear-guard action by the surviving word-lovers, or, the
battle lost, curiosity that motivates a nostalgia market for the world of
vanished words. Slang, or what the
late American poet Ezra Pound, one of the great masters of the English
language, once called "the language as she is spoke", was a
treasure trove of wonderful words. Slang in early Nineteenth Century Britain
was particularly rich in this respect. Consider. "Abel-Wackets"
were blows given on the palm of the hand with a twisted handkerchief,
instead of a ferule, as a jocular form of punishment among seamen, who
sometimes played at cards for wackets, the loser suffering as many strokes
as he had lost games. "Active
Citizen" was not, as one might think, a civic-minded individual; he was
a louse. "Affidavit Men" were knights of the post, or false
witnesses, said to have attended Westminster Hall, and other courts of
justice, ready to swear anything for hire. We still have a lot of affidavit
men in this country, only, here, they're called by other names. "Alls" is
one of my favourites. These were the five alls in a country sign,
representing five human figures, each having a motto under him. The first
was a king in his regalia; his motto: I govern all; the second a bishop in
pontificals; motto: I pray for all; third, a lawyer in his gown; motto: I
plead for all; fourth, a soldier in his regimentals; motto: I fight for all;
fifth, a poor countryman with his scythe and rake; motto: I pay for all. "Buffle-Headed"
was someone who was confused, stupid. "Just how buffle-headed can you
get" sounds much more evocative an expression than "Just how
stupid can you get". "Burr" was a hanger on, or dependant -
an allusion to the field burrs, which are not easily got rid of.
"Butter Box" was a Dutchman, from the great quantity of butter
eaten by the people of that country. "Daisy
Cutter" was not the latest thing in fearsome American bombs, aimed at
killing large numbers of people over a wide area. No, back in the early
Nineteenth Century, a daisy cutter was something altogether more innocent.
It was a jockey term for a horse that did not lift up his legs sufficiently,
or went too near the ground, and was therefore apt to stumble. "Dice" were
the names of false dice: a bale of bard cinque deuces; a bale of flat cinque
deuces; a bale of flat sice aces; a bale of bard cater traes; a bale of flat
cater traes; a bale of fulhams; a bale of light graniers; a bale of langrets
contrary to the ventage; a bale of gordes, with as many high men as low men,
for passage; a bale of demise; a bale of long dice for even and odd; a bale
of bristles; and a bale of contraries. Even if you don't
quite know what some of these terms mean, they sound so wonderful, you
almost feel like instantly transporting yourself back in time two hundred
years to become a roller of false dice at some country fair, crying out to
the assembled company, "And it's a bale of gordes again, with as many
high men as low men, for passage". What a linguistically insipid world
we live in today. "Flash
Lingo" was canting or slang language. "Flicking" was cutting,
as in: flick me some panam and cafan; cut me some bread and cheese. "Fogus"
was tobacco, as in: tip me a gage of fugus; give me a pipe of tobacco.
"Full Of Emptiness" was a jocular term for, yes, you've guessed
it, empty. That's what many politicians around the world tend to be: full of
emptiness. It's a bit like that line I once came across many years ago in a
Peter de Vries novel about life in American surburbia in which a character
says of another, "Deep down, he's shallow". "Furmity"
was wheat boiled up to a jelly. To simper like a furmity kettle was to
smile, or look merry about the gills - as distinct from looking green at the
gills. "Irish
Apricots" were potatoes. It was a common joke in England against Irish
vessels to say that they were loaded with apricots and timber, that is,
potatoes and broomsticks. "Irish Assurance" was bold and forward
behaviour. As being dipped in the River Styx was formerly supposed to render
a person invulnerable, so it was said that a dipping in the River Shannon
totally annihilated bashfulness, whence arose the saying about an impudent
Irishman, that he had been dipped in the Shannon. This saying applies even
today. That's why there are very few bashful Irish about. "Ottomised"
was to be dissected, as in: you'll be scragged, ottomised, and grin in a
glass case; meaning, you'll be hanged, anatomised, and your skeleton kept in
a glass case at Surgeon's Hall. Early Nineteenth Century slang could get
pretty graphic at times. Most such expressions were used in jest, however.
Nobody was actually kept in a glass case at Surgeon's Hall. But even if they
had been, it would still have been better than being blown to smithereens by
a Daisy Cutter - the bomb, not the low-stepping horse. karachicharacter Good things come in small packages By
Sabeen Jamil Hot
chicken corn soup is not the only attraction for guests at China Town, a
Chinese restaurant in Clifton, the
warm smile on Shamsuddin's face is surely another. Dressed in a kurta
shalwar, waistcoat Kolachi:
How tall are you? Shams:
I have never measured my height but it is not less than three feet. Kolachi:
Are your siblings normal-heighted? Shams:
No, I am the only one with this height, the rest have normal heights. Kolachi:
Do you feel sad about this peculiarity? Shams:
Yes, quite often, especially when I have to take something from a height and
I can't because of my short height. But then I thank Allah that I am
employed and not dependent on anyone. Kolachi:
Do people make fun of you? Does their attitude bother you? Shams:
I am not being laughed at anymore though I used to in my childhood. I always
felt ashamed of myself and I never attended school out of embarrassment. I
sometimes regret that I did not attain any education. Kolachi:
Since you are not educated at all, how did you find employment?
Kolachi:
Do you enjoy your work? Shams:
A lot! I think this job is better than weaving. I come here at 12 in the
afternoon and work till midnight. I greet the guests at the door to which
they respond with a smile, otherwise I wait for them sitting on the chair
quietly. Sometimes I have to keep silent the whole day but I never get
bored. I enjoy observing people talking, the birds chirping, and the kids
playing outside their cages. I am very fond of animals, especially birds for
they are very cute and innocent looking. Other than this I enjoy my work
because I am well paid and I get Chinese food frequently. Kolachi:
What is your favourite Chinese dish? Shams:
Chicken corn soup and hot and sour soup. Kolachi:
Where in the city you like to hang out and with whom? Shams:
I am not very into hanging out. But whenever I hang out its with my friends
and that too in a garden in Clifton. I would rather spend time with my wife
and daughter at home instead. Kolachi:
Is your wife equal in height to you? Shams:
No she is taller than me, almost 4 feet in height, but that doesn't make a
difference. She is a great person and I never feel inferior in front of her.
Kolachi:
What are your top three desires in life? Shams:
Desires come with money, the more you have the more you desire. So I want
money first, only then can I want a big house or a car. Secondly, I always
pray that I am never dependent on any one, neither physically nor
financially. And the third desire is for my city. Though Karachi is doing
very well as compared to the past with less violence but it has become too
expensive for the poor. I know people who have to agonize over whether to
spend their salaries on the month's ration or on house rent. So I wish for
Karachi to become less expensive. Kolachi:
How do you compare Karachi with other cities of Pakistan? Shams:
I have never been out of Karachi except for Thatta where I go almost every
week to meet my brothers. I think Karachi is a better place to live in since
it is a lively city with big cars on the streets and enough employment
opportunities for even the uneducated. Shams
still misses the carefree days of his childhood when he played football and
gaind balla (cricket) throughout the day oblivious to what lay ahead. He has
grown up a lot since then and made a life for himself. He has a job, a wife,
a daughter and he has developed a taste for soup.
He lives in the city that is Pakistan's boulevard of dreams. And
helping you make yours come true, such is Karachi's character. –
Photos by Zahid Rehman |
|
straight into the defense of their profession; coming together
with their seniors to fight for a cause close to their hearts. As the battle
against the powers that be rages on the outside, the differences between the
ideologies and methods of the old and new guard of journalists simmer gently
in the background. 
President
Karachi Press Club (KPC), Sabihuddin Ghousi believes that journalists today
"lack fire." He thinks that while most journalists of his time
worked hard to highlight the various issues that plague Pakistan, the same
drive is missing in journalists today.
in the past, there is "more horizontal and vertical
movement," young journalists with a spark tend to get noticed and
offered better paying jobs, which they tend to move on to.
Though
majority of the houses in Heerabad have not been demolished so far, their
condition is far from ideal as they are old, but not well-preserved. The
locality has recently been constructed with some new apartment buildings
too, which house people belonging to moderate income brackets.
explains his attachment to Heerabad. According
to him, despite commercialization, the area doesn't face the regular water
and sewerage problems like other residential areas in Hyderabad.
and turban, Shams, 29, stands stands only a short
distance off the ground. Yet, the warm smile on his face fills one's heart
with pleasure. From weaving carpets a few years ago, Shams now greets
Chinese food lovers with "good evening," "Ni hau" and
"Assalamulaikum" at the restaurant door from morning till dusk.
Happy and content is how Shams feels with whatever life has offered him. 
Shams:
I learnt to weave carpets from a man who later employed me at his factory. I
got my first job at the age of 18 where I would earn 200 rupees for a week's
work. I continued with it for almost a decade. Since I had to sit through
out the day while weaving and gained weight, I quit the job and started
working here instead. 