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publishing industry trend
Sadak chapp Misha Uzair, 25, IT specialist: "Maybe once or twice a month. I don't spend a lot on new books and prefer going to the Sunday bazaar in DHA for a bunch of second hand paperbacks which don't cost more than Rs500."
Burnt, but not brought back
puncture wala profile
publishing industry With hurdles such as
low purchasing power of readers and high cost of publishing, the "They are too expensive." This is the most common complaint those who buy books in Karachi have. But just why are books so expensive? According to an estimate by the National Book Foundation (NBF), 2,000 titles are published annually in Pakistan, with at least half of those titles being produced in Karachi, which boasts 400 publishers. At the fourth Karachi International Book Fair (KIBF) held at Expo Center earlier this week, Kolachi spoke to a number of these publishers to find out why their books cost so much, who in turn blamed the people who complain in the first place: the readers. "We try to keep the profit margin the lowest it can possibly be, but diminishing readership has compounded our problems," laments Syed Asghar Zaidi of Welcome Book Port.
However, Zaidi has
more factors to blame for the high cost of publishing other than just
disinterested readers. "We are very concerned about the violation of
copyright laws and book piracy that is so prevalent in the country," he
confides. According to him, book piracy costs publishers millions of
dollars in losses. "All over the world, governments attach top priority
to book publishing by subsidising book production. Unfortunately this is
not the case in Pakistan."
Book piracy has remained a common cause for complaint in the book publishing industry. One particular publisher, who requested anonymity, ranted against the book piracy that many believe is rampant in Urdu Bazaar. "These book shops get the cheapest editions of text books printed on poor quality paper and sell them to the students," he says bitterly. "Sometimes they even bind and sell photocopies." The publisher backed up his allegation with the sale of a photocopied mathematics book for classes 9 and 10, which costs between Rs150 and Rs250. "The saddest part is that Urdu Bazaar Welfare Association support piracy despite claiming that they are against it," he adds.
High taxes, low quality
"The government justifies the duties on paper by claiming that it protects the local paper industry," he said. To an extent, Khalid says he agrees with this, but added that local paper is of very poor quality, and that local producers already monopolise the market. Currently four paper mills - Flying Paper Mills, Premier, Mandiani and Century - produce locally, and only Century Paper Mills produces quality paper. The cost of such quality, however, is almost equal to imported high quality paper. With the hassle involved in getting good quality local paper, imported paper becomes a better alternative. Khalid urged the
government to encourage local publishers by removing duties on printing
machines, printing ink, and other inputs required for printing.
"We are local publishers. We earn in Pakistan. We spend in Pakistan. We are not like the Oxford University Press (OUP), which sends precious foreign exchange outside the country," he remarks. Still, Khalid is optimistic. He commended the visit Federal Education Minister Mir Hazar Khan Bajarani paid to the KIBF where the PPBA requested Bajarani to reduce the duties on paper. "He has asked us to write a letter to him and assured us of help. The National Book Foundation (NBF) is cooperating with us." Khalid's allegation that the OUP monopolises the market is a common one, but Nadeem Mazhar, President PPBA, refuted the widely held belief. "The market share is evenly divided between local publishers, including the Sindh Textbook Board, which publishes textbooks on a massive scale," he said.
At the end of the day, however, Ajmal Kamal, owner of City Press Publishing House, does not believe that lowering the cost of publishing will yield any results on their own. "Price is not the issue," he believes. "Cheap books can still be found in the corner of a book shop, waiting for the readers to come and buy them. Why would publishers publish the books if there is no one to read them?"
A cheaper route?
Despite the high cost
of paper, there still exists a cheaper route to publishing. The
University The BCCT has not signed a memorandum of understanding with other publishers in the city. When accepting manuscripts from teachers of the university, the BCCT offers a 15 per cent royalty or a lump sum amount. A former Director of BCCT, Qazi Saleem, informed Kolachi that the Bureau has a luminous past especially during the tenure of Dr Ishtiaq Hussain Quraishi and Dr Mahmood Hussain, the two most well-known Vice Chancellors of KU. Dr Quraishi is known to have written many books on history but never took any royalty from the university. What is, however, ironic is the fact that despite the presence of BCCT, the public sector university has failed to attract students towards this industry. The publishing course that is dubbed as Book Production at the Department of Mass Communication, KU is taught in both semesters of MA Final, but no more than 5-6 students register each year. "It has never crossed the limit of eight students in any academic year," says Prof Inam Bari, a teacher of the department. "The publishing course at one point was part of the Print Media course, but the concerned teacher left the university for a career at OUP," disclosed the professor. Some publishers are also of the opinion that online edition of books (also known as e-books) have contributed to a decrease in the sales of books. "Since the internet is a cheaper option, it has led to the declining trend in book readership that is ultimately affecting the publishing industry," concludes Khalid. Photos by Naqeeb-ur-Rehman
trend Ali Danish is
convinced that cable television is strangling his Danish is a salesman at Welcome Book Port, and is one of many salesmen who believe that an information overload on the internet and television has pushed many young readers away from books. "With information just a click away, the younger generation is no longer interested in buying books to gain information," he says, but adds, "Books on current affairs, politics, and cooking sell like hot cakes." However, it would be unfair to blame the internet and TV only, as many also cite rising inflation and the increasing cost of books as a contributing factor. "Given the current inflation rate, people now prefer to borrow books," says Sajid Ahmed at Fazli Book Depot located in Urdu Bazaar, hub of books in Karachi. Nearly 100 people visit his shop everyday, and the only reason Ahmed is still in the business is because market trends have changed. "People do not prefer to buy educational books anymore. Instead, they spend on cookbooks by local chefs who host cooking shows on television, or a book on current affairs." Ahmed adds that self-help books are also popular among readers. "Apart from academic books, books such as 'How to Make Money' or 'How to Develop Yourself' sell more than books on world history, literature or philosophy." According to Ahmed, the only time knowledge-based books sell is during a sale. For these, he gives a 50 percent discount, "otherwise no one will buy them." An estimate shows that ever since television and the internet brought the world to everyone's drawing rooms, the culture of reading books just for knowledge has reduced by half in Karachi alone. "People are more focused on doing well academically rather than learning about variety of issues that could broaden their horizons," observes Naheed Jahan, the librarian at Liaquat Memorial Library, one of the largest public libraries in Sindh. Although some 500 to 600 people visit the library every day, Jahan says that most of them come for reference books or to prepare for examinations. She confirms that in recent years, while the number of visitors has gone up and the collection of books has increased manifold, the readership of knowledge-based books has gone down by 25 percent. "Earlier we had just 30,000 books compared to the present collection of 160,000, but very few people actually read them," she says, and blames visuals on television and the internet for "killing the human instinct of imagination and curiosity." Because of this, she adds, not many people are compelled to conduct research either since all the information is available on the internet. Sohail Ahmed at Taimooria Library agrees that though the number of visitors to libraries has not gone down, reading trends are now different. More than 100 people visit this library daily, which has a collection of over 20,000 books. "People used to come to read newspapers and books, but now they mostly come to prepare for their exams or get reference books for their syllabus." Apart from libraries and bookshops, the other place to get books is at book fairs, but even these are held sporadically. The Koocha-e-Saqafat bazaar, for example, used to be organised on the M.R. Kayani Road every Sunday. Until a few years ago, it attracted visitors from all parts of the city, but because of decreasing clientele and the deteriorating law and order situation, it is no longer a regular feature. Book fairs were also held at Frere Hall located opposite the US consulate on the Abdullah Haroon Road, but according to Saifur Rehman Grami, founding Chairman of the Koocha-e-Saqafat, the area became vulnerable to attack after 9/11. "We lack the facilities to entertain readers," remarks Grami, who believes that even though there are still book-lovers in the city, high costs discourage them from buying books. "We need to sell books at discounted rates to promote book-reading," he says, and adds that the Koocha-e-Saqafat management is considering reopening the bazaar to do just that. However, Danish is convinced that a reduction in the price of books so that they are affordable to the common man is all it will take to bring books back into fashion. "Even if the government removes the 55 percent duty on imported paper, book prices will go down considerably." Considering the influence media has on people's perception, he also suggests they can play a constructive role in highlighting the importance of reading books. As Jahan points out, "One can gain a better understanding of issues by reading books that television cannot provide." Photos by Naqeeb-ur-Rehman
Sadak
chapp Misha
Uzair, 25, IT specialist: "Maybe once or twice a month. I don't spend a
lot on new
Sadia Zubairi, 27, Auditor: "I hardly have time to read books. It is already difficult to study for my exams, who has the time for pleasure reading?"
Zain
ullah, 22, Driver: "Who bothers about books these days? Although I have
done my matriculation, I never spend my money on books. Whenever I feel
like reading, I borrow a magazine or digest from friends."
Shehzad Hasan, 31, Textile designer: "I don't buy books. Instead, I either borrow them or download their online edition from the internet."
Abdul Hamza, 28, Economist: "I only buy books once in six months and don't spend more than Rs2,000 on them. In this age of internet, reading is not confined to books anymore."
Zakir
Shah, 18, security guard: "I save money to send it to my parents. Who
buys books anyway?"
Jaffar Hashim, 21, LLB Student: "I buy books once or twice a month and that too only on music. They cost me close to Rs2,000."
Mahira Khan, 24, Lawyer: "I don't need to spend on books because my father has a huge collection of his own. If we want a new book, he is the one who spends. It's because of him that I am a voracious reader and am able to finish four to five books in a month."
Burnt, but not brought back Retired government officer Dur Mohammed Buriro is
still in shock. On December 27 2007, the "In total, 6,000 books, two air-conditioners, four computers, one photocopy machine, one fax machine, 40 chairs, 16 shelves, eight tables and eight ceiling fans among other things were destroyed," says Buriro bitterly. Buriro has reason to be bitter: the library had been closed for 12 years before Buriro, a former NADRA official, invested Rs200,000 of his retirement fund for its restoration. To induce youths of the area to visit it, Buriro ensured that the restored library came equipped with a reading room, but now, the people of the area can only mourn the loss of their only library. A committee comprising DCO Kamber, DPO and senior
revenue officer, issued a report after the fire, which estimated that
the library had suffered three million rupees in damages. Those who
visited it, frequently say they expected the Pakistan People's Party
government to donate books and allocate funds to bring it back to what
it once was, but they have been disappointed. They insist that they have
approached authorities to restore it several times, but to no
avail. A make-shift library has been put in place, but it is without a
roof, and all costs are borne by philanthropists and other
public-spirited individuals. "Neither the local nor the provincial government has helped," complains Buriro. "Students preparing for the CSS examination are extremely disturbed. They cannot afford to go Larkana city." The nearest library after Buriro's is the Shahnawaz Bhutto Library in Larkana city, which charges around Rs50 to Rs100 per visit. By contrast, the public library in Kamber did not cost anything. "The library was first established by the Kamber municipality around 25 years ago," Buriro informs Kolachi. "It was later named after senior police officer Fatahyab Meccan, who was killed 23 years ago. Then 12 years ago, it was closed and turned into an office for UC-1 Nazim of Kamber city by the local government." However, in 2006, the Kamber Council unanimously
passed a resolution to hand over the library to the Bhao Dur Mohammed
Trust. Buriro approached scholars all over Sindh to donate books. An oil
company working in the Mazarani oil fields near Ghaibi Dero Chandio,
hilly areas of Kamber, also donated books that would be useful for CSS
examinations in particular.
Once filled with books and other facilities, the library was visited by over 300 people daily. It subscribed to 20 newspapers in English, Urdu, and Sindhi, and being free of charge, was especially popular amongst students preparing for their CSS examinations, who had to go no further for any reference material. In addition to Buriro's library, the riots that spread through the country in the days following December 27 2007 claimed the Central Library of the University of Sindh, the library at Sindh Textbook Board, and a private library in Kamber district, destroying thousands of books. "The mob, which also torched the adjoining PTCL office, revenue office, agriculture bank and UC-1 office, had mistakenly assumed that the library also belonged to the government," speculates Buriro. Buriro was first inspired to establish a library
when he became a member of 'Gulan Jihra Barira Sangat', an association
working for the intellectual development of children in Sindh. According
to Buriro, many of today's noted personalities in Sindh are a product of
such associations. He regrets, however, that over the past 14 years,
child development has been ignored in Sindh. "Keeping this vacuum in mind, I revived Gul Phul Barira Sangat around two years ago. So far, 25 units have been established to inculcate a habit of reading among children about literature and society." Buriro says that the death of noted intellectual Captain Dr Mohbat Buriro in 1996 prompted him to think about establishing a place where people could come to learn. "My aim was to establish a library in at least each taluka, so I approached the local governments of Shahdadkot, Warah and others." Wherever he received a positive response, Buriro started putting up libraries. "I am also approaching educated people of each city to write about the history of the area," adds Buriro. As a result of his efforts, the book "Kamber: a study" was recently published by the Dr Mohbat Academy. His library in Kamber, however, is still a shadow of what it once was, and to return it to what it used to be, Buriro calls upon the president, the primer minister, chief minister Sindh, MNA Faryal Talpur and all conscientious people of the province to rehabilitate it so every youth in the area can benefit. puncture wala When the air goes out To Ramzan, mending and repairing tyres comes as naturally as breathing. It does not pay enough, but helps Ramzan keep sight of his dreams to escape his dreary life and make it big By Fasahat Mohiuddin 
Ramzan is a man who receives no recognition whatsoever from anyone, but is the sort of man everyone goes to when they are in a very particular spot of trouble. It is a scenario that is not uncommon enough. You are driving along when all of a sudden the car gives an unpleasant jolt. There is a repeated thud coming from below which sounds uncannily like a punctured tyre. You pull over resignedly to examine the car, and – yes. It is indeed a punctured tyre. In most parts of the world, the usual procedure is to replace the tyre, but in Karachi, and nearly everywhere else in South Asia, there is only one course of action left to take: haul the car over to a puncture repair shop, or the puncture wala, as the man in the shop is more affectionately known. To Ramzan, mending and repairing tyres comes as naturally as breathing. "I am always busy," he says, wiping the sweat off his brow as he bends down to remove a tyre. The reason shops like Ramzan's exist nowhere outside
South Asia is because most of the world has switched to tubeless tyres,
which require not repairing, but replacing. In tyres that have tubes,
the car is lifted at an angle and the tyre removed. Once this is done,
the tube is also removed to check the damage. To asses just how badly it
is punctured, the tyre is dipped into water. "Look at these bubbles,"
says Ramzan, pointing at the water. "That shows you where the puncture
is." The tyre Ramzan is mending as he talks to Kolachi has been punctured in four places. With the sites of the damage located, another man ferrets about inside the tyre to remove the cause of the puncture – in this case, a nail and pieces of glass. It is a risky business, he says, but a necessary part of the trade. The rubber tube is then fixed with rubber patches, filled with air and glued back inside the tyre. The tyre is then ready to be re-used. Fortunately for Ramzan, the trend of tubeless tyres has not caught on in most of Karachi. He would have nowhere to go if it does. That is not to say, however, that he aspires to work at a puncture repair shop for the rest of his life. "I want to work at an office," he says. When asked to elaborate, Ramzan is unable to explain the kind of office he wants, or how much he will need to study before he can get there. Like most other people in his line of profession, he is not educated enough nor does he earn as much as he would like. His current ambition is to pass his exams for Class 9 privately before he can think of moving further, because this is not where he wants to be. "We are from Multan," he says, referring to his family. "We came here to Karachi to earn some money, but things didn't really work out. We stay at a katchi abadi in Orangi," he reveals. Initially, his father was keen on turning Ramzan into a mechanic, but Ramzan ended up mending punctures for a living instead. He becomes especially popular during the monsoon season, or if a car breaks down on the way to a wedding. "I sometimes get people begging me to work on their cars." It is equally true however that Ramzan's work becomes as much harder during the pouring rain. Tilting up a car, removing a tyre and pending it takes on a whole new level of difficulty in ankle-deep water. Still, even though it does not pay enough, working at the tyre repair shop helps Ramzan keep sight of his dreams to escape his dreary life and make it big. As he puts the tyre back in place, Ramzan gives the car a look of deep longing and strokes the bonnet fondly. "I look at these big glittery cars everyday and tell myself that one day, I will have one of my own."
profile Jan Mohammed Ranoo, also known as Janoo, was born and raised in a village, but he is no ordinary villager. Since very early on, Ranoo was an inspiration for local youths, being a descendant of a past ruling tribe. But esteemed ancestors are not what set Ranoo apart from everyone else. Ranoo was born to a farmer on July 10, 1968, and harboured strong political aspirations from very early on. He was determined to make a difference for his fellow villagers, and to that end, he has achieved his goal. For the last few years he has been associated with the Pakistan Peoples Party and recently managed to secure basic facilities for his village. The road to politics, however, has not been an easy one for Ranoo, who has not had the privileges many others in his position do. He studied at a primary school in his native village Haji Ayub Ranoo near Keti Bunder, and as his family was relocated, he was enrolled in schools in Garho and Sakro where he passed his matriculation examinations. Later, Ranoo came to New Abad, Lyari, in Karachi to run his business, determined to join the mainstream political party. Ranoo marked his first foray into the world of politics with his arrest when he was just in Class 8. He, along with his younger brother and 50 other senior activists, were thrown in jail for participating in the Movement for Restoration of Democracy in 1983 in Sakro, Thatta. "It was my first experience in a jail," he recalls. Out of the 50, 28 were held at a remote police station near Choohar Jamali for a week before being sent to jail. By order of the military court, Ranoo and his brother were released 22 days later after being declared juveniles. Out of jail, Ranoo yearned to work for the well-being of the poor. His top two hobbies – reading and mingling with those more educated – helped him. It was during this time Ranoo stumbled upon the history of his village and his ancestor, the Hindu emperor Rana Arjandas. According to legend, Arjandas's kingdom ruled over the coastal zone from Thatta to parts of Balochistan, the main centre of export and trade. Assuming Arjandas to be a weak ruler, neighbouring kings attempted to conquer the prosperous ports falling under his government, even turning some of Arjandas's own force commanders against their ruler. Calling a meeting with his advisors, Arjandas was advised to die fighting rather than surrender to the enemy, beginning the bloodbath where all womenfolk in the opposition, including minor girls, were killed. The remaining males rose to defend their territory, and ultimately, all of Arjandas's tribe was killed. However, there was one boy from the tribe who survived. Having witnessed the widespread bloodshed, the boy fled to the nearby village Lagamra near Keti Bunder and converted to Islam. The boy's name is not known, but it is believed members of his tribe still live in the village of Haji Ayub Ranoo near Keti Bunder. It is this tribe that Jan Mohammed Ranoo hails from. "All the families have small pieces of lands to run their domestic affairs," Jan Mohammed Ranoo told Kolachi. But all is not well in this village steeped in history. "They have been settled in the village for 300 years, but the politicians and parliamentarians never accepted their right to development." Ranoo, however, used his political position to pepper ministers and authorities to provide his neglected community with basic facilities. His dedication finally bore fruit - the Maritime Security Agency has identified village Haji Ayub Ranoo to be made a Model Village with all basic facilities: the provision of water, sanitation, schools, and health centres. Recently the Fishermen Cooperative Society also formed an Advisory Committee comprising five members, including Janoo, for which he gives credit to Pir Mazharul Haque, Sindh Education Minister. It was Haque who first introduced Ranoo to the fisheries minister, saying, "He is an enthusiastic activist fighting for the fishermen community with commitment. He should be accommodated on priority." Ranoo may not be able to restore the lost kingdom of his ancestor Rana Arjandas, but has done everything in his power to try.
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industry has witnessed a steady decline. Perwez Abdullah reports
Welcome
Book Port publishes an average of 40 to 50 books annually on Urdu and
English literature. Zaidi explained that the average cost of any book
depends on many variables: the cost of paper, photo separation, colour
printing and payment to the author. He insists that if there were more
readers and consequently more books, the price would come down.
But
a decline in readership and widespread piracy is not the only complaint
publishers have. Aziz Khalid, who owns Urdu Academy Sindh, said that
Pakistan Publishers and Booksellers Association (PPBA) wanted to publish
at cheaper prices, but couldn't because of exorbitant duties on paper,
which come up to 40 percent to 50 percent.
Mazhar
agrees that the prices of books have increased considerably, but pointed
out that it was not the work of the publishers alone. "We use both local
and imported paper. Rising inflation has increased electricity charges,
the duties on imported paper, and the levies on local paper," he
explained. "The PPBA sent its recommendations to the Federal Government,
and now the NBF is helping to decrease the duty on imported paper and
tapering off levies on local paper." 
of Karachi (KU) has its own publishing outfit called the Bureau of
Composition & Translation (BCCT), which prints and publishes books that
are written, compiled or translated by the university's teachers as well
as outsiders. 
business. "Reading trends have changed with the advent of private
television channels," he laments. 
books and prefer going to the Sunday bazaar in DHA for a bunch of second
hand paperbacks which don't cost more than Rs500." 
only public library in Kamber Town was set on fire in the country-wide
violence that broke out after the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, but
more than a year later, it has not been renovated.
