"People are trying to cut back," says a salesman at a clothing outlet at the Forum. "Our sales have been down since August."   

When it comes to finding things to do over the weekend in Karachi, one isn't left with too many options, especially since the cost of eating out is becoming more and more unaffordable. Worse still is enjoying the weekend on a budget.  

"We used to go bowling or go to the movies almost every weekend," says Danish, who is an assistant manager at a bank on I.I. Chundrigar Road. "But because of the inflation, we really can't afford to do that anymore. We just visit friends or family over the weekend or stay home and watch a movie." 

Several others from low and middle-income families have a similar story to share – how they go out less with each passing month because they can stretch their salary only so far. Most bowling alleys in the city, for example, have an entry fee (usually Rs100 or more) coupled with the price of the game, which can go up to several hundred rupees depending on the duration.  

Still, there are those who try and make do with the resources available to them. Take, for example, Nadir, who works as a clerk in law firm. With a wife and five children to boot, Nadir is always on the lookout for cheap sources of entertainment for his family.  

"We often go to the amusement park in Hill Park on Sunday because the rides are cheap and the entry fee is low – just five rupees per person," he explains.  

Apart from rides, Hill Park has much to offer in the way of food. "We don't go out every weekend, but whenever we do, I end up spending about Rs500," says Nadir. "Sometimes it's more than that, but I usually try and stick to that amount." 

On the other hand, Fariha, a partner in a known sports outlet, has found a way to make her weekends both fun and easy on the pocket: she either plays golf or has friends over to visit.  

"I have a games night at my house sometimes. We play board games and watch movies," she says. Fariha feels the games night is quite affordable and is a good opportunity to catch up with friends. "I have snacks for my friends - usually 10 to 15 people - which costs anywhere between Rs1,000 and Rs1,500."  

However, for those who don't like staying in on a weekend, there are always network gaming zones that frequented mostly by teenaged and twenty-something boys. And why wouldn't they be? One can play for anywhere from four to six hours for Rs100, which is a convenient option for students. Mukarram, a manager at "Stinger" (a popular gaming zone), says that on an average, most visitors spend about Rs100 to Rs150 for a few hours of game time. "Most of the boys who come here are from colleges and universities," he says, and adds, "One can also sign up for a monthly subscription here, but that is slightly expensive in terms of the upfront payment."  

All the same, gaming zones are not everyone's cup of tea, especially since they can hardly be classified as family entertainment. So where do the people with families go, besides picnic spots such as Sea View and Safari Park?  

"Well, there are museums like the Mohatta Palace ," says Faizan, who lives in PECHS and works as an assistant camera man in a post-production house. He points out that what with one exhibition or another, a trip to the Mohatta Palace is "good, clean fun": it does not leave a dent in his wallet and his children always learn something. The museum is open every day except for Mondays and the entry fee is just Rs10. "It is convenient because I can take my family on Sundays as well," he says. 

 Of course, getting to such recreational spots can be a problem when one does not have conveyance and is dependent on public transport. Since bus, rickshaw, and taxi fares vary, many people find it difficult to pay for the entire family. Nadia teaches at a non-descript school in Gulshan-e-Iqbal, and says that she and her family, which includes her parents and two younger siblings, cannot go out as often as they would like to on weekends due to this reason.  

"The cost of transport alone can add up to Rs200 to Rs300," she says.  Instead, Nadia and her family go out just once a month. "Even then, we have to be careful with how we spend the money," she adds.  

Despite the high cost of entertainment, every weekend the people of this overpopulated, vibrant city throng beaches, amusement parks and other public spaces to seek respite from the humdrum of their stressful lives. Whether it is getting together with friends and family or watching a movie, Karachi does know how to keep itself entertained – in ways that are both commonplace and extraordinary.

Eating out? Chew on alternatives

Having fun does not always equate to having food. Here is what else you can do to liven up the weekend: 

1. Visit the Mohatta Palace , which regularly holds exhibitions. Currently there is a ceramic exhibition running from Tuesday to Friday from 11 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., and from 12:00 noon to 7:00 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday costing Rs10 per person. The Mohatta Palace remains closed on Mondays.  

2. Host a games/movie night with cousins or friends after dinner.  

3. Go crabbing at Keamari, which comes up to about Rs600 per head and makes for a good two to three hours of entertainment. 

4. Spend a day at the beach ( Hawkes Bay , Paradise Point, Sands Pit), although this can cost a bit more if you have to rent a hut (Rs2,000 to Rs3,000 depending on quality of the hut). The cost of food on such trips can also be high depending on what you take with you. 

5. Visit Sea View where you can fly a kite or get a ride on a camel or a horse.  

6. Go to Hill Park , Beach Park , Safari Park and Bin Qasim Park and have fun at the amusement park, watch the waves crash to shore, feed the ducks, or just take a stroll. 

7. Go to the cinema (but not Cineplex). This comes to be around Rs100 to Rs200 per person depending on where one is seated. 

8. Spend an evening at gaming zones at Rs100 per person. 

9. See Go Aish Adventure Park . There are a variety of things to do here such as paintball, rock-climbing and going on dirt bikes. The cost is anywhere between Rs50 to Rs200 per person per game 

10. Visit museums such as PAF and Bahria Museums and the Flagstaff House. Here, air force fighter jets, navy ships, and things that Quaid-e-Azam used during his life make for interesting viewing. 

11. There is always the zoo. 

12. And of course, the Mazar-e-Quaid.

-- SWP

Q. How much do you spend on entertainment?

Ayaz Ahmed: student, 21.

"I usually entertain myself by grabbing a book or any piece of writing, actually. I also visit friends and cousins and eat out twice a week, which comes up to about Rs1,000 to Rs2,000."

Nafeesa Jamal: housewife, 54.

"My entertainment is with my kids. I have enjoyed being with them over the weeks, months and years. I don't like hanging out. I prefer to stay home, cook something nice and chat with my family."

Sumbul Shabbir: student, 17.

"Watching TV does it for me. Whenever I do go out with friends, we don't spend much money on food or shopping. We just meet at someone's house and have fun there."

Muhammad Ahmed: sales manager, 30.

"Every weekend I enjoy watching a movie and eating out. I end up spending at least Rs500 to Rs600."

Jawwad Patel: student, 19.

"Entertainment is supposed to be going abroad for your vacations if your pocket allows you. If not, I find that I can have fun roaming the streets with friends and having a cup of tea for Rs12 at any dhaaba with them."

-- SH

If Khursheed-ara-Begum could sum up what she thinks of Karachi in one sentence, it would be this: it is hell.

Such a sentiment may not be unique, but Khursheed-ara-Begum is. Most of the people she used to know are no longer alive, but Khursheed is still thriving at the age of 90 and is one of the few who can recall with chilling clarity what the time of independence was like when so many people lost nearly everything.

Her roots lie in Bhaykhala, a small town in India where she was born. In 1938, Khursheed married a customs officer in the Indian government and bore four children, although two were not born until after the partition.

"We felt great joy when we heard about the partition," she recalls.

She and her family immediately began forming happy expectations of what life would be like in their new home, and made up their mind to leave as soon as they could.

At first, however, it did not look as though they would ever reach this new homeland they had dreamed so much about. Khursheed and her family boarded a ship to Karachi as soon as they could after the sub-continent split up, but it took three nerve-wracking, stormy, treacherous days before they anchored safely at Keamari. Half convinced they would all drown, Khursheed can still remember the courageous words of the captain.

"He told us to pray, not panic," she says. "He was a very brave man."

Trembling but relieved beyond all measure, they eagerly stepped onto the port of Karachi, wondering what lay ahead, knowing that although their tumultuous trip had come to an end, the real adventure was just beginning.

Khursheed got to work at once, helping her family and all of her husband's relatives who poured in during the days that followed. She welcomed as many people as the walls of her modest government home in Keamari would allow while her husband went about searching for employment for them all.

The family's financial condition was unenviable. Although her husband was transferred to the Pakistani Navy, he was forced to work without pay for several months.

"There were days on end when we had nothing to eat," says Khursheed.

To make matters worse, they were not allowed to live in the government house for long. Difficult as it was to run even a single home, Khursheed remained fired with a passion to help others and managed to stretch the family's savings so they covered all the relatives who had come to live with her. Most of these died, and it was she who raised the children they left behind, right from sending them to school to arranging for their marriage. But all that seems to be in the past.

"That was a time when people were sincere, innocent and cooperative," she says, wistfully remembering her past. "Nowadays, people have lost their love of humanity. It is impossible to find an honest person."

None of the children she gave up so much for visit her anymore. Her husband passed away some years ago and Khursheed's own children – three sons and a daughter – have settled into their own lives. Her daughter is married and lives in Karachi. Two of her sons went abroad for higher education and ended up settling down there, although they regularly return to Karachi to visit their mother. Today, Khursheed lives with her eldest son and his wife. Sometimes, even she is surprised that they survived the worst of times.

"There were no schools for children and no mills or factories to work in," she says. "I wanted to help out, but I couldn't. Conveyance was always a problem. The transportation available was severely limited. Even in an emergency, we always had to wait for a long time for a carriage. It was unbearable."

Creases wrinkle Khursheed's forehead as her mind goes back to all the times a long wait for transport resulted in anguish.

"There were so many times when I had to rush to the hospital to meet someone who was very ill, but nearly all of them died before I could reach them. It still fills me with so much regret."

Despite the troubled years Khursheed had, she still looks fondly back onto the city Karachi was when she first stepped off the ship. She misses the Karachi used to know where nothing was beyond their means, no area was densely populated, and no street was unsafe.

"We used to roam around late night on weekends. We could even wear gold bangles on the streets without being afraid of being mugged. Who can imagine such a thing now? Those were hard times, but we always had high hopes."

But after over 61 years of setting foot on the shores of Pakistan, Khursheed has become sorely disillusioned with the country in general and Karachi in particular, neither of which are anything like the homeland she or her family ached to arrive to.

 "When I came to Karachi, there used to be no difference between the rich and the poor," she says. "Whoever was financially strong helped out those who were not, but the people of today have become very materialistic."

Khursheed's voice takes on a bitter tone as she turns to what Karachi has become.

"Our leaders are as corrupt as the institutions they run," she continues. "Bribery, lies, deceit and dishonesty are the currencies that run our businesses. Karachi used to have a simplicity it no longer has. I often think that things were better when we left India. At least people were honest at the time. Here, shopkeepers lie to make a profit, families were always united together and people knew who their neighbours were. Now, nobody knows anyone else."

Khursheed is still in touch with the people who moved to Karachi with her and are still alive, although none of them include any of her extended family. Many people from her own family were unwilling to leave their homes in India , and chose to remain behind. She has not heard from them since she left, and has no way of knowing what became of them. It has been a long hard road for Khursheed-ara-Begum, spanning more than six decades, but even now she remains unsure if the journey has been worth it. 

Now that he has grown up and acquired a family, Baadal is the proud owner of three ornate, handmade carriages that light up at night and are pulled by specially trained horses. Horse-drawn carriages may no longer be a mode of transport, but transportation is not the reason Baadal is in business. His buggy is used instead at weddings and birthdays, giving its occupants a regal atmosphere.   

"I am proud of my profession," he says. "No one else can manufacture a buggy and keep the passengers as comfortable as I can."  

Manufacturing the buggy requires a lot of work. All of Baadal's carriages are delicately built with teak and sit atop a set of wheels designed to keep them balanced, which can be tricky once a carriage is loaded with people. The carriages have to be constantly polished to maintain their sheen and delicate woodwork.  

It is also an expensive business. Not counting the horses, one carriage costs Rs200,000. Baadal explains that his carriages use up to six horses (always in even numbers), all of whom have to be trained and provided with special care to remain healthy and groomed.  

"There are a number of doctors in my family who are capable of tending to horses, so I don't need to worry about medical expenses," says Baadal. 

His buggy stop is located on the main road in Lasbella. At night, his lit-up carriages beckon everyone to come and have a look. When he was a child, Baadal's father would use the carriage to take visiots around the city, although these rides were limited to old Clifton. Later, his father also rented out the carriage to Eastern Film Studio in Karachi to transport actors to and from the set.  

Both the horses and carriages even featured in television dramas, although today, Baadal's business is divided between weddings and birthdays. Children adore the unique touch it lends to their parties, and Baadal has lost count of the number of times he has taken newly-wedded couples back home in his buggy. 

"Sometimes, a couple who have used my carriage at their wedding will pass by and say hello," he says, smiling at the thought. 

The law and order situation in the city often gets in the way, though, resulting in some very embarrassing moments for Baadal when he is unable to reach on time or at all. More than embarrassing moments, it has also bogged down business.  

"I sometimes take children for rides, but fewer parents allow it now," he says.  

Regardless of this, Baadal says he would not change jobs for anything. He and his family, all of whom have government jobs, were born and bred in Karachi , and there are few things Baadal enjoys more than showing the people what his city looks like from his carriages.  

"This is my identity," he declares. "I am not going anywhere."

Photos by

Naqeeb-ur-Rahman

To demonstrate the amount of respect the Urdu language deserves, Dr Farrukhi talked to The News about a meeting between Professor Graham Bailey, who taught Urdu at London University, and Agha Muhammad Ashraf, grandson of Maulana Muhammad Hussain Azad.  

"During the conversation, Agha Ashraf, used the word 'card' in Urdu. Professor Bailey objected, and said that the word was pronounced 'karad' in Urdu. Agha Sahib accepted the correction gracefully."  

Dr Farrukhi regrets that the very people to whom Urdu belongs do not care for it the way a person whose mother tongue it was not, did.  

"A nation without its own language and culture is a non-entity, and our younger generation is adept neither in Urdu nor English. It is 'disgusting'," he says.  

Dr Farrukhi's love for Urdu is evident at a glance. Born in Lucknow in 1924, he went on to complete his Masters in Urdu Literature from the University of Karachi (KU). In 1962, he acquired a PhD in the language, focusing on the life and work of Muhammad Hussain. Associated with Radio Pakistan, Dr Farrukhi taught Urdu in S.M. Arts College. Later, he joined the Urdu department as a lecturer and eventually become a qualified professor after 22 years of teaching. In addition, KU also appointed him Director Bureau of Composition, Compilation and Translation (BCCT) and Registrar. Currently he is working with BCCT at the Federal Urdu University of Arts, Science and Technology without any salary or perks.  

When Dr Farrukhi arrived in Karachi on September 5, 1947, it was to a beautiful, clean city at a time when the influx of the refugees from India had not yet begun. "Incidentally, anti-Muslim riots began in Delhi on September 5, which was when the Indian Muslims realised that India was not a safe place to live."  

He is lost in the past as he remembers what Karachi used to be like decades ago. "The roads were washed at night," he begins, and soon cannot stop reminiscing. "Watering places were reserved for the horses used in carriages near Light House Cinema, Plaza, Soldier Bazaar and some other places. The tram fare from Saddar to Cantt Station was three paisas, and one aana (four paisas) from Saddar to Soldier Bazaar. You could get four seers (under four kilogrammes) wheat flour for one rupee. We used to eat at Delhi Muslim Hotel, complete with dessert, for six aanas."  

Dr Farrukhi blames sociologists for not suggesting a remedy for the social decline in the city. He thinks the surge of people in to Karachi over such a short time was one of the main reasons for the quick change in morals. "The apartments in Karachi were clean and aesthetically built, but refugees fighting for survival soon occupied these, often with many families in one apartment. The living condition began to deteriorate, marking the time when people started to thinking just for themselves. Not used to living without privacy, they became cynical," he says, and gloomily adds, "Living in Karachi turned into survival of the fittest."