karachicharacter
A young cricketer's dreams shot to pieces
After the recent attack on Sri Lankan cricketers, most upcoming Pakistani cricketers can no longer dream big
By Rafay Mahmood
All fifteen-year-old Mohammad Hassan Azad wanted was to represent Pakistan at an international level with his cricket, but ever since he learnt of the tragedy surrounding the Sri Lankan cricketers in March, the spirit with which he used to play has been shattered.  

bookreview
Sink into The 786 Cybercafe
By Sadia Hanif
The 786 Cybercafe is Bina Shah's third novel following her volume of short stories, Animal Medicine, and Where They Dream in Blue. Revolving around a cybercafé in the heart of Karachi on Tariq Road, The 786 Cybercafe  is different from her other literary works, and weaves her tale with a unique but realistic perspective.

Years ago in the nineties, Salim Ahmed invested into a housing scheme and was promised a completed flat in return, but till today, he does not have the keys to his new apartment. Turn the pages of a newspaper, watch cable television, or just drive around Karachi, and announcements of real estate projects promising low-cost houses at competitive rates greet the eye everywhere. Yet a case like that of Saleem's is not unheard of.

Amidst the gloom of the ongoing global recession and domestic political instabilities, the onset of the new year brought with it a real estate sector running on overdrive in Karachi, with a plethora of new housing schemes having been announced in the short span of four months.

But with cases such as Salim Ahmed's, one tends to question the authenticity of these projects and their promises to deliver on time. It is not uncommon to find people who have invested into projects only to have them delayed, or worse, abandoned.

"Despite repeated visits and threats, they always have an excuse ready for the delay," laments Ahmed. "I even approached various associations and government departments, but they just tell me that my complaint is under process."

Like Ahmed, most Pakistani real estate investors have learnt from experience that such ventures can get delayed for years at an end time and again. A survey of real estate agents, builders and developers shows that a majority of those who invest into these housing schemes are from salaried or middle income groups. Some of them live overseas, but many reside within the country. Kolachi learnt that most of them have financed their investments either by taking loans from financial institutions or by borrowing from friends and family. Very few have actually invested from any savings they may have, although for those who have, delayed projects can prove to be even more heartbreaking.

"I really don't know what to say," says a dejected investor who had put his money into a prestigious project in Karachi only to hear that it had been abandoned. "I put in millions of my hard-earned money into a home that now I fear I will never own or live in."

There are many others who have similar problems. In 2002, Syed N. Akhtar, who lives overseas, bought two shops in Gulistan-e-Jauhar, intending to start a small business once he retired and returned to Pakistan. He was assured that they would be completed by 2006. Today, he continues to hang in the balance, but Akhtar can do little about it except approach the developer on his annual visits to Karachi to find out what is happening.

However, Babar Mirza Chughtai, Chairman of the Association of Builders and Developers (ABAD) and Chairman FPCCI Standing Committee on Housing and Construction, stands ready to defend the builders, and says investors blame them because they do not understand the issues involved.

"A delayed project is as worrisome for a builder as it is for the investor," he explains. "When a builder plans a project, the feasibility report and future projections are made by keeping in mind the stipulated time in which the property has to be given to its investors."

He points out that if, for example, a project initiated in 2002 is delayed until 2009, it is builders alone who must deal with the additional costs of rising raw material prices, the maintenance of the delayed project, as well as the reactions of both the government and the investors.

"No builder wants his name to be tarnished this way. Consequently, all his future ventures are naturally questioned and his credibility jeopardised," says Chughtai.

According to the ABAD Chairman, most of the problems that arise are related to land and government involvement, rather than the raw material being used.

"In most cases where projects have been abandoned or delayed, the builder had purchased the land, mostly from the Sindh government," he says. "The builder then announces the project, goes through the tedious task of completing necessary documentation, spends thousands on advertising and recruiting, gets potential investors, takes up house-building finance, only to find that the government then goes ahead and shops work on the land!"  

Chughtai adds that it is always after a project is announced that long-lost pending cases turn up, or one government is removed from power and the new government cancels the project for one reason or the other. "This has happened with many projects in the eighties and nineties," he confirms. "Some remain in the lurch even now."

The fact that the Karachi Electric Supply Company and the Water and Power Development Authority have refused to supply connections for a project they found objectionable has added to the problems. "Eventually, even if the builder somehow manages to complete the project, it cannot be leased or sub-leased for the same reason," says Chughtai.

He is convinced that the only way out of such a situation is bribery or taking the case to court. "Most builders and developers opt for the latter," he adds.

However, according to Munir Sultan, Chairman FPCCI Standing Committee on Urban Planning, once a project enters the courts, investors seldom get their money back. "Even if they do, payment is delayed by years and sometimes even decades, losing its value."

Contrary to Chughtai's view of the plight of the builders, Sultan believes that investors suffer far more. "Investors may have put all their life savings towards purchasing a property, and when it is delayed, they are crippled," he says.

Sultan acknowledges that in most cases, advertisements of housing projects are not misleading. He says that developers try their best to deliver what has been promised, which helps increase the value of their real estate venture. He does, however, warn that external forces may cause builders to change direction.

"Legal complications, recession, builder-investor disputes or political pressures sometimes compel builders to stray from what had originally been promised, although in such cases, investors are usually informed of the changes that will be made."

But Syed N. Akhtar, who is still waiting to be updated about the status of his shops two years after he was promised they would be completed, is not so sure. "Every time I ask, I am given a lame excuse and steered towards other topics," he complains. "I regret investing my money."

--Photos by Naqeeb-ur-Rehman

In the heart of Karachi stand two landmark buildings on land worth several million rupees, but what sets them apart from other recognisable structures is that for over two decades now, they have not moved beyond the construction stage.  

Both buildings are targets of much speculation and rumors. One is right opposite Teen Talwar in Clifton, above Gulf Shopping Mall, and the other, owned by the National Commodity Exchange Limited (NCEL), stands opposite the Pearl Continental Hotel on Club Road near I. I. Chundrigar.  

Despite being bought by the NCEL, the latter property is still technically owned by the Ministry of Railways, which has yet to issue a No Objection Certificate (NOC) on the piece of land.  

"Because of this, the Karachi Building Control Authority (KBCA) has barred the NCEL from proceeding with construction," says Mohammad Amjad Khan, Managing Director NCEL. 

Khan explains that the Department of Privatisation Commission of Pakistan had auctioned off the building in 2004. "The property was then purchased by the NCEL, meaning that the 300 or so members of the commodity exchange are the rightful owners of the building," he says.  

Contrary to common belief, Khan insists that there are no legal complications surrounding the building. The only outstanding issue has been transferring ownership of the property from the Ministry of Railways to the NCEL. 

"Despite repeated requests to the railways, the situation had not changed since we first acquired [the property] in 2004," complains Khan. "The recession in the country has pushed it further back on everyone's list of priorities, with both the government and the business community getting involved in more pressing matters." However, Akeel Karim Dhedi, an investor related to the building, believes that the reason the Ministry of Railways has hesitated to issue the NOC is that it feels that the NCEL has failed to achieve its aims and objectives. 

"The commodity exchange has not shown an exemplary performance," he points out. "Exchanges had come up after it had proved to be better, which is why the NCEL has been unable to obtain the NOC even after all these years." 

Dhedi adds that if the same building had been acquired by any other investor, it would have yielded high returns, considering its strategic location that is of extremely high value. "The building has been standing at its present position for the past 32 years or more," he says. "What is basically a goldmine has been left neglected for far too long." 

Unlike the building belonging to the NCEL, the abandoned project above the Gulf Shopping Mall remains fraught with legal complications 22 years after being started. Kolachi was unable to get in touch with its builders and developers, but sources confirmed that the project had been embroiled in a legal battle ever since it came into being. However, it has also been learnt that 80 per cent of those who had invested into the project, had been issued full refunds after demanding their money back.  

While the issue revolving the apartments above the mall remains in court, the commercial shops that had been constructed as part of the same project on the ground floor are operative and considered one of the prime shopping locations of Karachi.

– Faryal Najeeb

Many in Karachi are familiar with the woes of having a housing project they have invested in, cancelled or abandoned. Such experiences have not endeared people to real estate agents and their ilk, but what is it like, really, to work as a real estate agent where the market fluctuates as wildly as it does in Karachi? Kolachi spoke to Maqsood Hussain, a partner at Adil Corporation, to find out.

In a field where the majority are from Kashmir and Punjab, Hussain belongs to the Rehman Pur district in Gilgit. Most of his counterparts are not literate, but unlike them, Hussain holds a Bachelor's degree in Commerce, and believes that further courses, coupled with post graduation, could prove to be useful in the field.

Kolachi: Tell us something about your educational background and initial experiences as a real estate broker.

Hussain: My first experience in the professional field kicked off with Master Media, an advertising agency, where I was selected as sales officer. However, in just a span of just two or three years, the agency had to close down, incurring losses along the way. I then got a chance to work with the Shelter Group in real estate where I levered outdoor work as a broker. Spending a good five to six years with the group gave me an overall idea of how real estate operates in the country and gave time to figure out the point of sustainability for small brokers in the market. I have found that in the absence of a proper framework in agreement with rules and regulations in real estate, it becomes very easy for more established brokers to control the market themselves in their interest.

Kolachi: When in your opinion was there a boom in real-estate? What has happened since then that led to present condition of the market?

Hussain: According to what I have seen, money started pouring in to Pakistan, especially Karachi, after 9/11. All of my customers - and other Karachiites - became actively involved in purchasing plots and bungalows. Then, everyone had a chance to think about increasing the number of assets owned. It was a time when property prices used to ebb and flow from morning to evening with endless demands. Plus, the low mark-up rates banks began offering kind of forced people into buying a plot. The maximum number of property bought was in Clifton and Defence.

But real estate really only progressed for a brief period of two to three years. Escalating inflation, together with the flagging law and order situation in Pakistan, kept investors away and strained citizens to the point where they started investing in the Middle East, especially Dubai. Another major factor that played a part in bringing down the market is when 'big brokers' took command and began fluctuating the entire pricing of property based on speculations. The amount they swing on daily basis is huge. This is just like the same happening at the Karachi Stock Exchange (KSE). 

Kolachi: How do small brokers endure during these times? Is there any role the government should play?

Hussain: Bearing in mind the market situation, in times like these brokers do not usually try to get their hands into buying and selling of plots. Rather, they try and arrange for bungalows and flats on a rental basis, which is something that people are constantly looking for anyway.

Now is also a good time for brokers to perk up their services - you never know when the market will reach a steady position. Global recession has smashed the world market, and as far as Pakistan is concerned, Karachi is an appropriate location for investors in terms of political stability. Meanwhile, the government can play a pivotal role for the real estate in Pakistan by insuring brokers' commission and by setting up institutes to educate young real estate agents with the market knowledge. 

Kolachi: What, in your view, is the future real estate in coming years?

Hussain: If the market continues to work along the same patterns with big brokers governing the market, the future is very dark. The government should start providing agents with firm training and give incentives to estate brokers so the market can breathe once again.

From time to time, the mass media has also played an important part. New local channels for real estate should also take into account the interests of agents who cannot afford to retain business with only one per cent commission from the client. 

Muhammad Asif, 50, service engineer:

"No I have no plans of buying any property, because my financial condition wouldnt allow me to.If I invest now, just surviving will be difficult for me. Only someone with enough savings can invest as it is a best buying time."  

Zahid Ali Khan, 57, proprietor:

"Certainly not. It is too risky to invest money these days with any cash in hand going out."

Faraz Ahmed, 28, goldsmith:

"No, I would not. The economic recession is worse than ever. Fraud is at a peak. I cannot even trust the dealers or estate agents."

Shahrukh Amir, 29, businessman:  

"Yes, I would. The prices are down, the market is low, but ideally I would wait for another couple of years, as the present crunch will take time to settle down. After that, I foresee good returns on my investments." 

Waqar Jahangir, 30, assistant manager:

"I definitely would. The prevailing circumstances suggest a high supply side, and there are no active buyers in the property market. In this case, I would buy it for myself and my future generation."

Muhammad Arsalan Khan, 25, senior officer:

"Yes, I will buy property as soon as I get  the chance to. I have a need for it, and of course, it is a good investment." 

Ahmed Raza, 37, software developer:

"Yes, I would, because now is the best time to do so. I will buy it for business purposes and rent it out. It will then serve me both as a source of monthly income as well as a long-term investment."

"I am totally fed up of this," says Mohammad Hanif in disgust. It would be difficult to blame Hanif, who has one of the most grueling jobs on offer in Karachi for being fed up. From 7.00 a.m. to 10.00 p.m. every day, he drives an obsolete 2-K bus from Sakhi Hasan to Keamari, inhaling copious amounts of thick smoke, trying to avoid wayward motorcyclists and paying any traffic police he encounters for violation, real and imagined.

It is not a job he relishes, but for now, he is stuck where he is. Hanif's day begins not one second later than 5 a.m. if he is to report to the bus stand at 6.00 a.m. in North Nazimabad, where 80 buses await him and his colleagues. Hanif is one of the few bus drivers originally from Karachi, and also one of the few who has a legal driver's license – a fact he is immensely proud of. Apart from his driver's license, Hanif's life does not feature many distinguished moments. He may be middle-aged, but he is a confirmed bachelor, although not by choice.  

"No one wants their daughter to marry a bus driver," he says with an air of resignation. "It isn't considered a respectable profession."  

Breakfast is a hurried affair at the stands with his colleagues. At 7.00 a.m., he wheels out his bus, ready to begin. One bus leaves every three minutes. Hanif is lucky. The route he is on is considered the fastest and safest way to Keamari.  

However, it is the only sliver of luck he has on his route. The stiff steering wheel has left his shoulders permanently aching, and the all-enveloping pollution of the city has given him a hollow cough that he cannot get rid of. In return for this, Hanif has to put up with a bus-owner who takes half his money and passengers who scream in his ear should he displease them in any way.  

"Bus drivers and conductors are the most neglected part of society," says Hanif gloomily. "They treat us like dogs and abuse us whenever they like." 

But worse than passengers, and far more dangerous, are the motorcyclists who attempt to overtake his bus – particularly from the wrong side. From his vantage point, the road to his left is practically invisible. As Hanif points out, it becomes dangerously easy to run into an impatient motorcyclist and have to pay for the consequences.

"Scooters should be banned!" he says passionately. "Either that, or they should be taught not to overtake a bus from the left side. Of course, whenever an accident occurs, it is always the driver who is blamed."

It is unanimously agreed among bus drivers that Empress Market has the worst traffic in Karachi, where, according to Hanif's estimate, over a hundred buses pass by in an hour. More than the traffic, it is the traffic police and the bribes [he has to pay] that rubs Hanif the wrong way.  

"The traffic police are an utter nuisance," he complains. "You cannot imagine how much money traffic police make at the Empress Market alone. It is impossible for a bus to pass through there without paying a bribe." 

According to Hanif's figures, a regular traffic policeman receives Rs10 from every driver, an Assistant Sub-Inspector Rs50, and a sergeant Rs100.  

"You always have to pay them whenever they stop you, which allows other buses to get ahead. There are so many drivers who pay the traffic police Rs10 to switch the red light, but all that happens is that the five or six buses behind get stuck in a jam." 

The last thing Hanif wants is for other buses to get ahead. His livelihood depends on picking up as many passengers as he can. On a good day, he takes home between Rs500 and Rs600 after handing over a sizeable portion of his earnings to the owner of the bus. The very thought of the owner covering his medical expenses is laughable, particularly when he struggles to pay for the maintenance of the buses in the first place.  

"It is enough that the buses are on the road, with the soaring cost of diesel these days," says Hanif. "No one can even think about paying for maintenance."

By 10.00 p.m., Hanif usually pulls back in to the bus stand, by which time he is ready to throw in the towel for the day. Driving such an outdated bus wears his body out, but he has no other option. He freely admits that other drivers resort to drugs to deal with the pressure, but swears that he does not take anything stronger than betel leaves. "I would be happy to do anything else," he says bitterly.

After the recent attack on Sri Lankan cricketers, most upcoming Pakistani cricketers can no longer dream big

By Rafay Mahmood

All fifteen-year-old Mohammad Hassan Azad wanted was to represent Pakistan at an international level with his cricket, but ever since he learnt of the tragedy surrounding the Sri Lankan cricketers in March, the spirit with which he used to play has been shattered.  

"I was playing a zonal match at the time, but when I found out, I couldn't concentrate at all," he says while talking to Kolachi. "All that was running through my mind was my future and the future of Pakistani cricket." 

Ever since he was four years old, Azad has been playing cricket with more than an average amount of enthusiasm. In his short career, he has played zonal matches in Karachi and represented Pakistan in the under-15 CLICKO championship in the West Indies.  

"I always wanted to pursue cricket as my career," he says. "I never even considered anything else, but now, circumstances have forced me to look at other avenues for earning." 

In Azad's eyes, the future of cricket in Pakistan is bleak after the shooting incident in Lahore. He gloomily predicts that the Pakistan Cricket Board will stop receiving funds and revenue, which will directly effect the investment on players and infrastructure and eventually cause the cricket industry in Pakistan to fade away. 

"No team will come to Pakistan now, and if foreign players stop coming, there will be no international exposure and no funding," he says. "It won't be long before our cricket grounds are turned into marriage halls."  

Azad points out the downturn in Pakistani cricket has affected not just the lives of players, but also their families. His own family has not been an exception. "Last year my family planned to shift to England, not to Canada or the US, and the main reason for this was my prosperous cricketing career," he says. 

Things, however, did not work out as planned, and the family had to return to Pakistan, hoping that opportunities still existed. "Today I see the cricketing industry as a very prosperous and revenue providing industry, but not in Pakistan," he says.  

His father, who is also his coach, is equally disappointed and also very confused about his son's future in Pakistan. "My son's performance has been affected badly," he says woefully. "For six matches before the shootings, his average was 140 runs. Now, it is down to 12 to 15 runs." 

Azad's father believes that cricket used to be one of the few things that united Pakistan with the international community, but that too has been taken away.  

"Who is going to pay for the 11 years that I spent on my kid's future career?" he demands to know. "Why are his years of training being wasted? Is it the insecurity, or the political situation, or what? Cricket already involved much lobbying, favoritism and politics. The only thing that hadn't affected it was terrorism, but now, we are in situation where we can't win. It will take at least five years for the dust to settle down." 

Azad himself, however, refuses to let circumstances take over his passion. He feels that he can still work harder to get something out of the dying game. What worries him more than his own future is the future of those budding young players who have not yet had the chance to play at a big event the way he has.  

"I have represented Pakistan internationally and have had some exposure but I am more concerned about my other friends and players in the academies who are in the initial stages," he says. "It will be a waste of talent if they are compelled to change paths now." 

In the meantime, Azad is determined to remain on the path he has chosen for himself despite the odds. "I want to make this country proud, just like Saeed Anwar and Aamir Sohail," he declares.

The 786 Cybercafe is Bina Shah's third novel following her volume of short stories, Animal Medicine, and Where They Dream in Blue. Revolving around a cybercafé in the heart of Karachi on Tariq Road, The 786 Cybercafe  is different from her other literary works, and weaves her tale with a unique but realistic perspective.

The cybercafé in question is run by Jamal Tunio, a middle class Sindhi. In Shah's cutthroat world of business, Jamal is a dreamer, is overambitious and is not a particularly honest individual.

Along with him are a variety of characters that have become stereotypical figures in our society: Yasir, Jamal's religious but extremely confused friend, and Abdul, his brother and computer expert. Together, they help Jamal launch his cybercafé, although it must be said that running a cybercafé is something Jamal understands least of all. What he does have instead is an obsession for money that "gnaws in the soul far worse than pangs of hunger" – an obsession that comes close to ruining the business and partnership.

The fourth and the most important character, a burqa-clad beauty, Nadia, makes mysterious visits to Jamal's cybercafe for her own reasons. Nadia is the youngest of six girls and she and her sister can never leave the house alone.

In Nadia's words, her "sisters were ready-made play-mates, and as they grew they became partners in crime…[they were] strange creatures, like snakes, who expressed both the truth and love by the same thing."

The novel charts the rise and fall of Jamal as he tries to navigate the ways of love, bureaucracy, and the bonds of family loyalty, without losing sight of his dreams. All the three men are attracted to the striking Nadia, and even though a love triangle ensues, the reader is kept guessing right up until the epilogue.

This is a book you cannot leave finished. It can even be completed in one sitting. All of Bina Shah's characters exist in our society, but her true magic lies with the way she captures her characters' pure emotions through words.  

Book:

The 786 Cybercafe

Author:

Bina Shah

Publisher:

Alhamra Printing

Price: Rs395