‘Chalo, chalo, Dubai chalo...’

Reaction to Thursday’s bomb blast has been one of anguish, anger and a sense of urgency.

KARACHI: The Facebook status of many teenagers, from Karachi but scattered around the world, changed on Thursday night. ‘I’ll save you Karachi! Is everyone alive? Koi bachaye mere mulk ko’.

Twenty-year-old Zaryab Makhdoom Zaman, who is currently in London for university, worried about his family and friends back home. His status read, ‘We are a young, beautiful country who almost everyone else is against. Let’s not let them take what it took so long for us to achieve’.

By Friday, city life had gone back to normal for the most part, but it hadn’t really been disrupted as such. But when you start asking questions, it becomes clear that a thin veneer of apathy only masks for many a deep-seated guilt and helplessness. “We come from a generation of idiots, who have no opinion on anything,” mused 19-year-old Zain Omar, a student at Nixor College. “People need to open their eyes and start realising they could be dead any day too. All we can do is thank God it wasn’t us and recite a Fateha for those who weren’t as lucky.”

Eighteen-year-old Mohsin Khan lives opposite the Karachi Gymkhana in a government residence. “He was just a few hundred feet away from the blast,” said class fellow 18-year-old Sana Jafri. Needless to say, a flurry of telephone calls were exchanged after the attack. “It’s scarier now since it’s no longer far off. The attacks are getting closer and closer and people we know are being directly affected. If we don’t wake up now, it will be too late.” A sixteen-year-old boy was stranded at his friend’s house at Seaview for hours after the blast. “I was [not in my senses] when it happened,” the high school student revealed. “I was wondering why there was this strange gush of wind, but I dismissed it and went back inside the house to chill.”

Twenty-three-year old Ali Naqvi, who is currently working for a bank, said, “Yes, I’m safe...” He then added wryly: “Chalo, chalo, Dubai chalo.” For many people, whether students, parents or businessmen, the best option is to leave.

“Rs250! Rs250! Sale pe leylo, 250,” the shop owners advertised the Friday sale at Tariq Road. The market was bustling with action. Sweaty aunties groped their way through the crowd, touching me inappropriately. A bomb blast had taken place just 15 hours ago, yet swarms of people flustered through Rabi Centre.

“What can we do, we have to work otherwise it is our loss,” was the wisdom offered by 12-year-old salesman Irfan, who works at his father’s cotton and linen shop. “We cannot let our business be affected because with the current situation, the markets are closed more often than open.” Another shopkeeper laughs in my face. “Very good, little madam,” he said. “You ask me why my market is open when a blast happens close to your home. What about all the blasts that happen in Peshawar where my family is? Just because they don’t affect you all, you don’t care. But when there is one in Karachi we should shut shop... Wah wah.”

Published in The Express Tribune, November 14^th, 2010.