A view of a flooded road after heavy monsoon rains in Karachi. PHOTO: AFP

Murky waters: The parasite of Karachi

One might then question: is this a natural calamity or a man-made disaster?

Safa Shoaib August 11, 2020

The seasonal rain in Karachi’s otherwise arid climate always mandates a plethora of social media posts. As the first raindrops of the monsoon spell fall, boomerangs and picturesque “no-filter” videos reign on Instagram. Water trickling down massive windowpanes, immaculate courtyards drenched, and lush gardens blooming with new life, all construct a narrative of rain as an exotic blessing. Events and weddings are readjusted to indoor gatherings, flaunting the hashtag #monsoonwedding, romanticising the grey skies. Recently, on this very platform an image commemorating a theatrical moment from Bong Joon-ho’s 2019 Oscar-winning film, Parasite, was circulated.

Parasite, a dark comedy thriller, is a scathing commentary on class, privilege, and disparity. It charts the lives of the working class Kim family and constructs it as a mirror image of the rich and affluent Park family. The Kims reside in a dark and claustrophobic semi-basement home, in a dingy alley. The Parks, on the other hand, occupy a spacious and luxurious mansion with panoramic views of the garden, in an affluent suburb.

The two families inhabit parallel universes within the same city of Seoul. A night of torrential rain leaves the Kim family’s home flooded, their belongings drenched and their lives distraught. The same occurrence only causes a minor inconvenience to the Park family, which is forced to cancel a camping trip, and instead throws a birthday party in their garden due to the “pleasant weather”.

I remember the movie compelling me to introspect my own perception of rain as a harbinger of goodwill. With a sharpening sensitivity to the subject, I thought: sound drainage systems and UPS/generators are facilities enjoyed only by a select minority of our country. These privileges slowly weave a cocoon that insulates us from the larger reality. While dwelling on one side of a pristine glass window, it is easy to perceive rain as a source of entertainment from the banalities of everyday life. But one must acknowledge that there are countless casualties on the other side of that very window. Residing in a city where electrocutions caused by displaced wires, along with flung out billboards and polls have already claimed ten lives this year, Mrs’ Parks tone-deaf comments about the weather will forever serve as a stark reminder of who not to sound like. The Parks’ astounding apathy and ignorance should not be our collective conscience. The monsoon should not drown our sense of empathy.

One can draw multiple other parallels between the fictional movie and our city today. For instance, the fragile infrastructure, which amplifies the vulnerability of the underprivelged.

While the infrastructure of the vertically developed metropolis of Seoul, inadvertently diverts much of the rainwater to working class residents of basements, a similar observation could be also made in Karachi. Here, it is the informal settlements (katchi abadis), that are increasingly susceptible to the phenomenon of urban flooding. Of course, the inundation of water on roads is borne witness to by most Karachiites, especially when a vital artery of the city, Shahr-e-Faisal, is often left paralysed for hours during rainfall. Yet, it is the densely populated areas, as opposed to posh airy neighborhoods, which bear the brunt of the flooding. The very structure of this city is thus designed to fail already marginalised communities.

The squatter settlements do not possess any kind of formal or proper architecture. In fact, it is extremely common for roofs to collapse and outdoor kitchen arrangements to essentially fall apart. Data collected by the Sindh Katchi Abadi Authority reveals that there are 5,639 slums in Karachi and the majority of them are built alongside drains. Some are even located atop natural waterways, which are crucial in channeling out rainwater. These drains (or nullahs) along with being practically ancient are also usually clogged with sediments and garbage due to the disposal of solid waste. The swamped water combined with overflowing sewage forms an ideal breeding ground for diseases. Home, which we normally retreat to for safety, thus ceases to become a sanctity for nearly half of the population of this city.

One might then question: is this a natural calamity or a man-made disaster? Has climate change truly caused unprecedented levels of rain? Or is it the incompetence of local authorities, which does not allow for the recycling or flowing out of water?

Climate change, a term being thrown around loosely, is a befitting response to any situation. After all, it is easier to blame the depleting ozone layer and all of humanity’s excessive emission of CO2 than to actually hold provincial authorities to a higher standard. With similar levels of rain for the past couple of years and increasing casualties each year, one is compelled to probe the preemptive measures.

The combination of rapid urbanisation with shaky urban planning is lethal, to say the least. A recent video posted by the Urban Design Research Institute of Mumbai claims that the lives of multiple coastal cities might be under threat by 2050. It categorically asserts: “mapping the contours of a city is imperative to development”. Topographic and geospatial sciences must work in tandem with urban planning to mitigate some of the effects of these man-made disasters. Simply put, there needs to be an increase in green spaces and permeable lands, which will allow for the absorption of water. A similar case could be made for Karachi.

Bong Joon-ho’s definition of Parasite is both multidimensional and layered. Every entity in the film’s ecosystem is established as a parasite. In one way or another, they all feed off and exploit one another. Everyone is at once, indicted and at once, gullible to the real culprit: the system. So, who or what could be regarded as the parasitic perpetrator in our state? Is it the authorities’ lack of effective urban planning and their hollow promises? Or is it the sheer apathy of us, the privileged, who simply cannot step beyond our skewed reality?

WRITTEN BY:
Safa Shoaib

The writer has majored in English Literature from the Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS). She has worked as an educator, counsellor, and as an O and A-Level teacher.

The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necassarily reflect the views and policies of the Express Tribune.

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