Decline and fall — of Pakistan

O Edward Gibbon achieved a measure of fame when he wrote The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire in 1776. Had he still been around, he might have had a crack at the societal collapse of Karachi — that outpost of empire once described as the cleanest and most peaceful town in India where Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Parsi and Sikh enjoyed a rare camaraderie. There was a time in this blighted city when the only landmarks that dotted the skyline were those magnificent, classical red sandstone structures that spoke of an age of elegance and grace. The place was peaceful. One heard the occasional hoot of the motor horn. But for the commuter there was always the bicycle or the horse-drawn carriage. There were no bomb blasts and no religious zealots admonishing women for being dressed improperly. Nobody appeared to be in any kind of hurry — not even the ambulance drivers. The streets were washed at 4 every morning. Gentlemen still tipped their felt hats in the presence of ladies and there was a general aura of civility and graciousness. When two cars happened to collide after a jolly lunch at the club, the fellow who was not at fault was invariably the first to apologise, whip out his visiting card and after a cordial exchange of formalities the duo would probably hop into a gharry and head for Café Grand for coffee and macaroon cake.

It’s rather different these days as this writer discovered when he witnessed a collision between a car and a minibus near Park Towers. In 10 seconds flat a crowd of at least 30 people had insulated the scene of the accident. In the distance, one could hear the incessant bleating of police sirens which appeared to be in some sort of competition to see who could make the most noise, while a public spirited bystander, a cell phone glued to his ear, was giving somebody a running commentary on the proceedings that were taking place. In a way the episode was quite instructive as it enriched this writer’s somewhat limited vocabulary of frequently used invectives in the vernacular. Both drivers leapt out of their vehicles, one obviously middle-class, well-fed and paunchy, the other distinctly working-class, wiry and undernourished. Both inspected the damage that had been done to each other’s vehicles and larded each other with accusations.

At first the indictments remained within the realm of propriety and references were made to possible ancestry in the owl family. But as tempers and blood pressures started to rise, both drivers entered the twilight zone and started to explore various possible incestuous relations the other had allegedly indulged in, throwing in discreet references to liaisons with goats and camels for good measure. Meanwhile somebody who looked like a life insurance agent, probably contemplating how much life cover he could offer the fellow without insisting on a medical examination, said he had witnessed the accident and it was really the bus driver’s fault. Suddenly a policeman, the smile of satisfied malice on his face after having harassed some poor motor cyclist, arrived on the scene and took charge. It was time to beat a hasty retreat. The prospect of acting as a witness in a police station was not at all edifying. This writer might have been again asked to state his caste!

Published in The Express Tribune, December 2^nd, 2010.