Wealth In The Treehouse

Stories of Karachiites

Written By

Aqsa Abdul Qadir

Edited By

Arham Mushtaque

Copyright © 2023

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-969-696-900-6

Dedication

The book is dedicated to all people who want to feel and see Karachi in the books and witness the tales of unsung heros and heoines of the city.

Writing it won’t be possible if I have not met people who experienced storms every other day. The book is dedicated to those souls who overcome challenges in this city of lights to prove their metal.

Acknowledgment

From the depth of my heart, I would like to thank everyone who helped me on my way to writing this book and publishing it.

I would like to express my gratitude to my friends and people who read the first draft and helped me with their reviews to improvise it.

Last but not least, I would like to acknowledge my parents and siblings; otherwise, my dream to write a book would remain unfulfilled.

Special thanks to Nabita Zafar and Yousuf Khan for assisting me during the formatting and editing phase. Their reviews helped proceed with the publication of the book.

CONTENTS

Dedication. 

Acknowledgement 

Preface

Cantt Station

Central Jail 

Kharadar 

Coffee Wagera

Saddar 

Police Station

Boltan Market 

Jehangir Park

NIPA Chowrangi

Preface

Karachi is always the city of unsung heroes and heroines. A conversation with a stranger can tell you what they have experienced. That’s why our buses are a canopy of book-beings.

Yet, those books could be opened only when you request them with your benign nature. This book is inspired after meeting several strong souls at public places in my city who have been going through tougher battles than me because of our flawed beliefs and systems that have divided the people so much that some could not have what their right is.

Despite decades having passed, the city is still living in the past, making it a heaven but Karachites have the heart of gold, which makes us wealthy despite living in this little treehouse, Karachi. It is the city of history, of emotions and of loveliest days that can tell you more about its people and their struggle which is the sole proof of the city’s foundations and its roots.

Cantt Station

“She was like an innocent child; a stroke of mascara on her long lashes used to make her look like a Chinese doll that had big, bright eyes. Her chin had a mole, surrounded by remnants of old injuries. Scars were also visible behind her ears, reminders of the beatings she endured from her father during her childhood. These circumstances compelled her to flee from her home and seek refuge at her brother's place. He was also maulvi[1]  like me but different from others. Always there to respect everyone, that was rare in today’s world. He took every measure to protect her. Although he was not initially prepared for our marriage, he had no alternative due to his tuberculosis condition, and his father refused to accept her. After all, she was the offspring of a prostitute. He didn't even raise her; his wife brought her into their lives, and her step-brother raised her. Due to studies, he went to another place, and then she ran to him. Allah knows what she faced there and how she managed to run away at the tender age of 8.

We got married when she was around 10 years old, a silent observer with big eyes taking in everything, from the tiniest grains of sand to the people around her. She was so tender that sometimes I would come home early to see her. She looked so beautiful with her old earrings and flowing hair, although she always wore a dupatta on her head, which obscured my view of her face. Yet, I cherished her innocence and simplicity. Among all the women in the room, she stood out, even though she may not have been as conventionally pretty as others or adorned herself as much as they did.

However, I lost her and, ultimately, lost everything. It happened when I slapped her. Initially, when I tried to slap her, she stopped my hand. After that, she started trembling. I thought it was just a momentary reaction. But my single act of violence frightened her to the point that she began trembling regularly. She lived in constant fear that I could come at any time and harm her, and she had to struggle to protect herself constantly. And one day, her trembling didn’t prevent me from slapping her. My pointed ring pierced into her cheeks, causing both her and me a momentary pang of pain because, at times, especially on Fridays, she used to beautify herself a lot. And I believed she had every right to do so because she was like a doll with a keen intellect, distinct from others. Despite the significant age difference between her and the rest, her voice resonated the loudest. Many times, I would come home early for kaloola (power nap) and lunch. One day, I arrived earlier than usual, and she wasn’t in the veranda where I expected to find her. I called out for her, but she was praying. She completed her Farz Namaz (obligatory prayers) and came to answer me, saying. “Kiya hua (What happened)?” I could still remember her words vividly.

 “Khana lagao (Serve food),” I also remembered my words.

“Jee nafil parh kar lagati hoon (I will do it after offering Nafil),” she answered.

“Baad mein parh lena, pehlay khana lagao (First serve the food, then offer your Nafil),” I forced her. But she was a lioness that I didn't appreciate.

She responded “Main aap k liye namaz nahi chor sakti (I can’t skip my praayer for you).”

“Namaz nahi nafil (Its nafil, not namaz).”

“Mujhe nafil parhne hain. Namaz mujhe bohat aziz hai. Aap ko main nahi, aapko apki biwi pasand hai lekin namaz ko main pasand hoon. Tou uski mohabat k aagay main aap ko kyun fokiyat doon (I want to offer Nafil. Namaz is the dearest to me. You love your wife, not me, but Namaz loves me. So, how can I choose you over Namaz)?”

She was right. Why should she prefer me over Namaz? I loved her for her beauty. Her words silenced me so much that it hurt my authority, but at that moment, I couldn't shout because I had a beard.

Her brother must be proud of her, as they both were always inclined towards doing what was right, always there to sacrifice for others, but never compromising on their principles and values.

After a single slap, she left the house. When I woke up, I found a letter on the side table. It said,

“Main aap ko chor kar jaa rahi hoon. Apnay apna maal mujh pa lutaya, main uski shukar guzar hoon aur bohat mashkoor hoon apki. Tamam zevraat aur kapray chor kar jaa rahi hoon kyun k main itni laiq nahi k apka karz jhuka sakoon. Mujhay dhoodnay meray walid k yahan mat jayein ga, main wahan nahi gai. Main ap dono mein se kisi k saath nahi rehna chahti. Bachpan mein abba bohat martay thay. Bazoon pe, kamar pe, thori pe har jaga nishan hai. Unse bachanay k liye bhai mujhay Aligarh lay gaye. Apnay saath rakha aur bohat mahfooz rakha. Unki darhi thi. Mujhay laga saray darhi walay un kay jaisay hongay. Is liye main khush hogai jab aap ka rishta aaya. Bhai kehtay thay k darhi ishq ki intaha hoti hai. Par aap bhai jaisay nahi niklay. Aap martay thay. Mujhay tha aap ka ghar mahfooz hoga par who nahi tha. Tou jab main apnay ghar mein mahfooz nahi aur aap ghar mein nahi tou phir main kyun rahoon aap k saath. Main choti ko aap k paas chor kar jaa rahi hoon. Wo aap k bohat kareeb hai. Umeed hai usko aap se dar nahi lagay ga kyun mard ka maloom karna ho tou uski biwi se poocho aulaad se nhi. Main aap se koi taluq rakhna chahti. App ne mujhe zakham diya hai. Aur aap shayad bhool rahay hai k talkh-e-tajweed par maine dastakhat kiyay thay isliye

Main apnay aap ko hosh o hawaz mein aap se talakh dekti hoon

Main apnay aap ko hosh o hawaz mein aap se talakh dekti hoon

Main apnay aap ko hosh o hawaz mein aap se talakh dekti hoon

Allah Hafiz.

Choti ka khayal rakhiye ga (I am leaving you. I am grateful for your financial support. That's why I am leaving behind all the jewelry and money here, as I am unable to repay you. Please do not go to my father's house in search of me as I am not going there. I don't want to live with any of you. My father used to beat me, which is why I ran away to my brother's place in Aligarh. My brother provided me safety and security. He had a beard, and that's why I was hopeful when I married you, thinking that you would be like him. I believed your home would be safe, but it wasn't. So, why should I continue living with you? I am leaving our daughter Choti with you because she is close to you. I trust that she won't be afraid of you because if you want to understand a man's character, ask his wife, not his daughter. That's why I want to divorce you, and you may recall that I signed the divorce document. Therefore, I divorce myself from you; I divorce myself from you; I divorce myself from you).”

Her right turned me into a man who was left by his own wife. It was the greatest favor her brother could grant her. He had no interest in investigating my background among the numerous men present on our wedding day. He approached me and requested the right of “Talkh-e-Tajweez”[2]. The crowd reacted with hostility, shouting and opposing his request. However, I wasn’t prepared to support or oppose it. I was simply perplexed why he was making such a demand when his sister was still so young. Thus, I urged everyone to remain silent and allowed me to speak with him directly. To my surprise, everyone fell silent. My father’s passing had forced me to mature quickly, granting me a certain status within the village. It became evident that money can buy anything, even influence and power.

We went into my home and talked. The sole reason that compelled me to speak with him was the sight of bloodstains on the back of his shirt, and on his fingers he was hiding from her.

“Main app ko nahi janta par apni behan ko janta hoon. Aurat akhri dum tak ghar bachanay ki koshish karti hai aur kabhi bhi galat baat par ghar chor k nahi aati. Na mere pass waqt hai k aapki jaan kaari karaun na takay mujhe guarantee ho k wo sahi salamaat rahay gee. Isliye main chahata hoon meri behan k pass talkh e tajweez ka haq jaye (I may not know you, but I know my sister. A woman strives until her last breath to protect her home and never leaves on trivial matters. I neither have the time to investigate you nor the assurance of your ability to keep her safe. That's why I want her to have the right to divorce),” his words still echo in my mind. And they resonated loudly when she left me. I took on the responsibility for her but didn't fulfill it as much as I should have.

His blood forced me to accept his condition “Theek hai par hum do nikkah karein gay. Aap logon ko lagta hai k main kuch bhi kar sakta hoon par aisa nahi hai. Log mujhe isliye maantay hain kyun k main inki chalis baatein manta hoon. Yeh meri nahi maanein gay agar main ne inki nahi maani (Alright, but for worldly sake, we will have two Nikkahs. People believe that I can do anything because I have power and influence, but that's not the case. People respect me because I listen and respect their opinions and suggestions. They won’t listen to me if I don’t listen to them).”

“Do nikkah ki kyun zarrorat hai, aap kehdein k apko koi aitraz nahi hai. Aur koi kahay to kehdein bachi hai haq rakh bhi lay to kiya hua (Why do we need two nikkah? You can simply say that you have no objections. And if someone comments, you can dismiss it by saying she is just a child, what difference will it make for her to have this right),” his words didn't surprise me much. However, as I discovered her mindset, I realized how much she resembled her brother.

He had a point, and I was forced to accept it, but I manipulated the truth in my favor.

“Par dastakhat yahan hoye gay, wahan hum yeh safa hi gaib kardein gay (Yet we will sign the papers here and keep it discreet),” I added as a condition. I didn't want anyone to disgrace my family.

“Theek hai (Okay).”

She was called inside and signed it. She didn't sign it easily. She read the document first while we all exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what was happening.

 “Bhai yeh kiya likha hai? (Bhai, what does it say?),” that’s why I said why she was actually his sister. 

And his brother explained it to her, kneeling down at her feet. “Ab aap in k saath rahein gee na to jab aap ko lagay k yeh achay insaan nahi hain ya jab yeh aap ko nuqsan pohchane ki koshish karay to aap inko chor dena. Mat rehna (Now, when you live with him if you ever feel that he is not a good person or if he ever harms you, you can leave him. Don't stay with him).”

As time went by, she learned the proper process of leaving a husband. During those moments, her brother’s affection towards her seemed different, reminding me of the love I had for my sister. Unfortunately, I wasn't as courageous as him to express it. Moreover, I wasn't of her age when my sister passed away. She didn't die naturally but was murdered by our own family.

Her big eyes, since the first day I saw her, remind me of my sister. That’s why may be she is dearest to me, even now. Every year, I used to take out some money for her and place it in the corner on Eid. Choti would often ask me who it was for, but I couldn't tell her it was for her mother. Revealing the truth would only lead to more questions or even resentment toward me, and I couldn't bear that. A man may withstand his wife's hatred, but not that of his daughter. A daughter is sacred to every man, regardless of his vices or addictions.

Her departure brought so many losses. She used to save silently, protecting us from financial setbacks and business losses. Understanding her was another challenge because of her silent nature. Raised by her brother, who relied on his masters for tuition fees, she had developed a strong inclination towards saving money. As a result, she couldn’t comprehend that I had my own business and that discussing financial matters didn’t necessarily mean I was in crisis. But the innocent girl couldn’t grasp this concept. She once sold her chandi jhumkay[3] and left the money on my side table in my room. We didn’t sleep in the same room. Along with the money, she left a heartfelt letter stating, “yeh aap k liye. Aap baat kar rahay thay na kisi sey paisay lenay ki to aap mat lein. Yeh lay lein. Meray pass aur bhi jhumkay hai. Chahiye ho to batadena. Bhai kehta hai kisi se karza nahi lena chahiye warna wapis nahi karein to gunah milay ga (This is for you. You were talking to someone about needing money, so don't accept money from anyone else. I have more jewelry. If you need more money, just let me know. Bhai says we shouldn't borrow from others, or it will be a sin if we can't repay it).”

I don’t know why she always associates everything with the concept of gunnah[4]. Even if a certain action is not directly related to sin, she would still inquire about it if things weren’t clear to her. She has a curious nature and always seeks clarity.

I didn’t have the courage to return the money to her because no one cared about me this much. She actually noticed me, and it was reflected in her action. So, I managed to find out who she had sold the earrings to and brought the pair back. Yet, convincing her to take them back posed another challenge as she had numerous questions, and I had to answer them all. However, that conversation is unforgettable.

“Yeh lo tumharay jhumkay! Tumhein bechnay ki zaroorat nahi thi. Main ne dusray kaam se paisay liye thay (Here, take your earrings back! You didn’t need to sell them. I asked him for the money for something else).”

“Kis kaam se (For what purpose)?”

“Uss banday ko hum se bohat saara samaan khareedna hai to isliye main keh raha tha k kuch paisay wo pehlay daydey takay samaan kahreed sakein warna mujhe apnay paison se khardeena paray ga (That person needs to buy a lot of things from us, so I was saying that he should pay me in advance so that I can purchase those things for him. Otherwise, I would have to buy them with my own money).”

“To uss ne diye (So, did he give it)?”

“Haan, nahi bhi deta tab bhi tumhein bechnay ki zaroorat nahi. Yeh tumharay hain (Yes, even if he didn't, you don't need to sell them. These belong to you)!”

“Par zaroorat k waqt insaan ko insaan k kaam aana chahiye. Bhai kehtay hain jo kisi k kaam nahi aata wo acha nahi hota phir chahay wo kitni hi namazein kyun na parein (But people should help each other at the time of need. Bhai says that people who don’t help others are not good no matter how many prayers they offer).”

She can never stop quoting her brother; to be honest, it was irritating to listen about his brother’s sayings all day.

It seems as if those earrings were never meant for her, even though they were my favorite. She later sold them for my mother.

Ammi Jaan and she were never on good terms; they always quarreled until she left. But most of the time, it was Ammi Jaan who created problems. After all, she was just a child raised in a very different environment. She needed time to adjust in our house.

Her first day at my house was another story. I was determined to send her to school and let her study, but Ammi Jaan had other plans. The morning and breakfast turned into a story. She came out of her room and sat with us. I always sit in the first seat, Ammi Jaan on my right side. She instantly sat on my left. Ammi Jaan stared at her, but she innocently asked her, “Kuch chahiye Khala (Do you need anything, Khala)?”

She did not expect that it was her way of expressing anger. Her naivety was at its peak. I was reading the newspaper while having tea. “Aap page number 22 nikal k dey saktay hain (Could you give me Page 22 from the newspaper)?”  Her words shocked Ammi Jaan to the core.

 “Larkiyan akhbar nahi parti, galat baat hoti hai. Tum akhbar parho gee to rasoi kaun dekhay ga (Girls don't read newspapers, it's inappropriate. If you read the newspaper, who will take care of the kitchen)?” She reacted.

But my beloved wife had a response, and her innocence always made her words sweet instead of sharp. “Aap aisay kyun keh rahi hain, bhai kehtay hain k akhbar dimag ki giza hai, sub ko parhna chahiye, larkay, larkiyan aur khwajasiraon ko bhi (Why are you saying that? Bhai says that the newspaper is food for the mind, and everyone should read it, including boys, girls, and transgender individuals),” her stories seemed endless.

The last word made Ammi Jaan look at me. And I looked down. But she continued, “Neeli maasi ko koi akhbar nahi deta tha aur na hi sunata tha. Bhai roz unkay ghar jatay thay akhbar poora parhtay thay. Kabhi kabar wo humaray ghar ghar aati thi aur main poora sunati thi. Wo kehti thi k main bohat acha parhti hoon. Unko meray haath ki chai bhi bohat pasand thi (Neeli Maasi was never given a newspaper, nor was it read to her. Bhai used to go to her house every day and read the entire newspaper to her. Sometimes she visited our house, and I read the whole paper to her. She used to say that I read very well. She also liked the tea I made).”

“Tum peo gee chai (Would you like to have some tea)?” It was my way to give a break to her vocal cord.

“Nahi, main doodh peon gee (No, I'll have milk),” she was confident, very different. Usually, girls feel shy on their first days. Maybe she wasn’t prepared, or maybe her brother had taught her to be herself in front of others.

Ammi Jan valued the modesty and silence of girls. She was displeased with her outspokenness. So, she stared at her and whispered to me, “Iskay liye ab khaas doodh bharwayein? Bolo chup chap chai peeye (Should we now arrange special milk for her? Tell her to have tea quietly)!”

On that day, my Ammi Jan became another child for me to handle. I asked her, “Kiya hogaya hai aapko (What has happened to you Ammi Jaan) …”

Unfortunately, she overheard her words, “Nahi main nahi pee sakti chai, mere daant kharab ho jaye gay. Apko pata hai humaray ghar k pass ek khala rehti thi (No, I can't have tea, it will ruin my teeth. You know there was an auntie who lived near our house) …” this time, I looked at Ammi Jaan because she encouraged her to share another story.

She had the potential to be a great writer because of her storytelling skills. I just looked down and held my mother’s hand as it was the only way to keep her calm, let her speak, and tell us the last story of the morning. She continued, “Wo roz chai peeti thi, itni meethi meethi chai peeti thi k aakhir mein unkay daant kalay hona shru hogaye. Pehlay andar k kaalay huay aur phir samnay k. Baad mein unki tukriyan tootna shru hogai aur phir saaray daant toot gaye. Phir wo sirf doodh peeti thi. Bhai kehtay hain (She used to have tea every day; it was so sweet that eventually her teeth started turning black. First, the inner corners turned black, then the front ones. Later, her teeth started breaking into pieces until all of them fell out. After that, she only drank milk. Bhai says) …”

Again Ammi Jaan looked at me and then began to speak, but I held her tightly. I was determined to make this story the last on at the table. And she spoke uninterruptedly while I was waiting patiently for its end, “doodh peenay k bohat faiday hotay hain. Roz peena chahiye. Aur saath mein kela bhi khaana chahiye. Main bhi roz kela khati hoon aur doodh peeti hoon ge (There are many benefits of drinking milk. It should be consumed daily. And along with that, one should also eat a banana. I also have a banana and milk every day).” 

And Razziya came with a glass of milk; she made it the last story, but I was the person who marked its true end. “Yeh raha doodh aagaya. Pee lo (Here is the milk! drink it),” she said.

There was silence at the table for at least a minute until she asked for a banana. Ammi Jaan was in the mood to oppose everything she said. She wanted to show her authority, but I wanted her to feel free. Because I knew what her brother was going through. At that time, I didn’t consider her my wife but rather a responsibility given to me by a brother who cared deeply for his sister and wanted me to keep her emotionally safe.

At times, we did value physical safety and health, but what good is that when a person is dead inside? But I wasn’t allowed to show it, and I didn’t want to either. Her words made me smile, but, thank god, my beard hid it. Any sign of my emotions could annoy Ammi Jaan.

But she was the person with whom I could be emotional. During breakfast that day, I asked her about the school, “Aaj school hai (Do you have school today)?”

“Haa par main uniform lana bhool gai (Yes, but forgot to bring my uniform),” she was upset.

“Koi baat nahi, aaj inhi kapron mein chali jao, main principal se baat karloon ga (It’s okay, go in these clothes today; I will talk to the principal),” I knew that the principal would agree to my request.

“Theek hai, main burka pehan k aati hoon (okay, let me get my burka),” she said.

Ammi Jaan looked at me and asked, “Kiya zaroorat hai aaj bhejnay ki (What's the need to send her to school today)?”

But I looked at her calmly and replied, “Bachi hai chor dein (She's just a child, let her be).”

That’s why she walked away, but the little girl was still sitting, finishing her banana. This time, I wanted to tease her. “Burka kyun pehnti ho (Why do you wear burka)?” I asked.

“Kyun k bhai kehtay hain (because bhai says)…”

I was expecting that answer. “…Allah ko saadgi pasand hain (Allah likes simplicity),” she replied.