The baba on the road

One of my earliest memories of my home in Karachi is that of the variety of people who’d visit our street during all odd times of the day, from purposes as varied as to selling sanitary products to asking for chanda.

Like all third world countries, street vendors are an integral part of the scenery you see on the roads.

Hawking their goods, these tireless people would come from extremely poor backgrounds, refusing to give in to the ease of begging, yet still being unable to make any good of their day’s earning because of a lack of education, employment concepts and sometimes plain common sense.

As a visitor from a country as rich and spoilt as Saudi Arabia, these street hawkers would be a charming yet simultaneously intimidating aspect for us children. We’d be charmed by the amount of good (and the sheer variety as well) loaded on a space no bigger than a small dining table on wheels; at the same time, we’d find their appearance of squalor, dust and empty eyes intimidating. (I initially used to think that we only felt this way being girls, but later my brothers would agree with us. However, I would like to add that soon what got added to the list of intimidation factors were lewd looks which no desi man can resist giving)

But they were no doubt a charming, purely ‘Pakistani’ aspect that we would relate to. I remember most of them still very clearly. Now, major brands might use different techniques for marketing and reaching out to their audiences, but how could a poor street vendor make his presence be known? For this, they used the only marketing tool they had; a distinct loud announcement of their service/wares.

From as far as three alleys away, we could hear their distinct voices; some almost singing it, some shouting almost like a tenor and one using a small stereo system on his thela to announce his arrival (gol gappay wala aya, gol gappay laya!!)

From sewing machine fixers to vegetables, fruits, to daily household utensils like brooms; you could almost find anything being sold on these thelas. I even remember a mobile jeweller, who used to be wearing a sandwich board proudly stating that ‘gun say kaan aur naak chaiday jatay hain’ (we do ear and nose piercings using guns). How he might have maintained any type of basic hygiene escapes me, but I do remember my maids daughters all having their ears pierced by the man who didn’t even bother to wipe his tools with anything as much as a tissue. But they were fine, and were soon boasting small earrings that they had gotten the very evening from Paposh Nagar.

However, these thelay walas weren’t the only ones used to announce their presence; beggars and chanda walas were just as creative. I remember very clearly, an extremely elderly man who used to come every Thursday to our muhalla, asking for alms. He used to make this extremely distressing throat gurgling sound, that when I heard him for the first time, I ran to see and thought he was about to die right then and there. My maid, however, was wiser, ‘oh baji, sara tamashaa hai, aap ko matwajo kar nay kay leay... daikheay na.. ho gaya who kamyaab’ (oh sister, it’s all a ploy, to get your attention, see, he succeeded too) Sure enough, he had, but not without a few choice words I had to add in my mind as well for scaring the hell out of me.

The thing is… they have become part and parcel of my memories. Rarely do I think of my home without thinking of these people; or rather their sounds, that were just as much a part of the ambience as the crowing kaway or the noisy koail…