Wednesday, August 18, 2010

8.

Every August and every December, Karachi rains. I don't mean it rains in Karachi, I mean Karachi rains; rains a flood into streets, rains riots into highways, rains fire into power plants, rains insanity; rains like the hot, dusty, violent rest of the year is crying to be forgotten.

There used to be a magic about Karachi rain; it left us along ago. Rain used to be getting off early in the first week of school to slip around outdoors and get soaked. Rain used to be singing on rooftops and sticking out our tongues to catch raindrops. Rain used to be our much-awaited relief from the heat before we all had generators. Rain used to be a good thing.

Somewhere along the line, rain became another bit of Karachi's grief, pouring into our homes and schools and TV sets. I suppose we grew up. Nobody ever wants to slip around outdoors anymore; nobody in their right mind smiles at the first fat drop. Any child over ten will tell you the rain will bring its annual unwelcome guests: power outages, burning tires, floods, collapsed billboards, death by electrocution. I suppose Karachi grew tired. Nobody wants another tragedy weighing down this city full of them.

Now, we just want the rain to stop. Watching it rain is like watching a tired episode from a sitcom you used to love and can't stand anymore, because you know it inside and out, because you have criticized it from every angle. Now, we just need the rain to leave us alone; to give Karachi a minute to grieve over one loss before embarking on another. Perhaps we grew up. Perhaps our city just grew tired.

2 comments:

Amna Chaudhry said...

I really like this one :)

Shahfar Khan said...

this one is so heart wrenchingly sad