Strange things began happening in the city of Karachi in 2020. The air grew lighter, almost transparent, as though the sea winds had quietly washed decades of dust from the sky. People claimed they could suddenly see farther than before.

Sailors returning from the mouth of Karachi harbour spoke of unbelievable numbers of dolphins, like messengers from another age. The roads, once choked with traffic, fell into long stretches of silence. For the first time in decades, Karachi could hear itself breathe.

And in that unsettling stillness — brought on by the outbreak of Covid-19 — people encountered another unfamiliar sensation: time.

Offices closed, commutes vanished and many experienced the strange, unhurried rhythm of an early retirement. Men and women who had spent their lives rushing between meetings, markets and obligations found themselves sitting on balconies at dusk, listening to birdsong that had long been drowned out by generators and traffic.

In a part of the city long resigned to apathy, isolation and institutional indifference, a small group of residents in Karachi’s upscale Defence area decided to stop complaining and start showing up. What followed was lessons in how the city can be transformed…

In a part of the city long resigned to apathy, isolation and institutional indifference, a small group of residents in Karachi’s upscale Defence area decided to stop complaining and start showing up. What followed was lessons in how the city can be transformed…

Neighbours, too, began discovering one another. People who had lived for years behind high walls and iron gates suddenly realised that old friends lived only a street away. Familiar names acquired faces; distant greetings turned into conversations.

In those suspended months, when the city seemed to hover between fear and introspection, a quiet community revolution began in one of Karachi’s elite neighbourhoods.

The MGB area — the khayabans [boulevards] of Momin, Ghazi and Badban in Phase 5 of the affluent Defence Housing Authority (DHA) — consisting of nearly 400 houses and six entry and exit points, became the unlikely focal point of this transformation.

THE WHATSAPP GROUP THAT STARTED IT ALL

Someone suggested that instead of endlessly complaining about the decay around them, residents should attempt a few small changes through collective effort and self help.

One thing led to another. Telephone numbers were exchanged. Those reluctant to participate were gently persuaded. Children unexpectedly emerged as the movement’s most enthusiastic ambassadors, going door to door, urging residents to join.

Soon, a WhatsApp group came into existence and, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the community began to grow in numbers, purpose and confidence.

The group’s value announced itself quickly. One night, smoke rising from a house was spotted by a neighbour, who alerted the community through a WhatsApp message. Within minutes, residents, the fire brigade and the police had mobilised, helping contain the fire before it spread further.

On another occasion, an attempt by land-grabbers to occupy an under-construction disputed property was quickly pre-empted after........

© Dawn (Magazines)