BEING back in Karachi full time means, among other things, a backlog. Of errands, of repairs, of things you tell yourself you’ll get to. Saturday was the day we got to them. First stop: a watchmaker.

His is not a shop in the modern sense; more of a man and his instruments and a particular kind of knowledge that doesn’t transfer easily. I had an old clock. He seemed to be among the last of a generation who still knows what to do with one. Everything has gone digital, and with it, the people who understood the analogue. I didn’t linger on that thought then. I do now.

The second stop was Botal Gali, in the heart of Saddar. My friend OH needed jars — the right kind, in larger numbers — for a pickle he is working on. We could have ordered online. We didn’t, and I’m glad. Minus the heat, minus the litter and filth we navigated like an obstacle course, being there was worth it.

The gali is more perfume than bottles now, or at least that’s how I remember it. My memory isn’t reliable on the timeline, only on the feeling: I came here with my mother. She had opinions about glass over plastic so our fridge was a skyline of repurposed bottles I will not........

© Dawn