COVER STORY
(A Karachiite who thinks traffic signals are just street decorations)
Karachi, Pakistan’s beating heart and boiling pot of energy, is not just a city — it’s a crash course in survival. With more than 20 million residents, thousands of vehicles, and enough traffic jams to last a lifetime, Karachiites have developed a sense of humour about their struggles. Because, if you don’t laugh at it, you’ll cry ‘in’ it (probably while stuck on Shahrah-e-Faisal).
Here are the very real, very funny ‘perks’ that only Karachiites enjoy.
Why take the long way round when you can go directly against the traffic? In Karachi, driving on the wrong side isn’t a violation — it’s a lifestyle. The trick is simple: tilt your head slightly, put on the ‘dou minute ki baat hai’ (it’s a matter of two minutes) expression, and enter the wrong lane as if it were built just for you. It’s equal parts survival, community bonding and live-action daredevilry.
Daytime ban on tankers and trailers? Please. In Karachi, containers move freely at noon, blocking entire highways like celebrity VIPs. Navigating them is not driving — it’s a real-life Need for Speed mission. Except here, the ‘boss level’ is a 40-foot container stuck diagonally at NIPA.
Karachi rain isn’t a drizzle — it’s a full package deal. Streets turn into canals, cars transform into boats, and pedestrians suddenly take up Olympic-style swimming. But the hidden perk? Free tyre-washing services. And for the premium package, enjoy ‘engine shutdown and pushing practice’ — absolutely free.
While the rest of the world pays for digital detox retreats, Karachi offers them free of charge. No electricity means rooftop picnics, chai dhabas glowing in candlelight, and neighbours rediscovering each other’s existence. Romance in Paris? Overrated. Candlelight gossip in Gulshan-e-Iqbal? Priceless.
Our buses are not mere vehicles; they are adrenaline-packed amusement rides. Hanging halfway out of a minibus while yelling at the driver is better than any rollercoaster. Rickshaws, on the other hand, are convertibles for the middle class: no doors, maximum wind, and unlimited dust.
If you’ve eaten bun kebabs from a roadside stall and lived to tell the tale, you’re basically indestructible. Karachiites develop immunity so strong that the WHO should classify it as a vaccine. Our stomachs are fortresses, tested daily by nihari at 2 a.m. and gola gandas drenched in rainbow syrups of mysterious origin.
Flyovers are advertised as ‘signal-free corridors’. What that really means is that you’ll be stuck in traffic at the end of the flyover instead of the beginning. But look on the bright side — you now get a scenic view of Karachi’s billboards while contemplating your life choices.
In most cities, ambulances get priority. In Karachi, they get company. Dozens of cars chase after the ambulance, forming a convoy that speeds past traffic. It’s a public-private partnership at its finest.
Cows on Shahrah-e-Faisal, goats on Clifton roads, donkeys in Saddar — Karachi is the only city where the zoo comes to you. Add a chicken crossing the road (no one still knows why), and you’ve got yourself a safari without tickets.
Why buy a 4x4 when even your Mehran can experience off-road rallying? Our potholes are deep enough to hide small cars, and with every rainy season, new ‘tracks’ open up for thrill-seekers. A jeep rally in Cholistan? Amateur stuff. Try Korangi after rain.
While DHA clubs charge for pool memberships, Karachi floods provide free community swimming pools. Children dive in happily, cars float like yachts, and everyone cheers from balconies. The only risk: spotting a floating slipper that may or may not have been yours.
Karachi drivers communicate entirely in horn language. One long honk = ‘Move!’ Two short honks = ‘I’m behind you.’ Continuous honking = ‘I’m frustrated, and you should be too.’ Forget English or Urdu — horn is our first language.
Stopping at a petrol station is like spinning a wheel of fortune. Will they have petrol? Will the machine work? Will the attendant ‘round off’ in his favour? Every stop is suspense, and every receipt a cliffhanger.
Karachi weddings don’t just unite families — they unite entire traffic jams. Marriage halls block roads, Corolla processions take over service lanes, and weary commuters spend hours meditating behind fairy-light-decorated cars. It’s not a jam; it’s a cultural gathering.
Load-shedding sparks serious neighbourhood competitions. Whose UPS lasts the longest? Whose generator roars the loudest? Bonus skill: Karachiites can calculate electricity units and fuel efficiency better than any accountant.
Why visit Dolmen Mall when Saddar traffic can bring shopping to you? Tissue boxes, sunglasses, popcorn, phone chargers — you name it! Vendors will sell it to you while you’re stuck at a signal. Karachi is the only city where a traffic jam doubles as a supermarket.
Behind all the jokes, the real perk of being a Karachiite is resilience. The city throws challenges daily: potholes, floods, power cuts, traffic ... but we keep moving. We laugh, we honk, we eat bun kebabs at midnight, and we bounce back stronger. Because Karachi isn’t just a place you live in — it’s a city that lives inside you.