Falak Sher, plant-seller

t just thirty, Falak Sher’s life has taken him from the sunflower fields of Lodhran, on the northern bank of the River Sutlej, to the bustling streets of Karachi, where he now sells potted plants from a handcart. His journey began fifteen years ago when his parents decided that he should join extended family members heading to Karachi in search of a brighter future.

“My parents wanted me to go to the big city and make something of my life,” he recalls. But the reality of poverty and illiteracy proved formidable obstacles. Landing in Karachi, Falak Sher found work, and shelter, at a plant nursery near Liaquat Hospital.

“I enjoy this work,” he says with quiet pride. “It reminds me of tending sunflower fields back home. I’ve learned the names, characteristics and needs of all the plants I care for.” His knowledge and enthusiasm are evident as he navigates the PECHS neighbourhood, his handcart brimming with greenery.

Falak Sher’s roots remain firmly planted in Lodhran, where his wife and four sons live. Although he earns a modest daily income of Rs 400 to Rs 500, he manages to send Rs 8,000 home to his parents each month. His routine is unrelenting: “I wake up at azaan, pray, have breakfast and tend to the plants. By 9.00am, my cart is loaded; and I’m out until 9.00pm.” The money he collects goes to his boss, the nursery owner, who pays him per plant sold.

Falak’s customers range from garden owners to flat dwellers. Many Karachi residents, even those in tiny two-room apartments, cherish potted plants for their balconies. “Usually, it’s the women who call out to me from their balconies,” he shares with a smile. “For small plants, they lower a basket on a string after we agree on a price. I take the cash, put the plant in the basket, and they haul it up. For larger plants or multiple purchases, I carry them up the stairs myself. They often give me a tip.”

When exhaustion sets in, Falak Sher pulls his cart into a shady spot, unfolds a small stool he carries with him, and takes a moment to rest. In the hustle of Karachi’s streets, his dedication stands out: tireless, rooted in hope and nurtured by a love for his work.

Aish Mohammad,

vegetable vendor

Street vendors are a vital thread in the urban fabric, weaving through the bustling cityscape with their daily routines. Among them is Aish Mohammad, a vegetable vendor whose life unfolds between the rhythm of Karachi’s markets and the clatter of his trusty donkey-cart.

Setting out from the Old Sabzi Mandi, where he lives, Aish begins his day early, heading to the New Sabzi Mandi, Karachi’s sprawling wholesale market for fruits and vegetables. By 8.30am, his cart is loaded with an array of fresh produce: onions, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber, lettuce, cauliflower, spinach - gleaming under the light of the water he sprays throughout the day to keep them looking fresh.

His route, a familiar stretch from Bahadurabad to Abyssinia Lines, is well-trodden. Along the way, he is a welcome sight for many residents who have become loyal customers, anticipating his arrival like clockwork. To announce his presence, Aish Mohammad uses a megaphone, his voice carrying over the din of the streets. His modest cart doubles as a mobile market, equipped with a weighing scale, a large wooden cash box and a plastic bucket of water hanging off the back.

“I’m from Pattoki, a town about 50 kilometres from Okara in te Punjab,” Aish says, his eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “I came to Karachi 20 years ago to join friends already in the vegetable trade. Starting out with just a handcart, I found it tough to navigate such a sprawling city, but over time, I learned its ways.”

When the Sabzi Mandi relocated far from his hutment, Aish adapted. “I bought a donkey - it made my work easier and gave me a more comfortable way to get around,” he explains with a hint of pride. Over the last decade, he has cared for two donkeys, tending to their minor ailments himself. At night, a local chowkidar keeps watch over his current companion, tied securely outside his home.

By 7.30pm, Aish’s day winds down as he returns home, his earnings tucked safely in his wooden box. Despite the distance, his heart remains tethered to his hometown. His family, who still reside in Pattoki, visits him once a year, keeping alive the bond between two vastly different worlds - Karachi’s urban sprawl and Pattoki’s pastoral landscapes.

The writer is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be reached at husain.rumana@gmail.com