Jahanzeb Khan, men’s jewellery seller

n the vibrant heart of Kharadar in Karachi, where the energy of daily life reverberates through narrow streets, a modest treasure trove awaits those with an eye for adornment. Jahanzeb Khan, a forty-year-old fair-skinned Pathan from the Mamund tribe of the rugged landscapes of Bajaur, carries the trinkets for men in a metal cabinet embellished with glass shutters.

Amidst the lively chaos of the bazaar, Khan’s emporium stands as an example of affordable opulence. The cabinet, a familial legacy from his father, is an heirloom that has witnessed many years of hustle and commerce. Large watches, their faces narrating tales of precision crafted in the workshops of China, Malaysia or India, occupy the wider expanse. Gaudy rings, devoid of precious stones, but resplendent nonetheless, find their niche in the narrower section.

This enclave of allure caters to men of modest means, those residing within the economic stratum that stretches from low- to middle-income. Priced between Rs 300 and Rs 1,500, these baubles become tokens of aspiration and style for those navigating the crowded streets. Khan purchases them from Phool Chowk and Maiwa Mandi in Juna Market.

Unlike his father, who traversed the Bajaur Agency with the mobile jewel cabinet, Khan has anchored himself to a spot in Karachi.

Covered in a beard, a well-defined moustache and bushy eyebrows, his appearance reflects both tradition and adaptability.

For Jahanzeb Khan, Karachi is not just a city; it is the canvas on which he paints his narrative of ambition and rootedness. “I wanted to come to Karachi,” he confesses the dream and the promise of a bigger life. The cabinet, a reminder of his familial roots, is evidence of his decision to carry forward his father’s trade. His brothers, tending to grocery shops and cultivating a small piece of land, tread different paths.

Khan returns to his village in Bajaur sporadically, bridging the gap between the pulsating energy of Karachi and the serene familiarity of his ancestral home. His family, comprising a mother, siblings, wife and four children, resides in the rustic tranquillity of the village, consuming the crops that his brothers cultivate on their modest plot.

Their daily routine consists of six to eight arduous circuits, or chakkars, fetching them a meager income, contingent upon the cargo’s weight. Opting for extended routes can fetch them more money, albeit at the cost of increased fatigue.

Khan pays a rent of Rs 8,000 per month for the privilege of showcasing his cabinet in the same place every day. Men and women alike congregate around him, captivated by the glittering allure of watches, rings and baubles. While these treasures may not boast precious or semi-precious stones, their shimmer resonates with a charm that transcends material worth, captivating the attention of shoppers milling around.

Qadeer Ahmad, handcart puller

Struggling beneath the weight of his long, slender handcart, Qadeer Ahmad brings it to a halt amidst a cluster of printing presses along Campbell Road. This humble mode of transportation, locally dubbed the haath gari, is the customary choice for moving goods in the alleys of the city’s old quarters.

At twenty-six years old, Qadeer Ahmad shares ownership of the handcart with his brother Ghulam Yasin. Together, they toil in harmony, loading, pulling and unloading hefty reams of paper across the busy intersections of Campbell Road, Arambagh Road, Kutchery Road, and Pakistan Chowk. These streets, from the heart of Gari Khata, a district teeming with printing presses and ancillary industries, a testament to its moniker derived from the abundance of handcarts (gari) and the icoinic Victoria (ghora gari) or horse carriages that still ply these historic thoroughfares.

Ahmad and his brother commute via public buses to reach their workplace. Nightfall finds their handcart parked securely on Campbell Road, tethered by a stout chain and lock, awaiting another day of toil.

Ahmad came to this city from Dera Ghazi Khan in search of livelihood. His wife and two children joined him six months ago. Yaseen has been living in this city for fifteen years, supporting his wife and four children. After the demise of their father a few years ago, their elderly mother and two younger sisters also reside with them, resulting in a household of thirteen members sharing the same roof.

Acknowledging the gruelling nature of their labour, Ahmad concedes that the returns barely suffice for sustenance. Bereft of formal education, the brothers send their children to a government school to secure their future.

Their daily routine consists of six to eight arduous circuits, or chakkars, fetching them a meager income, contingent upon the cargo’s weight. Opting for extended routes can fetch them more money, albeit at the cost of increased fatigue. “It gets very tiring. Every part of the body hurts,” Ahmad confesses, his weariness veiled behind a faint smile.

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