Sundays

The other day, I went to the Sakhi Hassan graveyard. I live on the absolute opposite edge of the city from the graveyard, which means that it is a trip and a half to get there and back, so I always go early on Sunday mornings. While the journey is usually pretty ho-hum, this past Sunday, the Careem captain took a route through Saddar and MA Jinnah Road. I only love Karachi at a few times of the day - at 2 or 3 am, or between 6 and 7 am. Traveling through Karachi always feels like being in a tunnel, like I can only focus on the street I’m on, like I can’t crane my head to look at anything else because it’s too big, too whiplash-inducing. But on this Sunday, the city stripped of traffic and noise, I could see everything, the roads, the architecture, buildings like the BVS Parsi school. I go to Saddar almost every three or four days, if not every week, and yet, somehow, I felt like I hadn’t seen it at all in years. Is it possible to be so blinded by the familiar?