As the sound of the engine slowly grew louder, two young boys rushed in the opposite direction. The little girls quickly shoved the coins they had been collecting in their purses and moved away. A lady who slept soundly on the tracks until now, got up with a startle and moved to the adjacent abandoned track. The older boys halted their cricket match. The train caused disruption in the scene, a pause, albeit a slight one. Within seconds the hustle bustle resumed – the tracks were filled with people again.
The lady rolled back to her spot, spread her torn chadar on the track and sat down. The older boys resumed their match. It was as if all their minds were subconsciously synced with the sound of the engine. The disruption was minimal, almost natural, like an everyday affair. The gigantic entity had a trivial impact in shaking the lives of the railway community – the mighty train existed, as a comforting neighbour, and sometimes an angry stranger, but never as a force to be feared.
A while later, a voice was heard, “Move away! The train is coming.” Within seconds the sound of the engine grew louder again and the chronic cycle continued.
Karachi Cantt Station, previously known as Frere Street station, was built in the colonial era. It is declared as a cultural heritage site by the Government of Sindh. The station is a vital hub connecting people all across Pakistan. However, there is more to the narrative than the passengers and the station. The story stems from the railway lines and extends to the people living around it.
Jabal, a seven-year-old, ran barefoot on the railway lines trying to outdo his friend Kanwar, 10-years-old. The younger one was sweet-natured and eager to unbolt himself in front of anybody who showed the slightest affection. In contrast, the older one was cautious, took everyone with a pinch of salt, and it almost seemed like he slept with an eye open.
To make ends meet, the children either collected trash and plastic bottles for recycling purposes, or begged from the passengers. Among the little ones, many do not even belong to Karachi, instead, they were brought here from villages and other interior parts of Pakistan. Whereas the children who took their first breath along the railway lines, simply inherited the line of work from their parents and grandparents.
Abruptly, Kanwar grabbed Jabal’s shirt, smacked him in the back of the head, and scolded him for misplacing the plastic bottles they had picked yesterday. Rajkumari giggled, enjoying the tussle between the boys. Whereas Preeti, the wise one, watched from a distance, ranting about the daily nuisance her little friends created. She instructed the young girls, her minions, to stay alert as the next train was about to pull over and their begging routine would begin.
As for Jabal and Kanwar, the two boys have only one wish. Looking longingly at a young lad who hit a six with a bat, they expressed their desire to grow up quickly, thus signifying their love for cricket. The transformation from a wooden stick to a real bat rations as a rites of passage at the railway lines. In true sense, they are the subalterns, having nowhere to go or nobody to look up to. The community falls below the poverty line, lower than the lowest strata of the society. Each day is a quest of survival for them – something which nobody teaches them but they have to learn on their own.
The coming of age railway generation has taken their first steps on the tracks, using the engine sound as a lullaby. Children alongside their families reside around the lines, converting a public platform into their safe haven. The railway community utilises the space in an unconventional manner as they do not have any other shelter – deprived from even the bare minimum facilities – they are practically living in dispossession.
The children are used to covering wide distances in minimal time, syncing their lives with the fast moving train. The adult family members, the misfits, the drug addicts, all may be accustomed to the train’s presence – most times resenting it – sometimes even finding solace. But the children, whose lives are deeply interwoven with the train’s rhythm, the vehicle seems to possess mystical qualities for them – and if nothing else, the engine’s whistle and its piercing beam of light are ever-present – somehow looking out for them.
