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Photos by Rumana Husain
#unseen #Political #Economy
Falk Sher, plant seller
Just thirty years old, Falk Sher’s life has taken him from the sunflower fields of Lodhran on the northern banks of the Sutlej River 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 to join an extended family that moved 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 to be major obstacles. Landing in Karachi, Fulk Sher found work and shelter in a plant nursery near Liaquat Hospital.
“I enjoy this job,” he says with quiet pride. “It reminds me of the sunflower fields back home. I’ve learned the names, characteristics and needs of all the plants I care for.” His knowledge and enthusiasm is evident as he roams the PECHS neighborhood, his handcart full of greenery.
Falak Sher’s roots are firmly rooted in Lodhran, where his wife and four sons live. Although he earns a meager income of Rs 400 to Rs 500 per day, he manages to send home Rs 8,000 to his parents every month. His routine is relentless: “I wake up at the call to prayer, pray, have breakfast and tend the plants. By 9.00 am, my basket is loaded. And I’m out by 9.00 pm.” The money he collects goes to his owner, the nursery owner, who pays him per plant sold.
Flick’s customers range from garden owners to flat dwellers. Many residents of Karachi, even those living in small two-room apartments, love potted plants for their balconies. “Usually, it’s women who call me from their balconies,” he says with a smile. “For small plants, when we agree on a price, they lower a basket on a wire. I take the cash, put the plant in the basket, and they pick it up. For larger plants or multiple purchases. So, I take them up the stairs myself. They often tip me.”
When exhaustion wears off, the Fulk lion pulls his basket to a shady spot, opens a small stool he carries with him, and takes a few moments to rest. In the hustle and bustle of Karachi’s streets, her dedication stands out: relentless, rooted in hope and nurturing love for her work.
Aish Muhammad,
Vegetable vendor
Street vendors are an important thread in the urban fabric, weaving a bustling cityscape with their daily routines. Among them is Aish Muhammad, a vegetable vendor whose life revolves around the rhythm of Karachi’s markets and the rhythm of his trusty donkey cart.
Leaving Old Sabzi Mandi, where he lives, Aish starts his day early, heading to New Sabzi Mandi, Karachi’s sprawling wholesale fruit and vegetable market. By 8.30am, his basket is loaded with an array of fresh produce: onions, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce, cabbage, spinach – glistening in the light of the water he sprays throughout the day to keep them looking fresh.
His route, from Bahadurabad to the Abyssinian Lines, is a well-trodden one, well trodden. Along the way, he is a welcome sight to many residents who have become loyal customers, anticipating his arrival like clockwork. To announce his presence, Ish Muhammad uses a megaphone, his voice echoing through the streets. His modest basket doubles as a mobile market, with a weighing scale, a large wooden cash box and a plastic bucket of water hanging from the back.
“I’m from Patuki, a town about 50 km from Okara in Punjab,” says Aish, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. “I came to Karachi 20 years ago to join friends already in the vegetable trade. Starting with just a handcart, I found it difficult to navigate such a sprawling city, but with time , I learned his ways.
Aish adapted when the vegetable market moved away from his hut. “I bought a donkey – it made my job easier and gave me a more comfortable way to get around,” he explains with a hint of pride. Over the past decade, she has cared for two donkeys, treating their minor ailments herself. At night, a local watchman watches over his current partner, who is safely tied up outside his house.
By 7.30pm, Ish’s day is over as he returns home, his earnings tucked safely away in his wooden box. Despite the distance, his heart is attached to his hometown. His family, who still live in Patuki, visit him once a year, keeping alive the connection between two different worlds – Karachi’s urban sprawl and Patuki’s pastoral landscape.
The author is a writer, illustrator and educator. He can be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com.
