Mr Chand.

Life takes on a whole new colour at the Spiderweb. I feel part of the hubbub of the city.  Just down the road, towards Tariq Road is Kurta Gali (Shirt Road) leading onto Allama Iqbal Road. Men sit outside in the evenings when it is cool, arranging their chairs in a circle to drink tea and chat. (Gupshup) The talk is usually of politics, Pakistan still being a relatively young nation (but older than Sudan - Independence in 1956) having forged its independence in 1947.

I pass by one group a few times in the evenings before, inevitably, I am invited to join them. They sit outside a furniture shop laughing noisily, slapping each others' hands.

I meet Mr Chand for the first time. He is small with hair swept over his brow, the compulsory faint moustache. He is known as Harry Chand - a nickname - chand being the local word for moon. I assume it is because of his round face. He has the look of a Charles Bronson combined with Claude Rains in Casablanca.

The furniture shop they sit outside apparently is his father's. Just further along, on the other side of Allama Iqbal Road, is a Fish and Chip shop run by a large man in a pinafore. His servant, Abdul, is a black bouncer who specializes in clearing rats. Each night he finds one and kicks it high in the air.

Mr Chand remains a friend for some years - even after marriage I occasionally see him. Then, like many friends, he evaporates.

One night he is alone and rather melancholy. He tells me of his visits to the seafront in Clifton.

Karachi Seafront

"You know," he tells me, 'When I sad...I take one chair by car. I go to seafront to see waves. and I sit and watch waves..."

He looks into the distance as if he is there now, instead of in a busy commercial street talking to me.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he says, and chuckles

"Woooooosh..." I say.