With the help of a walker, a frail old man plodded to respond to the doorbell. Now, it had rung twice in less than a minute. He had recently been discharged from the hospital after a major abdominal surgery and could not rush with his stooping, unstable gait to receive his visitor. Out of breath and unable to stand straight, he opened the door and saw an unfamiliar young boy in his late teens standing in front of him. The exhausted old man could not identify the visitor; however, looking closely he recognised the familiar donation slip in the stranger’s hands. There was no need for further introduction; he knew his visitor. After the greetings, the boy handed over a receipt to the homeowner who looked at the amount of money he was assigned to pay for his contribution. “Son, it is more than it used to be for the last two years,” the old man disconcertingly remarked. “Don’t you think it is a little too high?” “Baba ji, if you do not want to pay, I can let the local office know,” the annoyed teenager replied dryly. “They can explain and ‘deal with’ your concerns.” The ailing resident felt as if he did not have much of a choice except to comply; he took his wallet out and paid in cash the new, higher amount of his ‘donation’. Afterwards, as a measure of precaution, he also apologised to the worker for his unnecessary arguments and inquiries. He reassured the young chap about his compliance in future, and tightly locked the door behind him thinking he had bought his safety for a while now. At age 32, he works in a local bank as an assistant marketing manager. Medium built, tall and handsome, he is a hardworking, ambitious man, dedicated to his career and his family. As a business graduate from a local university, he earns a decent salary from the institution. Nevertheless, in the current circumstances when inflation is running so high, his income is barely enough to make ends meet. One day, he was approached by his ‘colleagues’ in the labour division who ‘recommended’ him to ‘donate’ Rs 700 for the betterment of the junior level staff working in the organisation. “Sir, I am hardly able to pay my bills in the current pay package,” he requested them politely to avoid an extra expense. “I would not be able to contribute that much.” His response was not satisfactory for his visitors from the labour division. “Can you see us in the office afterwards?” they asked him firmly, giving him one more chance to ‘help voluntarily.’ With that stern rejoinder, he realised the danger and decided to end the conversation immediately in their favour. He took out his wallet, paid them the full amount without any further arguments and accepted the ‘new rules’ of survival in the bank where he worked. It was the end of Ramazan and everyone was ready to celebrate Eid-ul-Fitr in the country. Everybody in the household is obliged to pay a small amount of money, equivalent to 2.5 kg of raw wheat per person on Eid to feed the needy people. This token amount is commonly named as fitrah; it is calculated every year locally and is usually distributed voluntarily through the local mosques. Nonetheless, in this middle class neighborhood, the amount of fitrah and the number of family members is determined by someone else. A group of young political workers knock on all the doors in the street from one end to the other, inform the residents about the number of their households and the amount of money they owe in fitrah each year; collect the funds and move on to the next street. No one protests or raises any concerns. Two months after that, on Eid-ul-Azha, the doorbell rings again in the same street. They are there to collect the animal hides after the sacrifice. Everyone knows the routine, no questions are asked and everyone complies once again. The hides are donated ‘gladly’ to the same people. This is the sad picture of today’s Karachi. Being close to reality, the picture is not pretty at all; in fact, it is rather scary. From all these stories, even with a bird’s eye view, we can deduce certain things. First, all the contributors were Urdu-speaking people living in the predominantly muhajir neighbourhoods. Second, they were all nonviolent people who did not put up any resistance, as if they did not believe they had a choice except to agree to the demands. Third, they all knew the political affiliation of the activists, and mostly had voted in favour of them in the last elections. Fourth and last, many of them would still vote for the same party again as their only ethnic representative, although not as ideal as they would like it to be. The Urdu-speaking population in Karachi, since a long time, does not believe that any political party, from the right wing Jamaat-e-Islami — who used to always get their votes — to the left leaning Pakistan People’s Party, comprehends their problems. Moreover, based on personal experience, they do not trust the sincerity of the Punjab-based leadership with them, whether it is the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz or Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf. While it is true that Imran Khan is getting some popularity in Karachi lately, he has a long way to go, and still has to build many bridges. Mian Nawaz Sharif, on the other hand, lost his appeal to them after he approved the 1992 army action in the city, even though he continues to deny the consent. To add further fuel to the fire, and as a matter of bad politics, he has not organised even a single rally in Karachi in the last five years since his return from Saudi Arabia. He has not even attempted to connect with the people of Karachi through his political organization, and at the moment exists only on television as a foreign leader in the largest city of Pakistan. The writer is a US-based freelance columnist. He tweets at @KaamranHashmi and can be reached at skamranhashmi@gmail.com