1 Boocha (by Salim Murad)

This is the story of Boocha, who single-handedly and unarmedthat is almost unarmed made the Baktarbund of the armed forces retreat from his street, and this at a crucial juncture of a notoriously ruthless army operation that was perpetrated on his city. The men in uniform took to their heels in a bid to save their lives. But this is the climax of this story, so lets leave it at that and let me tell you a bit about Boochas background. There were a few stories doing the rounds about the circumstances surrounding his birth and early life. They are now all part of his legend, so I must relate them to you. According to some, Boochas father left his mother while she was pregnant with Boocha and his twin. She was an illiterate from a village and earned her living by doing menial chores in peoples houses. She would broom, mop, take care of dirty laundry, and that sort of stuff. In some houses, given less to the standards of hygiene, she was also paid to prepare meals for the families. When she would be working in these houses, Boocha and her twin would stay out on the verandah, gazing into the space above (this I speculate, as no one can say with certainty what the duo would be doing when the mother undertook her chores.) So according to story No. 1, one such day when Boochas mother was completing her usual tasks in a house, the Doberman of the owners came sniffing out fresh meat and got to where Boocha was lying with his brother. He ate up most of Boochas brother, leaving behind some bones covered in blood. It may have been that he had already got his fill with Boochas brother or Boocha may have raised the alarm in the nick of time, but somehow he was left unscathed. When Boochas mother arrived on the scene she found him playing with his brothers bones. Some say she went mad after that and Boocha was left to fend for himself on the streets. But others claimed that she fell into a trancelike state, gathered the remaining bones of her freshly devoured son, picked up Boocha and left to do more chores for the day in another house, without shedding a single tear. The Doberman folks were, comparatively speaking, kindhearted. They even offered her some 20-30 thousands rupees as compensation; when she declined they did let her know that the incident must be kept within the four walls. And if anyone were to get the wind of it then she and Boocha would find themselves in awkward circumstancespolice, court, and that sort of thing. So Boocha was raised by his mother for a while. Now as she would be doing her menial chores, she would wrap Boocha in a blanket and keep him close to her back. When that seemed impossible, she would lay him on the floor from where she could keep a vigilant eye on him. This went on for a while. Then Boochas father returned from where he was gone. And according to story No. 2 one day when Boocha was around 4 and was pestering his father for a toy in front of a shop, the latter took off his Bugti sandal and hit Boocha on the head with such force that he lay there unconscious for a few hours. When he came round and was brought to his mud-and straw house, Boochas mother knew right away that her son was now weak in the head. She fought with her husband kept on fightingtill one evening she died while giving birth to another child of his. Boochas father then left him to his own devices and took off for where he really wanted to be. This is the brief background of Boocha.

2 Boocha grew old on the streets of his city. I purposely didnt say grew up as he never did in fact go through the normal process of growing up. The hit on his head filled it with as much water as there previously was the desire for that toy that he saw through the glass window. It was a case of proportional displacement, more in line with the Archimedean principle on which ships and other heavy objects float on the surface of water. Like earth, Boochas head was also mostly water. He would roam around in the streets and neighborhoods where good folks, particularly mothers and aunts would give him food to eat and clothing to cover himself. His antics would bring joy to people, who would often tease him in many ways. He seemed to be alright with this attitude of people, and would reciprocate by making strange noises accompanied with jumping up in the air. At times Boocha would get excommunicated from neighborhoods. His one nasty habit-which he outgrew later in his life-- that caused him the most trouble involved taking off his clothes in public view, without so much as a moments notice, and scaling the neighborhood walls. Now this kind of behavior would not be tolerated in most any middle class neighborhood, so on those occasions some hero type , some honorable brother of a sister would give him a sound thrashing and subsequently throw him out of the neighborhood. Once, some dada even stuck a T.T gun to his head. Boocha would remember that event with joy, and mimicked it by placing his index finger on his temple and producing a dazzung sound. He would complement that with jumping up ecstatically. The street dogs doted on Boocha, as if they considered him one of their own. He also loved them with his life. This fact doesnt really do much in the way of establishing the truth of story No. 1, according to which his brother was gobbled up by a dog. If that were the case Boocha should have had a natural fear of dogs, even hatred for them. But as I said, the case was quite the contrary. And such was the bond he shared with these street dogs that whenever he would be getting excommunicated from a street, one or two dogs would always tag along, as a gesture of solidarity and love. So by the time Boocha was 14, he was surrounded by quite a few dogs of different denominations. Some folks would even try to gauge Boochas real ageand that how many streets he had been to-- by accounting for the number of dogs around him. The obvious issue with this approach was those dogs who were killed by the municipality bullets, or died of hunger and old age. So, when upon roaming through many streets, Boocha finally landed in the one where his legend was going to be born, he had acquired quite a following of stray dogs and ill-clad (and perhaps ill-begotten as well), destitute urchins. All day they would cause a ruckus on the street. Their favorite pastime was playing Antpill with marbles and doing Haathjali with Lattoos all over the place. When they tired, they would take discarded, worn out car tires and, with the skilful push of their sticks, run them along the street and its narrow alleys. Boocha was their master-mind, the leader of this band of good-for-nothings. Oh, here I must inform by readers: This was not just any other street in the city. This was the street of the most beloved leader of the city at whose whim hundreds and thousands of people, men, women, children, raised and dropped their fingers in strict unison. The street was thronged with important folks at most times. Those folks who were to sit in the national and provincial assemblies of the futureand those tough guys, the mention of whose names would bring death-like sorrow and fear on the faces of the citys traders and

3 shop ownerscould all be seen there. The street, its culverts, its rezendevous of Chai and Nehari would bustle with the activity of these folks. Had luck and certain circumstances not been on his side, Boocha would surely have gotten himself killed there and this tale of his would have prematurely ended as well. And in all likelihood I would not have bothered my readers with his unfinished tale, as his legend had not been born up until that point. So those were chaotic, Dhamadham, times. Corpses were turning up everywhere. Rotting corpses in Borees, in gutters, in the back of cars, on the railways tracks, in trash cans, everywhere there were cadavers of young people who were violently disfigured and killed. Abdul Sattar Edhi had to work overtime in those ominous days. Then there were those living corpses that were worse than the dead ones. The corpses with their hands cut off, knee caps drilled that could no more withstand the weight of the body, fingers chopped off, scrotums burned, faces cut from ear to ear, chests stamped with melting iron bearing insignia, God! And the reasons for all that-- mostly of the trivial sort. Someone said something to someone. That someone heard something else than was said. Someone, by chance, heard what was being said for someone else consumption. Someone failed to listen to what was being said to him. Someoneanyonestepped in the wrong zone wearing the wrong type of Topi and shawl. Someone mispronounced certain key words in a certain language. Someones eyes got locked into someone else for more than 20 seconds. Someone insisted on getting the Falooda drink first as he had the priority in line. Someone entered someones room at the wrong hour. And during a night match of cricket someone dared to run out a Chaccha, Sher Ka Baccha, with a perfect throw at the stumps, just when the Chaccha was easing into form, and already got an overture of approval from his idealized lover standing in the balcony of her flat, watching him bat intently. Any of this could result in a dead body in those days. Its not that all were getting bumped off in futility, sporadically, on the spur of the moment. . Some were calculated, premeditated calls, and carried out with afterthought and precision. There were internal and external power struggles, issues of territory, distribution of extortion money, and the like. Now, it was indeed miraculous that someone like Boocha could survive to see the next day amid such chaos. But he did manage to survive nonetheless. Actually, there were two types of people who occupied the street. Those had been living there for yearsthe permanent residentsand those who frequented it from other parts of the city. It was the first type that saved Boochas life on numerous occasions. Take for instance this story: One day Boocha stopped in front of the Nehari shop as he was going about with his routine activities on the street. He saw a flamboyant dada, a much feared and notorious gangster of the city (Boocha was of course unaware of this dadas notoriety) sitting in the midst of his lieutenants. Perhaps it was the odd shape of dadas Luger (Boocha knew his TTs and Klashins well) that caught Boochas eye. He made his way through the Biltoos, those lieutenants who surround dada figures at most times, and went straight to where the Dada was sitting. Worse, he looked him right in the eye, and placed the tip of his long stick on Dadas chest. The whole place was stunned. One of the Biltoos stood up in anger and broke the tip of Boochas stick. Others corked their guns and got into positions.

4 Boocha, for his part. started to jump in the air in anticipation, his fingers placed on his temple, shrieking. The worldly wise owner of the Nehari shop had already sent a boy to alert the bhais of the street that Boocha was minutes away from meeting his maker. As Dada stopped his lieutenants with an I-will-do-this-myself gesture and was about to take out his Luger to do the deed, the chef sitting at the Nehari Daig threw his sandal towards Boocha and begged Dada to hold his fire. He is a total imbecile, Dada. He doesnt know you, this mother.his head is filled with liquid. Please, for my sake, forgive him, forgive him, Dada. By this time the Bhais of the street had also shown up and substantiated what the Nehari man already told Dada about Boochas mental situation. They even slapped Boocha around a little for Dadas consumption, and whisked him away. Boocha was saved by a minute--a minute of timely intervention. God and the people of that city know how many were killed as the minutes and seconds were not on their side! Another time when Boocha really got himself close to being a dead Boocha was the famous Haleem incident. A hoodlum from the adjacent street came up with and executed a novel idea. He chopped off the tails of stray dogs in his street. The rationale he provided was that now the lame motherfs will look like Dobermans and no motherf r will dare look at our street the wrong way. When others from the street saw the tail-less dogs in pain under the dim street lights, the erstwhile benign creatures indeed appeared ferocious. So they acquiesced to the scoundrel, even patted his back for the novel idea and its timely execution. (Around that time most streets were erecting steel barriers with guarded checkpoints to stop the inflow of unwanted intruders. so this ploy could have spared the street residents some money and headache). In any event, in the midst of that chaos, who could care less if some lame animals lost their tails. But there was one problemBoocha. Boocha was not only the patron saint of all the dogs in his street but kept an eye on the well being of other dogs from the adjacent neighborhood. When he saw the tail-less dogs in obvious pain, he flew into a state of rage. (Boocha in his recorded life was only seen twice in such rage. This was the first such instance. ) He remained visibly angry and agitated for sometime, then came back to his street and fell silent. He must have been finding it hard to communicate his emotions to others. Some street folks were intrigued by Boochas out of the ordinary behavior. (Here I see two possibilities. The sight of the Doberman-like creatures may have brought to his mind the childhood incident involving his twin. But this seems far fetched. More believable is the second possibility that the sight of his friends suffering and humiliation caused enormous outrage in him.) A few days later there was a special event a Haleem nightthat had been organized in the adjacent street in the honor of a notorious Bhai from another locale. All night long the biltoos stirred the Haleem in Bhais honor. When it was almost cooked and about to be sealed with flour and put on low heat, Boocha came running along from one side and dumped a hefty thing inside the Daig. The biltoos pinned him down to the ground and forced him to draw lines on the sand with the tip of his nose. Then it was discovered that the hefty thing was in fact a dead cat. The Haleem had to be dispensed with. Same was going to be Boochas fate as one of the biltoos corked his T.T. and was about to pull the

5 triggerwhen the bhais from Boochas streets came almost running, and once again Boocha was snatched away from Devils clutches. No one really knew to what extent Boocha understood his surroundings; their reality, and what actually was going on around him. But it was evident from his behavior that he liked the company of dada-gangster, bhai type of folks. And even though he could not be said to be scared of them (perhaps the scare inducing component in his brain was mixed up with water, otherwise he would not have taken those chances with his life that he actually did.) he was certainly in their awe and in a way looked up to them. He treated them as one would treat his folk heroes and legendary figures. There were often scuffles on the streets: the ones in which fists and rods and daggers were involved, and also those ones where guns and bullets would come out and get heat up. It was as if Boocha got some kick out of these scuffles. Sometimes the conflicts were internal to the street, other times some bhai or gangster from some other hood would be involved. Sometimes people from other areas would come to have their conflicts resolved on that powerful street and things would go out of hand and the scuffles escalate into Morcha Bandi and shootouts. Boocha understood loyalty. That was perhaps an inadvertent consequence of keeping company with the dogs. Or perhaps the loyalty component in his head withstood the massive blow of his fathers Bugti Sandal and refused to mix with water. Whatever was the case, Boocha always sided with his beloved bhais in these scuffles. Bhais would go out to fight in other streets, and sometimes they would take Boocha along as a sign of good luck. Shots would get fired, windows get shattered. Once, a burst from an enemys Kalashnikov entered and exited from the side of the jeep where Boocha was sitting. Later on, bhais showed him the bullet holes in the jeep and said, Bucchey laaley, you escaped by a whisker, you lucky motherfucker. Those were Klashin bullets. All your brain water would have been drained in an instant. What could Boocha have possibly gained from that knowledge? He clapped ecstatically, bobbing his head, as if he was being awarded a life-time achievement medal. Boocha would observe the goings-on around him. Once he saw a scuffle where two of his bhais fought with around 30-40 milk vendors. Boocha tagged along with the bhais as he cared for those chilled bottles of Nagori milk filled with pistachios. The scuffle started over something trivial, but thats not the point. He saw the valor with which his bhais fought the pack of those milk vendors. One of the bhais particularly stood out. He was drenched in blood, but kept on fighting. 25-30 milkmen were on top of him, beating the shit out of him with empty milk bottles, iron rods and hockey sticks. As he was fighting his way from below Boocha and others heard Bhais fierce battle cry, Motherfuckers, now you dont stop till I am dead, for if I survive, upon my Amma, I will drag you down from your houses, each of you, and kill you with my hands. The battle cry fired up Boochas imagination. He was now pointing towards the milk vendors with his stick, moving it vigorously in the air. Milk vendors became afraid when they heard bhai speak in this manner. Bravery, when it is naked and absolute, always produces that kind of effect on the enemy. The milk vendors began to hit bhai with light blows, many of them

6 dispersing. Soon it was Boocha and the two bhais sitting along the street. Boocha tended to the injured Bhai, brought him glasses of water many times. Then Edhi ambulance came and took bhais and Boocha to the hospital. (Digression: That Bhai now lies dead in a local graveyard owing to an internal dispute. He was, like many other brave warriors, killed with deceitful treachery. He proved to be a man of his word. Upon regaining his health, he went after those low-life motheruckin milk vendors, that cowardly bunch which only fought in packs of 20s and 30s. One of them fled the city after having heard of the demise of others, and was hiding in his ancestral village. Bhai tracked him down, took an overnight train to his village, and did him in his own neighborhood, in his own house, in front of everyone present. Such was the valor of that bhai of Boocha. May God forgive him for his transgressions and reward him for his unflinching valor!) Boocha would watch these scuffles--the more combat like, honorable ones, as well as the ones where traders and shop-owners, cowering at the sight of the groovy Chinese T.Ts, would hand over bundles of money to bhais. He even saw a low life gangster from his street robbing a small time Chola vendor of his daily income using an assault weapon! What a shame! One cannot help but feel sorry for the weapon! It wasnt clear what Boocha made of all of this in that mind of his. It was evident that he understood, in his own way, the dynamics of fighting, even enjoyed it. But politics, extortion, that was beyond him. Then something eventful happened which people still remember and talk about, jovially. This was merely days before the leader left the country for good. Boocha was aware that his bhais were devoted to the leader and could do anything for him. It was as if the love of the leader was diffused in every corner of the street. Skepticisms aside, his images even started to appear on the leaves of certain plants! When the leaders entourage left his house, Boocha, fully dedicated, jumped on the bonnet of the leaders Pajero jeep. If he was not known to the body guards he would surely have been hit for this impudent act. But the guards were his bhais. Boocha persistently presented his salaams to the leader, his head bowed. Eventually the leader appeared through the sun roof of his Pajero and extended his hand to Boocha. Boocha kissed his hands, brought them to his eyes, and jumped off the bonnet, blending into the throng of the leaders supporters. Merely a few days after that incident, the notorious operation was perpetrated on the city. The leader left the country. Everything seemed to be disintegrating. Now very rarely would one spot a group of people on the Nehari and Paan shops. People would come in a hurry, had their Nehari and Paan wrapped up, and drive away. Boochas bhais were also dispersed. Some left to hide in the interior of the province; some took off for no-go areas in the tribal belt. Boocha kept his daily vigils on the street. Mothers, aunts, even some shopkeepers, would still give him food to eat, and asked him to pray. Then Boocha started to hear sounds of wailing women from the houses. The corpses would come, and wailings intensify. Boocha also made it to the graveyard with funeral processions on many occasions and saluted his bhais with his long stick.

7 In the dead of night, police and ranger mobiles would come and stop in front of the marked houses, and the policemen would encircle any of those houses. Uniformed and plain clothes policemen and rangers would enter the house. Sometimes they would leave as they entered. Other times they would take away an old man, an Abbuji, and a young boy in their vans. Women were left behind, wailing, cursing, beseeching, and invoking the wrath of Allah on the policemen. Boocha would go to these women and consoled them in his own way. They would place hands on Boochas head and ask him to pray, Boocha, pray son, your prayer will surely be answered. Our children are in harms way. Boocha was at least aware this much that his bhais were in trouble and the cause of the trouble was the Mobile vans. He would often run after the vans and make the curse sign with the palms of his hands. Once in a while, a bhai would momentarily reappear from hiding to meet with his family. Boocha would double over with joy in such moments. And would hug the bhai many times over and make a symbol for the Mobile van in the air, followed by a curse sign. Now to my readers: I am almost near the climax of this storyat that point from where this story began. So it was one such dark night when many of Boochas bhais showed up all together, all at once, in one car to meet up and console their family members. Boocha, animated, was standing at the corner of the street with one of his bhais, doing his antics, when the sound of armored vehicles and police vans emerged from beyond. Bhai said, Someone has informed the police, lets go. That Bhai sent a coded signal to other bhais by thumping in a certain combination on the street pole. They were already alerted by the sounds of the vans, and were on the move. Perhaps it was too late to attempt an escape in the car as the exits were deemed to have been blocked. So the bhais corked their weapons and ran for shelter. One scaled the wall of a house, another hid inside the water tank on the rooftop, another went to a garbage dump, and others went wherever they could find a hiding spot. Boocha was left standing alone in the dim light of the street lamps as he and others heard the peculiar sound of the Baktarbund armored vehicle. (The sound of the engine was compounded by the sound of heavy tires rolling on uneven ground, with metallic objects and jagged stones along its path.) Boocha saw the armored vehicle appear from one of the entrances of the street. Behind the Baktarbund was a line of Mobile vans, filled with uniformed men. It smelled of a massive encounter. Boocha standing in the middle of the street could see one of his bhais, who was hiding in a dark space between two adjacent walls. That bhai, gun in hand, called out for Boocha, Run Boocha, army is coming. He also tried to make a running symbol with his hunched over body. Boocha flew into a fit of rage. (This was the second time in his life when Boocha was seen in such a state of rage.) Standing unarmedthat is almost unarmedin the middle of the street under dim lights, Boocha placed one end of his long stick (the end that was broken sometime ago by the lieutenant of a fearsome Dada) on the blade of his shoulder. The other end he pointed towards the Baktarband, still making its way through the narrow entrance of the street. (This maneuver Boocha had learned from a bhai in peaceful times). Then like an Olympic torch bearer, Boocha ran towards the Baktarbund while shouting at the top of his lungs, hahoooohahooha naraye takbeer, jeeooo qaid salaam

8 hoooohahoohaaaa. Seconds later, one of the bhais, who was hiding on a rooftop close to the Bakturband heard this voice coming from inside the armored vehicle, Wapas muro, wo laanchar mar rahey hein. (Turn back, they are launching a rocket attack.). Then the Bakurbund retreated, followed by the Mobile vans carrying the men in uniform. Boocha kept on running in their direction until a bhai called him to halt and turn back. Gradually, other bhais started to surface from inside the water tanks, dumpsters, rooftops, and wherever else they were hiding. They lifted Boocha on their shoulders. According to eye witness accounts, no one had ever seen Boocha so ecstatic and animated as he appeared on that moment of his glory. Later on, mothers and aunts came out and showered their love and blessings on Boocha. He had saved the lives of their sons. He miraculously guarded his street from an encounter. Boocha was not aware of the magnitude of his achievement. (Aside from saving so many lives, there was something else he had achieved: That was the only time during the entire operation when someone had run towards the Buktarbund, and not away from it. It was the animated and unexpected charge of Boocha that threw the in-charge of the operation into a panic mode. In that state, under dim street lights, he perceived the long stick to be a rocket propelled grenade, and decided to halt the operation.) Boocha was happy because his bhais and mothers and aunts appeared happy to him, and the fact that they loved him collectively in such a grandiose way. This was without a doubt, the highest point in Boochas life, and by my reckoning the highest point of that dreadful operation as well. The legend of Boocha had been born. After that incident the bhais dispersed again. A couple of them were tracked down by the agencies and were extra judicially killed on the spot. But most survived, and through this means or that were able to leave the country for safe havens. Boocha remained where he was. He kept his vigil on his streetthe street of his beloved bhaisthe street of their beloved leader. A few years ago, his bhais received the news that Boochas rotting cadaver was discovered in a street gutter by an Edhi volunteer. In the gutter was his body, lying next to it was his severed head and floating nearby was his legendary stick which he once turned into a rocket launcher and used to save the lives of his bhais. On probing from the bhais, street folks told them that Boocha had an unfortunate encounter with some Afghani vagabonds. Boocha had placed his stick on one of their chests, and the alien severed his water-filled head with a sharp metallic object, and thus ended his life story. My story of Boocha also ends here. His legend, unlike his corporeal self, continues to live on.

GLOSSARY OF URDU TERMS ABBUJI: Literally, a father. But the term is loosely used to refer to an old man in the house or in the neighborhood. ABDUL SATTAR EDHI: An internationally renowned philanthropist of Pakistani origin who is known for his relief works. His ambulances mostly arrive in time and save more lives than the ones used by the government. AMMA: Mother. Also used for any mother-like figure. ANTPILL: A game played with marbles. BAKTARBUND: An armored vehicle used by the army and the special police units. BHAI: A term of respect and affection used to refer both to a brother real or perceived. Also used for a person older in years, knowledge, experience, etc. It can also refer to mafiosi and gangsters. In the case of Boochas bhais, the term carries all these shades of meanings. BOREE: A big bag (big enough to carry a corpse) made of Jute fiber, usually brown in color. BUGTI SANDAL: A sandal originally worn by Bugti tribesmen of Balochistan, now popular throughout Pakistan. The bottom is made with hard, tire-like material and the upper portion is made with leather and is laced with craftwork. CHACCHA SHER KA BACCHA: (Literally: Uncle, the Son of Lion). Alias of a notorious bhai, who got bumped off in an internal party dispute, some years back. Used here generically, for any famous bhai, mainly for the sound effect it has in the vernacular. CHOLA: A dish made with chick peas and potatoes, and sold in mobile kiosks by street vendors. DADA: A term used for a noted bhai or gangster. In some contexts, it can be used interchangeably with bhai. Like bhai, it can also be used to refer to someone respected for his leadership and other such qualities. DAIG: A huge pot in which Nehari, Haleem, Biryani and other dishes are cooked at home and in restaurants. DHAMADHAM: Fast, chaotic.

10 EDHI: A welfare organization founded by Abdul Sattar Edhi that, among other things, make funeral arrangements for unidentified corpses. ENCOUNTER: A term used by the police and crime reporters to refer to extrajudicial killings, where bhais and gangsters are killed on the spot, without trial and other due procedure. FALOODA: A sherbet drink prepared and sold in outdoor kiosks and restaurants. HAATHJALI: A game played with Lattoo, where the latter gets unleashed (by a cord) and land and spin on the palm of the Latoobaazwho is the one who plays with Lattoos. HALEEM: A popular, thick-liquidy dish made on special occasions. It takes 8-12 hours to cook it properly. Sometimes it is cooked collectively by folks in the street in a huge pot, on a makeshift clay oven. KHALA: Literally, an Aunt. But a common term of endearment used to refer to any middle-aged to elderly lady in the neighborhood. KLASHIN: Short for the Russian assault rifle Klashinikov. LATTOO: A toy used by the poor children. MOBILE: A police van. NAGORI: A popular milk shop. People go there to buy milk and different milk products, the most famous being the chilled bottles filled with nuts. These shops are run by groups of milk vendors who spend time in barnyards with animals and are known for their toughness and machismo. NEHARI: A popular Indian/Pakistani dish made with Bong (special part of the calf) meet. PAAN: An Indian-Pakistani delicacy usually taken after meals, but not necessarily. Some addicts can consume up to 12-15 Paans a day, even more. It comes in different varieties, the common theme being the Betel leaf which is called the Paan Patta. Wrapped inside the leaf can be Betel nuts, and a variety of other ingredients. The whole deal is called a Paan. SALAAM: Literal meaning: Peace. A casual or a more elaborate hello accompanied with hand and body gestures. T.T.: .38 caliber pistol. Extremely popular among bhais and gangsters in Karachi, and mostly manufactured in the tribal areas. It comes in two versions: the Darra and the Chinese. The Chinese version is more sophisticated and expensive. Darra version is cheaper, dubious in standards, and many a time explodes in the hands of the user.

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TOPI: A hat