I FIRST arrived in Karachi in 2007, and since then I have watched this city going through the ebb and flow of life. I was but a young soul back then, untouched by life`s complexities. As the years unfolded before my eyes, I became a silent observer of the myriad miseries that the people of this sprawling metropolis endure due to a ceaseless influx of individuals from every corner of the great country.

In this urban jungle, I embarked on a journey of advocacy, only to uncover the intricate tapestry of deceit that is spun by clever and cunning legal minds. Advocates, with their legal jiggery-pokery and gimmicks, navigate the labyrinthine paths ofjustice, often at the expense of unsuspectingsouls seekingsolace within the law`s embrace.

Behind the imposing walls of city courts, I have witnessed the haunting visages of a lot of unfortunate souls being taken around in handcuffs. Many of these individuals are generally driven to commit petty crimes in a desperate bid for survival. They are the ones who are actually caught by the lawenforcers, while the bigger fish continue to have fun in the pond of luxury.

Their weary faces, marked by the weight of their shackles, always make for an agonising spectacle that unfolds before the eyes of their own kin, including innocent children who come to witness the trials of their fathers.

Beyond the courtroom`s hallowed halls, the city splitting at the seams with poverty-stricken masses who roam the unforgiving streets of Karachi, their lives marred by hardship and despair.

The very thoroughfare leadingtothecourt, named the M.A. Jinnah Road, has for decades been a silent spectator to the city`s endless chaos, perpetually choked by the tidal wave of commuters, particularly the multitude of advocates who descend upon the nerve-centre of the city`s legal apparatus.

Karachi, a city of never-ending hustle and unrelentingbustle,also carriesthe weight of beggars and the destitute. It is a city where millions of migrants have found themselves washed ashore, bearing the scars of the kind of past they have witnessed.

In their makeshift slums, where even basic facilities are but a distant dream, they eke out a living through menial labour, or, in some cases, through illegal activities out of their desperation to make ends meet.

Karachi, I have heard, was once a beacon of architectural beauty, a testament to meticulous planning and design. Majestic buildings graced its landscape,exudinga grandeurthatis now a distant memory. The city had been a paragon ofcleanliness and order, but the ravages of time are now visible.

Political disputes, religious extremism and the echoes of bomb blasts have transformed this once-proud city. It had weathered storms and emerged unscarred, which is a testament to the indomitable spirit of its people, who cling to hope amid a rather tumultuous sea of adversity that has become an unfortunate hallmark of their existence.

Tufail Ahmed Mashori Karachi