2nd November, 1943: Two sides of Karachi

 Yousaf Witchcooy - our banana man, called rather early. I asked him for his autograph - and in good English, he replied, "No, you write, I can't, I never went to school". To hear of an Indian never having been to school is less astonishing than to hear that he had. But, Banana Willie, he did rather surprise me, for he is a man who has travelled all over Europe. He had a heart of gold though, and this seemed to be appreciated by all. Some of his best sayings are really humorous, especially coming from an Indian.

"Take it easy, kid"

"Rich man OK! Me - poor man buggered up"

"Good oranges today - the real MacKay"

Yousaf, pal - keep up that good spirit.

We all went to town during the afternoon but did not stay there long, we were back again well before dinner time. Joe and I returned after dinner, but followed another street where the tram lines are. This street is full of European houses - occupied largely by the White man Sahib. It was dark, and a mere glance was suffice to see the people through the lattice work doors and windows. In several houses we saw beautiful white girls but we were "on the outside looking in"

"What have we done to deserve all this?" We were feeling lots of things - but such things are not our lot. 

We walked on through what I had begun to think of as the "Beggar Land". We walked on for about two miles, into the native side of town. It is a beautiful district, wide streets and large flats and boarding houses on either side. Indians were the only people we could see, we must have been out of bounds, but we were out to see Karachi. The crime in the service is not the deed, but allowing oneself to be caught doing it.

One little beggar girl followed us for baksheesh, "Banana Sahib" she kept repeating, and I gathered she wanted a banana. She was a sweet kid of about eight, but not backward or bashful. She was not satisfied with the half anna I gave her. I gave her the last coin I had - an anna - I was now flat broke. At last I felt in a position to approach any beggar and say "Me poor - me no money". It might have done some good, but I very much doubt this.

All these huge blocks of buildings had verandas. People sat or stood on these and chatted quietly. The night air is so good, so cool and fresh after the unbearable heat of day. Just as many British people might go outside on a clear evening after a heavy day's rain, to breathe freely again, so these people came out for the cool breeze of night.

We saw a worship meeting looking from the outside. Men and women sat on the floor - all dressed in good clothes, the men wearing skull caps. We did not stay there many seconds, these people might be very touchy where their religion is concerned.

Upon our return walk, we called at a native café, it looked dirty enough from the outside, but inside it was better than we had expected. Joe was going to spend his last chip. We sat at a table, and a native waiter came running up, took our orders for iced drinks, and thinking this was his opportunity for a tip, put the fan on for us. We were not in such a pleasant financial position, so we wasted no time over our drinks. Why should he waste his electricity for nothing. This was hardly cricket.

We had another drink at the native café near the station, and old Joe, as per usual, "Keep the change, blow the expense". He had two annas left.