Karachi, the capital of Sindh, is not merely among the 12 largest cities in the world and the largest in Pakistan — it is the country’s most ethnically diverse and truly cosmopolitan hub. Yet, the city often attracts ill-informed and reactive commentary, particularly from those unfamiliar with its unique historical, sociological and geographical underpinnings.

The city’s complexity is often oversimplified into political statements — as if mere political allegiance dictates whether one likes or dislikes it. This tendency even affects some Karachiites, whose view of the city fluctuates between ‘doing well’ and ‘hell’ based on which party holds power. To truly understand Karachi, one must look beyond politics, to its identity as a thriving port city.

Karachi’s coastal location has endowed it with a ‘maritime mindset’ — a characteristic shared by port cities globally. A 2021 study in the European Journal of Creative Practices in Cities and Landscapes notes that port cities have historically been “nodes for global flows of goods, people and ideas”, fostering an environment of diversity and tolerance. 

Residents in port cities are often more accustomed to change and open to new ideas than those in landlocked areas. The sea itself is embedded in the collective consciousness, capable of evoking awe and serving as a backdrop for reflection. However, for a majority of present-day Karachiites, this consciousness is relatively recent.

Karachi’s maritime soul — once buried under waves of migration from landlocked regions — is now re-emerging and redefining

Before 1947, the majority of Karachi’s inhabitants — mostly Sindhi-, Balochi- and Gujarati-speaking Muslims, Hindus and Zoroastrians — were strictly tied to the port and the sea. But the city’s demography and culture underwent a seismic shift post-Partition. Millions of Urdu-speaking Muslims (Mohajirs) began arriving from landlocked regions of India, quickly becoming the majority. 

This migration initially brought a cultural struggle against the city’s inherent maritime identity. For example, the local seafood culture almost vanished, replaced by the ‘Mughal dishes’ of the newcomers. Early Urdu cinema established in Karachi rarely featured the sea, instead replicating the urban imaginations rooted in the landlocked environs that the Mohajirs had left behind. The sea only began to appear in films from the late 1960s, mostly as a ‘picnic spot.’ The Mohajir community took decades to develop a maritime mindset.

As Karachi rapidly industrialised, further landlocked communities arrived. Pakhtuns from present-day Khyber Pakhtunkhwa became the primary labour force, building factories and homes, and later dominated transport (buses, rickshaws and taxis). Punjabis migrated here, continuing the British-era practice of joining the city’s police force. Sindhis from so-called ‘interior Sindh’ also began a gradual move to the metropolis. And in the 1980s, Afghans from landlocked Afghanistan began to settle in the city as well.

As landlocked communities came to form the majority, Karachi’s maritime mindset began to disintegrate. The city became home to ethnic ghettoisation and conflict. Settlers often compared it unfavourably to their places of origin, using Karachi as a temporary abode rather than a home to be owned. This disconnect contributed to political volatility.

The Mohajir community, represented by the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM) after 1985, often lamented this fractured identity. However, as the Mohajir majority began to shrink and other groups opted for different political parties, especially the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), many Mohajirs began to revert to their earlier landlocked disposition.

But despite the struggles, the city’s inherent maritime mindset has returned, driven not by a single group, but by the undeniable economic, social and cultural impact of the sea. 

John M. Eger, Emeritus Professor of Public Policy at San Diego State University, highlights that “port cities are more tolerant, mostly because ports tend to attract people with fewer prejudices than the inner cities.” Tolerance becomes a prerequisite for survival in such a fluid environment.

Interestingly, it has been the city’s non-Mohajir communities that have largely led the way in restoring Karachi’s original maritime identity. Regardless of ethnic group or class, Krachiites now increasingly see the sea as something that defines them, and not as something that looked alien and even scary to their elders, who arrived here from ethnically homogeneous, landlocked regions. 

And for those who visit Karachi but don’t like it, I’d suggest they visit one of its many magnificent beaches, sit in front of the sea and reflect. One has to mould oneself according to the nature of the city because no city in the world will mould itself for you. This is especially true of folk coming from landlocked regions to port cities. Port cities don’t give a hoot what you think of them. They’re too busy and fluid, making a country’s economy run. And yours too. 

Landlocked shouldn’t mean one becomes brain-locked. Karachi is an open city like no other in the country. It can’t be locked inside a particular view of a ‘likeable city.’ It is a city inside which are many cities run by multiple departments. This confuses its many landlocked guests. There are many Karachis but each is defined by one sea. Visit one of its beaches on a Sunday and you shall understand.

Published in Dawn, EOS, November 9th, 2025