Saadat was not an easy catch.

Ever since he had left, he appeared to be on the run. Away from the familiar faces. From the dreadful “whys”. From a hauntingly good career that was bad in personal ways. From himself. Toward himself.

It took me half a dozen attempts to eventually get him to see me over a cup of tea one weekend last month. The plan was to catch up on the past year and a half in my favourite place in Karachi, the TDF Ghar rooftop cafe, while watching the metropolitan sunset skies spanning over the bustling MA Jinnah Rd. As I showed up ahead of time to make a reservation, I was barred from going upstairs by a barista saying Saturdays were family-only. I chuckled to him that he’d sure as hell let me in if I paired up with one of the girls roaming about. He nodded back in all seriousness leaving no doubt in our deal being a no-go tonight.

Saadat showed up almost on time in khakis and a tartan plaid button-down, carrying his usual charismatic smile, looking cheerful and vivacious; certainly not a deer in the headlights. I have visited old friends before, only to find out I did not recognize them anymore but Saadat was a relief to see. People perhaps take longer to change beyond recognition. It’s perhaps even selfish to expect they wouldn’t change when we don’t have the faintest idea of what’s going on in their lives. I cleared up my head clouding with philosophical queries. I had to be in the moment. For the sake of this rare weekend away from work, the sunset smelling of sea and life, the streets of old Karachi before me as inviting as a ripe woman and an old friend who’s still recognizable!

Now that our evening tea in the cafe was down the drain, I remembered I had a shoe to be mended so we took off in the labyrinthine streets under the lavendar skies of Jamshed Quarters in search of a road-side cobbler. Our mundane conversation happened in the music of silencer-less bikes sputtering away, birds getting noisy on a tree beside a street-shrine of sorts and the melodious azaan for Maghreb prayers. Under the curious stares of street dogs, loafing teens and disapproving worshippers, off we walked and wondered if cafes and their expensive food were any better than the poetry of the narrow streets and the twilight shadows floating through them.

Besides being a friend, Saadat has been a really interesting character to me ever since he has taken “the decision”. The way he risked his comfort, security and status, basically all he had deservedly achieved in his early twenties, over a ‘turn of pitch-and-toss’ is reminiscent of the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling. He wouldn’t have someone dictate their terms to him which is quite bossy, if you ask me, and manly if you ask Kipling. It’s something that sets him apart from the crowd. I value this rarity in a man.

Anyway, as the twilight gave way to the pitch dark of the night, and the familiar shadows started lurking in distance, we decided to call it a night. As long as he’s here, I look forward to seeing him as often as I can, or not at all if he can’t; but I’m more interested in preserving the endless meetups and conversations we have already had. They hold enough drama and humor to last a lifetime; as long as I’m able to preserve.