In the shadow of the M9 motorway, where Karachi’s urban sprawl begins to surrender to the dusty plains of Gadap Town, lies a landscape defined by legal silence and human noise. To the casual observer, Gulshan-e-Mehran is a “contested” void—a vast tract of land abandoned by its owners, tangled in the bureaucratic knots of land-ownership controversies that haunt much of the city’s periphery. Yet, for the women of the neighboring Haji Ghulam Zakarya Goth, this legal no-man’s-land is not a void; it is a vital, albeit grueling, forest of survival.
The Green Paradox
Gulshan-e-Mehran is a paradox of Karachi’s ecology. While the city’s central districts choke on concrete, every monsoon transforms this abandoned land into a sprawling expanse of wild shrubs and hardy plantations. The rains do not just water the earth; they “strengthen the existing green lungs” of the area, providing a lush contrast to the RCC structures of the Goth. But this is no recreational park. In a settlement (the Goth) that is not an official recipient of Sui Gas (natural gas) from the Sui Southern Gas Company (SSGC), these shrubs are the only source of energy that keeps stoves burning and families fed.
A Marketplace of Wood and Sweat
On any given afternoon, the main road of the Goth becomes a makeshift timber market. Local vendors, armed with machetes, venture into the contested thickets of Gulshan-e-Mehran to harvest what nature has provided for free. They haul the cuttings to the roadside, piling bundles of dry wood and green scrub for sale. For those with a few rupees to spare, this is the “informal utility” that replaces the missing gas lines.
However, the “poorest of the poor” within the Goth cannot afford even these modest prices. For them, the harvest of Gulshan-e-Mehran requires a different currency: physical endurance.
The Burden of the Head-Load
The sight is as common as it is heart-wrenching. A couple of women and young girls, equipped with small axes, trek deep into the abandoned land. They spend hours under a relentless sun, hacking away at the tough, thorny branches of the Kikar and other wild shrubs. Once a bundle is secured, it is hoisted onto the head—a weight that often exceeds twenty kilograms.
The journey home is a gauntlet. These women must carry their burden for a minimum of one kilometer across broken tracks and through clouds of pervasive dust. It is a walk of necessity, performed with a “purposeful swiftness” that masks the physical toll on their spines and joints. In Haji Ghulam Zakarya Goth, the absence of gas translates directly into a kilometer-long walk with a bundle of wood on one’s head.
Winter: The Season of Amplification
While this cycle of harvesting continues year-round, the arrival of winter amplifies the desperation. As the temperature drops in the Malir plains, the demand for fuel spikes. Gas pressures in neighboring “formal” areas often plummet, but in the Goth, there is no pressure to lose—only more wood to find. The “absence of cooking fuel” becomes a life-threatening crisis as families require heat for warmth as well as cooking.
The women who carry the wood are the same ones who sit over the smoky fires in cramped, poorly ventilated kitchens. The resulting respiratory issues are a silent epidemic, a direct byproduct of the “infrastructural void” they inhabit.
Conclusion: The Contested Gift
Gulshan-e-Mehran remains a ghost of a housing project, its owners absent and its future uncertain. But for the 25,000 households of Haji Ghulam Zakarya Goth, the land has been “re-imagined” as a communal forest. It is a blessing born of neglect—a natural resource that fills the gap left by service providers
As the sun sets over the Goth, the smoke rising from hundreds of RCC homes tells a story of a community that refuses to starve. It is a story of women who navigate contested lands and carry the weight of a city’s failure on their heads, one bundle of wood at a time. The “greenery” of Gulshan-e-Mehran is not a sign of urban health; it is a marker of an ongoing, daily battle for dignity in the face of systemic abandonment.