The Billboards of Summer

Nine months into relocation from Houston, and I am not racking my head to figure out what comparative essay to write as a next entry for the “Karachi-Houston Diaries”. The reason being, that what I want to write about stares me in the face every time I venture out on to the streets of Karachi.

Advanced capitalism is prevalent in both Houston and Karachi. This is evident by the billboards promoting their commercial wares in both cities. But the art and science of advertising using huge attractive hoardings has been taken to another level in Karachi, and Houston is not quite up to mark as yet. All you have to do is drive down Shara-e-Faisal, a major thoroughfare in Karachi, for you to realize what I’m talking about.

As summer approaches the majority of the billboards advertise a fabric called ‘lawn’. Lawn is described by Wikipedia, my most trusted online source of information, as a textile that is chiefly made from cotton and it tends to be lightweight, crisp and sheer. It was only on relocation to Karachi that I saw the transformation of billboards from advertising somewhat random products to an almost uninterrupted coverage to lawn dresses by different dress designers. Initially I was amazed by the countless number of presumably high end designers and then I started seeing trends. The same names would reappear every few minutes – and therefore the same faces. The models are trendy and dress chic and the haute couture is fabulous; in essence mighty pleasing to the eye. The backdrop of the sea and surf or greenery elevates the advertising to a surrealistic level, given that it’s Karachi: what you are surrounded by are honking cars, hollering people, pedestrians and occasionally dogs zipping across the ‘freeway’, rickshaws and motorcycles competing for the right of passage, and so on. In that maddening rush looking at lawn toting fashionistas transports you to a divine place; something that certainly does not happen when you look at gun toting armed guards on trucks also whizzing past. And then you suddenly realize that driving and looking at billboards can be hazardous because of the constant distractions. Perhaps driving and billboard ogling for the driver should be considered a potential road traffic violation, akin to driving and texting or talking on the cell phone. The outcome of a car crash while looking at anything other than the road will be equally devastating.  That thought is transient because the next billboard advertising lawn from the competitor comes up.

I had never seen such a set up in Houston, hence seeing it in Karachi certainly generated an intriguing contrast. More than seeing the different patterns and designs of the fabric, it was observing the models adorning the lawn fabric that was such a reminder of the schism in Karachi society. Perhaps that is why you also see billboards, although few and far apart, that condemn the flashy woman-centric advertising with their “say no to vulgarity” exhortations. I think one can do comparative cultural anthropology just observing billboards during the “lawn season” in Karachi, and you will learn much about people here.

Other than the obvious clothes being promoted and propagated through state of the art advertising, you see women adorning billboards with other commercial products in mind. For instance, there’s this billboard that belongs to a famous American fast food chain. It has no food item on it. It has instead two not very comely women’s faces with the caption “more than just a piece of meat”. The point is that at times, it’s not quite clear to me what or who(m) is being advertised. Perhaps that is subtle advertising.

But the best award for advertising goes to a famous sanitary pad maker that depicts a large (literally huge) sanitary pad with a flashing purple-tinged spotlight effect at nighttime. Thankfully there’s no woman, comely or otherwise, adorning that particular billboard. Sanity still prevails.



Acknowledgment: This article was first published by the Houston Inner Looper Newspaper (April 2014). Photo courtesy Dr. Akbar Mistry, medical graduate of the Aga Khan University, also a freelance photographer and a teacher at Nikon.

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