For desk researchers and armchair scholars, a Sindhi village may seem dull and passive, often described as a place devoid of energy and liveliness. However, this perspective overlooks the vibrant realities of village life, which is deeply woven with cultural, social and economic threads. Last week, I glanced at my field diaries and gathered them according to similar themes. The first and foremost entries were about Sindhis that exist in the vicinity of railway stations. When I was associated with the development sector and worked in particular districts for nearly a decade, I found that the proximity of the villages to railway stations has considerably shaped the social, cultural, and economic life of these villages.
However, as I write my deliberations, I would like to mention that these are my personal observations, which are very much conditioned by my socio-cultural background, professional skills, worldview, ideological inclination, and the unnoticed influence of the organisation with which I was associated. The contents of this article depict my observations of some villages in Khairpur Mir’s. It is clear that this write-up discusses villages that exist on the left bank of the Indus River.
I observed that villages located near railway stations were notably influenced by railway culture. In their Otaqs (male gathering places) and homes, I saw posters of the leaders of railway trade unions, and their economic activities were often connected to nearby towns or railway stations. In most cases, household items and utensils were purchased or ordered from cities in Punjab—Gujrat, Gujranwala, Multan and Lahore. These items were brought by their village people, who were employees of the railways. I also heard calls from shopkeepers: “It is Lahore rate,” or “Gujranwala rate” etc. Regular conversations in these villages frequently included railway terminology, with words like ‘platform,’ ‘ticket,’ ‘conductor,’ ‘engine,’ ‘station master’ and ‘signal’ being used in various contexts.
Interestingly, male and female fashion was considerably influenced by Pakistan Television’s famous drama Sona-Chandi, penned by Munnu Bhai. In the drama, the role of Sona was played by actor Hamid Rana, while Sheeba Hassan acted as Chandi. In these villages, dietary habits were also influenced by Punjabi culture. For instance, parathas, yogurt, pickles, lassi, and meals with seasonal vegetables were common items. However, in typical Sindhi villages, tea and papa (low-quality cookies) were common features in the morning, and a single vegetable was served at lunchtime.
Another important observation was that invitation cards for weddings and other social events were typically written in Urdu and included various religious salutations. Regarding religious-spiritual images, a common poster in their Otaqs and homes was that of Hazrat Abdul Qadir Jilani. Once, in a village I pointed to the poster and asked an old man as to what it said. He told me that near the river or sea (he corrected himself), a wedding procession was underway. The bride and groom were traveling across the river/sea in a boat filled with family and friends. Tragically, the boat capsized in the middle of the river/sea. Everyone on board struggled, but the boat sank. Those gathered on the shore included a mother of the bridegroom, who was a devotee of Abdul Qadir Jilani, known for his piety and miraculous deeds. In desperation, the devotee prayed fervently to the saint, asking for help to save the couple and those who had fallen into the water. Moved by the heartfelt plea, Abdul Qadir Jilani appeared in the devotee's vision and assured her that he would intervene. Moments later, the waters began to calm, and the boat miraculously resurfaced, intact, with the bride and groom unharmed. The old man reverently folded his hands and continued, “The villagers watched in awe as the couple emerged from the water, safe and sound.” He closed his eyes and ended the story, “Badshah Pir protected them by his divine force (Karamat).”
Interestingly, in the same Otaq, not very far but in the same line, I also saw a faded poster of the film Heer Ranjha. I asked the old man about the poster. He told me that it was at least a fifteen-year-old poster. With a melancholy tone, he said that he had seen it four times: two times with friends in Lahore and two shows in Sukkur. He asked me if I had seen any photos of Firdous?. Instead of replying, I asked him, “Who was she?” He became silent, perhaps thinking about how ignorant I was. Then he broke his silence and said, “Firdous was an actress, and she played the role of Heer in the film.” I captured the rhythm of the conversation and asked, “Was she beautiful?” He raised his head and gazed at me, saying, “She had a well-built physique, dark eyes, glowing skin, long, thick black hair, and height equal to that of a man.” He ended his sentence, stating that she was vibrant; her single body movement was enough to stop onlookers’ hearts, and in low tone he sang, “Sun wanjli di mithri tan we; main ta ho gayi qurban we.”
Frequent visits helped me to understand that power lay with the villager who held a high-ranking position in the railway. Remarkably, I also noted that these villagers had friends from towns and cities in Punjab. Their daily routines and even time management were closely linked to the arrival, crossing and departure of specific trains. For example, I often heard women saying things like, “I prepare breakfast when so-and-so train arrives,” or “I finish my household chores by the time so-and-so train departs.”
The gradual decline of rail services has led to the erosion of economic links between these villages and the broader urban economy. Once bustling hubs of activity, these stations have lost their significance, leaving the surrounding communities increasingly isolated
It should be noted that proximity to railway tracks cannot impact village life, but closeness to a railway station often acts as a catalyst for local economic activity. If a station is isolated or opened to serve distant settlements, residents of nearby villages may open small shops at the station, which can gradually evolve into permanent bazaars. The shop owners commute daily, arriving at dawn to set up their stalls and closing them at sunset. This pattern creates a vibrant yet transient local market, relying on the frequency of trains, the type of trains (local or express; shuttle or long distance), their stops, and the stop time of each train. Gradually, such bazaars serve as halting spaces for students who commute regularly, as well as village patients who attend nearby rural health centres or hospitals.
Amusingly, in these villages (near railway stations), light-hearted and sometimes vulgar jokes often incorporated railway terminology. During the long winter nights, I heard many of these jokes. These could be categorised as: platform humour, ticketing humour, and conductor jokes. Conversations at nearly every Otaq included endless social commentary about trains and their journeys, alongside real, imagined, or overheard love stories tied to railway travel.
Last month, after twenty years, I visited some villages and noticed that rural life had changed adversely. The main reason was the poor performance of the Pakistan Railways system – frequent cancellations of train stops, reductions in the number of trains and a rise in accidents. These issues have severely disrupted the business cycles that were once closely tied to train travel and station business, impacting both urban and rural economies.
For instance, Rehmani Nagar Station (Sita Road), Piyaro Goth Station and Phulji Station were once integral to the livelihoods of approximately a hundred villages situated in the fertile riverine areas along the Indus River until the late 1970s. The railway system provided essential connectivity, enabling farmers and traders to transport their goods to markets and access necessary services. However, as the railway infrastructure has deteriorated over the years, the economic viability of these stations has diminished. The gradual decline of rail services has led to the erosion of economic links between these villages and the broader urban economy. Once bustling hubs of activity, these stations have lost their significance, leaving the surrounding communities increasingly isolated.
Now, the advent of superhighways and trunk roads has further exacerbated this situation. While these new roads have improved access for some, they have inadvertently marginalised the very villages that previously relied on the railway stations for connectivity. As a result, many of these communities have been pushed into poverty, cut off from the microeconomic activities that have developed around bus stops and road networks. This isolation has profound implications. Villagers of nearby villages (adjacent to railway stations) now face significant barriers to accessing markets, education, healthcare, and other vital services. The economic opportunities that once flourished due to the proximity to railway stations have largely vanished, leaving these villages with limited options for growth and development. Restoring and revitalising the railway system could serve as a lifeline for these neglected communities.
By re-establishing train services, we could reconnect these villages to the wider economic landscape, facilitating trade and access to resources. Such an initiative would not only promote economic activity but also foster social cohesion and resilience within these communities. I believe the revival of the railway system could thus play a crucial role in combating poverty and enhancing the quality of life for residents in these areas.
However, it is true that these villages, much like other rural areas of Pakistan, are also undergoing significant changes, and their survival compels them to adapt to new circumstances and accept new influences.