Today was a very hot day. And I know, fellow Karachiites, or anyone who's ever visited Karachi in the summers shall probably raise and eyebrow and shrug at this statement since Karachi is a city which is very, very hot approximately eight months out of twelve. Today, however, took the heat to a new level, and I'm not just saying that because I got my rear fried on the leather seat of a car parked in the direct sunlight all day. Despite a firm offer of a ride home from the university from my aunt, I decided to brave the heat and take the bus home. I knew starting out that if I was very lucky, I might get a bus with working air-conditioning. Luckily, I did manage to get the sole UTS-21 in the city with air conditioning that still functions and gratefully stepped aboard.

Once on board, while filling in the gaps between the rhythmic wheezes and vrooms of the bus with finger-tapping, I realised something that most of you have probably thought up already in your travels: Air conditioning is the great divider in our city, the grand line that divides the "have-too-much's" from the "don't-have-none's". Look around in any busy street. There will be people with air conditioning, laid back and uninterestedly observing the slow movement of traffic and the methodic wiping of sweat from various brows. And then there are the others, the people with no air conditioning to cushion them from the stroke-inducing heat of the afternoon. Neutral territory, I realised, was this particular bus.

When this majestic bus wheezed to a halt and those doors opened in front of you, it was like an invitation to step it up for a while: to be one of those unconcerned behind the car windows that need never be opened for fear of heat, dust, smoke and germs penetrating the cool, comfortable interior. The extreme blue everywhere you look within the bus is enough to convince you that you have left that drab, dusty world of the Karachi roads behind. Settle into a seat, enjoy the cool air. This is first class public transport, my friend. When you arrive at your destination, you calmly approach the "airlock" and press a little buzzer above your head. Brakes are immediately applied and the grand sliding doors skid open with an appropriately deflated sound. Step back down to reality, you're back in the dust.