Electric Avenue
Alongside a longforgottencorner ofKarachi’s congestedautomobile district,a quiet revolution is gearinginto place. They have a namefor it. It’s affectionately calledElectric Avenue – not for itsneon signs, fluorescent whiteshowrooms, or glaring streetlights – but for its parade ofsilent, emission-free cars,bikes and other modes oftransportation that are quietlygliding past. A couple of yearsago, this was another Karachiroad, choked with potholesand chaos. Today, it’s aglimpse into Pakistan’s electricfuture that sprang from a nottoo-distant past.
It started with the earlyfood delivery riders whoswitched to Chinese-madeJolta electric scooters witha look that almost stoppedshort of resembling a Vespa. “Idon’t have to sporadically begfor three litres of fuel now!” Ioverheard one of the riders say.This was followed by a bankerfriend of mine who worked inIT and rolled in one day withhis MG ZS EV, shrugging offfuel hikes while his colleaguesheaved sighs of despair at thegas station. “People called mecrazy back then,” he confided.“Now they ask to take it for atest drive.” Word spread fromzero to 60 in three seconds.
With petrol pricesskyrocketing, middle-classfamilies were compelled toeye electric vehicles (EV)as a lifeline. Fortunately, thegovernment helped acceleratethe trend by slashing taxes,and waiving import duties sothat showrooms everywhere,especially along ElectricAvenue, were filled with BYDs,Hyundais, and the occasionalTesla – their ergonomiccurves drawing crowds likechildren to a carnival.
Most EVs on Electric Avenueare badged with Chineseemblems: MG, BYD, DFSK –all saturating the market withaffordable luxury, compellingcompetitors to adjust theirprices accordingly. “A NissanLeaf from Japan costs half ofwhat it did three years ago,” aused-car dealer informed me.“But the Atto 3? That’s the oneeveryone wants – good range,fancy screen, and enoughroom on the back seat toprocreate the next generationof Mandarin speakers.”
Then (after the India-Pakistan patch-up, and theTrump-Musk divorce) weheard whispers in an EastCoast, American accent. Postthe US-Pakistan trade talks,rumours swirled of cheaperTeslas, of Ford’s MustangMach-E and Chevrolet’sEquinox dodging steep taxes.Alright, so they are stillrich men’s toys. But at thecafé near Electric Avenue,mechanics sipping chaidebated whether China wouldstill rule if the Americansdropped prices the way theydrop bombs.
Not everythingcruises as smoothlyas an EV, of course.“I love my EV,” apatron at ElectricAvenue told me,“until I need tocharge it.” Becausehe got tired of locatinga charging station, hehad one installed next to hiselectric meter at his house.“It’s about Rs 8,000 for 500kilometres,” he boasted. Thecity’s infrastructure is playingcatch up: a few solar-poweredhubs here, a shopping mallplug-in there. The design teamof Mode Bikes (beautiful bikes,by the way) are stepping in byletting their riders swap theirbatteries (branded Power2GO)like propane tanks. No waiting.“It’s Pakistan,” grins the owner,“when we improvise, we rulethe world.”
If you find yourself walkingdown Electric Avenue, don’tbe offended by the salespitches. They are everywhere.Billboards scream, “ZeroPetrol, 100% Savings,” whilepaid influencers broadcastthemselves gliding pasttraffic in stealth luxury.Meanwhile, Chinese brandsare leaning into Urdujingles and local celebrityendorsements while thepremium ones flaunt “GermanEngineering, American Tech”to woo customers with somesemblance of Westernprestige. By thetime night falls, EVheadlights – cool blueinstead of halogenyellow – stream thestreet like a scenefrom a sci-fi film.Electric Avenue is notjust a road anymore. It is atesting ground for Pakistan’swallets, its power grid, andits appetite for change. Therevolution won’t happenovernight. But as the bikeswhisper past and the chargingstations multiply,one thing is clear.
The future has a plug, andPakistanis are reaching for it.
Faraz Maqsood Hamidi is CCO andCEO, The D’Hamidi Partnership, aworldwide partner agency of WPI.