KARACHI:

As the night deepens in Ramazan and much of the city falls silent, a steady beat still echoes through a cluster of streets in Karachi the rhythmic thud of a drum.

From Nipa to Gulshan, residents have come to recognise that sound as the mark of one man: Muhammad Chand.

For the past 10 to 12 years, he has walked these streets before dawn, waking families for ‘suhoor’, the pre-fast meal.

“I have been doing this for the last 10 to 12 years. By the grace of God, it makes me happy,” he says. “When I wake people up in the morning, it brings joy to my heart.”

Each night during Ramazan, he leaves his home at around 03:00 and spends nearly an hour moving through different lanes, beating his drum.

“I go from Nipa to Gulshan, through all the streets,” he explains. “I just play the drum, I don’t knock on doors.”

For Mohammad Chand, this is more than seasonal work. It is a family tradition.

“I am continuing this from my father’s side,” he says with pride, suggesting that it is not merely a source of income, but an inheritance.

Outside Ramadan, he works mornings at a factory in Sohrab Goth. Sleep is limited.

“I work here at night and then go to the factory in the morning. I only sleep two or three hours,” he says. “Thank God, everything is going well.”

The work is demanding, but he frames it as both devotion and service.

“Whatever people give happily, that is good,” he says. “On Eid, when they give Eidi, it makes us very happy.”

His earnings come mainly at the end of the holy month. On Eid, residents offer him a collective payment in recognition of his efforts.

“Usually, I receive between 30,000 and 35,000 rupees. Sometimes it goes up to 40,000,” he says with a smile. “Before, it was around the same. God is the provider on Eid day we find out how much it comes to.”

There is also an unwritten code among the drummers.

“Everyone has their own area. No one enters someone else’s territory,” he explains.

The practice of waking people for suhoor predates alarm clocks and mobile phones and forms part of a wider Islamic cultural tradition.

In Egypt, the Mesaharaty has roamed neighbourhoods for centuries, beating a drum and calling out residents by name. In Turkey, the Ramazan Davulcusu a custom dating back to the Ottoman era continues to patrol the streets during the holy month.

Similar traditions endure in parts of Syria and Jordan, albeit in evolving forms.

Although technology has reduced the practical need for such wake-up calls, for men like Mohammad Chand the role carries deeper meaning.

From the first fast of Ramadan to the final pre-dawn meal, he steps out each night with the same resolve.

“No one has ever told me, ‘Why are you making noise?'” he says. “I come to the same area every year. Everyone knows me.”

In a city defined by speed and change, where many customs fade into memory, the sound of a drum before dawn is a reminder that some traditions are not only about necessity but about connection, continuity and shared blessing.