During the first ten days of Mohurrum, there is an intensity in the air. It doesn’t matter if one practices or not, we all conform to the notion of grieving. We are conscious of the colors we wear, the music we listen to or don’t. The procession in Old Karachi swarms down Bunder Road to the Jetty, and the road is closed off by trucks and old rail cars with policemen watching on all sides. Some even perch on the rail cars to redirect pedestrians and traffic. The group from Baltistan is large and their mourning the loudest.