Looking out across Karachi from the palace veranda you might be forgiven for thinking that you were in Tenerife. There were palm trees. Floral-painted buses forcing their way through the crowd. Street vendors selling savoury fritters from wicker baskets. Others walked like chain-men with buckets and tin cups swinging by their side as they sold water to the thirsty. Everywhere the 'toot-toot' of motor vehicles. There was a vibrancy in this young country, which had achieved independence scarcely five years before.During school holidays, when I was not attending the posh Mama Parsi High School, I might be travelling in a Jeep on one of Papa's many business trips to Afghanistan or India. But for the spoiled favourite daughter of a rich Persian Zoroastrian family, having everything was not enough. I had to throw it all away.