It’s a situation most drivers on Karachi’s major thoroughfares have experienced, especially on weekend nights and public holidays: a ghost motorcycle closing in at breakneck speed.

At first, it is little more than a blur in the rear-view mirror. Then, as it bears down, the driver finally registers the young man lying flat along the length of the motorcycle, his eyes peering forward just above the handlebar. The speedometer is missing. The rider’s arms are tucked tight to the side — either holding the handle or, in some cases, clutching the suspension on the sides and using shoulders to steer the handlebar. His legs lie flat or are scissored tightly at the ankle, his body locked in an aerodynamic pose.

Most drivers know what to do when faced with such a motorcycle: hold your line without moving in either direction. Do not brake suddenly. Do not swerve. Almost without fail, the rider veers away at the very last second, zigzagging between vehicles and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

But it is rarely a lone escape. A swarm of similar motorcycles arrives next, streaking past from every direction, forcing drivers to grip the steering wheel and mutter silent prayers — for the rider’s safety as much as their own. At these speeds, even a minor error — a sudden lane change, a startled brake, a moment’s hesitation — can prove fatal: not just for the motorcyclist but anyone sharing the road.

Daredevil motorbike riders speeding through the busy roads of Karachi without any protective gear have built up a vibrant subculture around themselves that is sustained often as much through social media as word of mouth. Why does this perilous practice continue to attract thrill-seekers and can it be made less dangerous, not just for the riders but also for those they share the roads with?

These riders, mostly young and often underage, wear no protective gear beyond goggles to keep the dust from blurring their vision. Their motorcycles are stripped to the bare minimum, every unnecessary part removed in pursuit of speed and control.

On Karachi’s roads, they are known by a single name: Shapatars.

WHAT MAKES A SHAPATAR?

The origins and the exact meaning of the term is unclear, though most experienced motorcycle racers in Karachi suggest it’s a portmanteau of sharp and funter [a local version of the term punter] and refers to those who show street smarts and mastery on two wheels at a young age.

The term has circulated since the 1990s, sometimes loosely associated with political muscle and petty crime, though racers insist this is no longer representative.

“Most of us are simply hardworking people who are passionate about racing,” says Muhammad Tariq, a stocky 24-year-old racer popularly known as Tariq 180. He is also a proficient mechanic and now runs a workshop. He left school early and started work as an apprentice in 2009.

Tariq’s forays into racing started with wheelies on his motorcycle. “Around 2013-14, I bought a CB 180cc bike, which resulted in me getting the name 180,” he says. But Tariq has one major advantage over a majority of his peers: he is not only a rider but also an ustaad, an expert mechanic who understands the ins and outs of a motorcycle and knows how to get the best out of it for any particular race.

But one young man, arguably the most well-known shapatar of Karachi, rose to the top of this illegal racing circuit based solely on his riding skills. His most famous race, also his last, remains shrouded in mystery and, seemingly, adds to his legend.

THE LEGEND OF BABU 70

Like Tariq, Uzaib Mustafa’s love for daredevilry began with doing wheelies on his bicycle while growing up in Gazdarabad (aka Ranchore........

© Dawn (Magazines)