GHARO, SINDH: As the scent of marinated meat sizzling on open flames wafts through neighborhoods in Karachi this Eid Al-Adha, few pause to consider where the fire itself comes from. 

The crackle beneath the skewers and the smoke that perfumes the city’s rooftops and courtyards originate not just from the sacrifice of animals, but from a quieter, often forgotten labor force deep in rural Sindh.

The joy of Eid barbecues, the centerpiece of celebration for many families, is ignited by the enduring heat of charcoal, most of which is produced in the blistering kilns of Pakistan’s southern Sindh province. Along a dusty belt stretching from the coastal town of Gharo in Thatta district to the southeastern edge of Pakistan bordering India, thousands of kilns work year-round, fueling festive fires across the country.

Charcoal, valued for its high, consistent heat and the signature smoky flavor it imparts, is a barbecue staple during Eid. Whether it’s tender beef skewers, spicy mutton chops, or lamb cooked Pashtun-style in a rosh pot, nearly every Eid dish cooked on open flame starts with charcoal. And come Eid, demand spikes sharply.

“Our peak season is during Eid Al-Adha when people prepare sacrificial meat at home and at barbecues, and it is also cooked in hotels,” said Khushhal Khan, a kiln owner in Gharo. “This leads to an increase in our business.”

Khan owns 14 kilns. Like many in the informal charcoal trade, his work is unregistered but vital.

According to estimates from local producers, Sindh is home to over 2,000 charcoal-making establishments, each operating around 15 kilns. Combined, they produce roughly 72,000 metric tons of charcoal every month, much of which is funneled into urban centers like Karachi in the days before Eid.

“NO EID WITHOUT CHARCOAL”

The process of making charcoal is as ancient as it is arduous. 

Large nine-foot mud kilns are loaded with carefully stacked wood, around 45 to 50 maunds (approximately 1.8 to 2 metric tons) per batch. Once the wood is in place, the kiln is sealed with mud and ignited through a top opening.

It then burns slowly for several days, without oxygen, transforming into dense black chunks of carbon. Managing this burn requires constant vigilance.

“If the fire is too intense, the charcoal becomes low quality,” said Niaz Khan, who has worked at kilns for two decades. “It needs to be burned at a steady, medium flame.”

Once cooled, the charcoal is extracted, sifted, and bundled for transport.

“This is not easy work,” Niaz added. “Our forefathers have been doing this work, making charcoal, and we are still continuing it.”

The next link in the chain lies in the markets of Karachi. Trucks loaded with charcoal pull into warehouses and shops like the one run by Muhammad Younus, whose family has sold fuel in the city since 1956.

“This charcoal comes from interior Sindh, from areas like Badin, Gharo, Thatta and Sujawal,” Younus said from his store in Karachi’s old city district. 

“On normal days, most buyers are hotel owners. But during Eid Al-Adha, the demand increases because every household … is preparing to cook the sacrificial meat.”

Normally, Younus sells around 150 kilograms of charcoal per day. But during Eid season, that figure can jump to 400 kilograms or more. 

Purchased from kiln operators at around Rs2,200 per maund (40kg), the charcoal is sold at retail for about Rs100 per kilogram.

“Some people buy two, five or even 10 kilograms,” he said. “In every home, cows are slaughtered, meat is kept, children do barbecues on rooftops, families hold gatherings inside their homes and parties take place.”

“ROOFTOPS COME ALIVE”

In Karachi’s packed neighborhoods, rooftops come alive after the Eid sacrifice. 

Families, especially young men and children, light coals in metal grills and prepare platters of marinated meat. The flames flicker, music plays, and conversations stretch into the night.

“We invite our relatives, make our rooftops lively and there is a bustle,” said Jabir Khan, a city resident shopping for charcoal. “The barbecue becomes a festive event.”

Despite rising prices, charcoal remains central to the Eid experience in urban Pakistan. It is not just a fuel, it’s a cultural bridge that links the sacrifice to the celebration, rural toil to urban delight, and labor to memory.

“Without charcoal, there is no barbecue,” Jabir said simply. 

“And without barbecue, Eid feels incomplete.”

ISLAMABAD: With sacrificial goats commanding million-rupee price tags this Eid Al-Adha, many in Pakistan’s capital are seeking solace not in the livestock markets, but in a humbler tradition: a chilled bowl of falooda — a silky, rose-scented dessert layered with ice cream, nostalgia, and just enough sweetness to lift a heat- and inflation-weary soul.

A dessert with Persian roots, falooda made its way to South Asia during the Mughal era, evolving from a frozen, rose-infused noodle pudding in Iran to the vibrant, multi-textured treat beloved across Pakistan today.

At its best, falooda is an edible symphony, a tangle of thin vermicelli swimming in cold milk, softened basil seeds (tukhmalanga) floating like miniature pearls, and a generous scoop of vanilla or kulfi ice cream crowning the glass. The final touch is a fragrant pour of rose syrup, turning the whole concoction into a pink-hued celebration of summer — and now Eid.

Nowhere is this more evident than at Bata Kulfi Falooda, a small, family-run dessert shop in Islamabad’s bustling I-8 Markaz marketplace.

There, amid the clatter of spoons and the hum of Eid shoppers, customers line up for what’s become a seasonal staple, the shop’s signature Matka Falooda, served in traditional clay bowls that keep the dessert ice-cold, even under the blazing June sun.

“We first opened in Peshawar [northwestern city] in 1962,” said Shah Faisal, the shop’s manager, as he rushed between customers to take orders. “In 2015, we brought the same taste to Islamabad. Nothing has changed. The ingredients, the method, even the feel of it, it all comes from Peshawar.”

During Eid week, Bata Kulfi Falooda’s signature Matka Falooda becomes more than a dessert. It’s a celebration in a bowl.

“It’s a memory in every bite,” said Muhammad Kamil, a 27-year-old student who had just returned from a livestock market, saying he was stunned by the jaw-dropping prices.

“Right at the entrance, we saw a goat priced at Rs1.5 million [$5,350]. A little further in, there was a sheep for Rs2 million [$7,140],” Kamil said as he waited for his bowl of falooda.

“After seeing a goat worth Rs1.5 million, only ice cream could cool us down, otherwise it would’ve been hard to keep the spirit of sacrifice alive.”

Determined to celebrate in his own way, Kamil turned to falooda, at a far more palatable Rs450 ($1.60) per bowl.

What drew him in, he said, was the comforting presentation: the cold earthen bowl, the soft noodles slicked with syrup, and the melting scoop of ice cream sinking slowly into the milky depths. He’s even considering gifting bowls of it to friends this Eid.

Indeed, with families across Islamabad and beyond rethinking how to celebrate Eid this year, it may not be the size of the goat that sets the mood but rather the shared sweetness of something simple, familiar, and deeply rooted in tradition.

So, while this Eid may see fewer families walking home from markets with goats in tow, many are still finding ways to savor the spirit of the season with a humble bowl of falooda, which is doing more than just cooling people down — it’s lifting spirits, one spoonful at a time.

According to shop manager Faisal, falooda easily outpaces even their famous kulfi in popularity during the Eid holidays.

“In this heat and with everything getting so expensive, people still want something festive,” he said. “And falooda brings joy that doesn’t cost a fortune.”