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Malbari Hotel....An Old Man's Day dreams by Abdul Sattar Lakhana
We all four friends were sitting at the malbari hotel just chatting without any particular topic, just then Abdul Samad joined us, he was a property broker we all knew. He had come to meet Ghaffar Kapadia. We ordered tea for all of us thinking of availing the credit from our malbari.
When Kapadia and Samad began their talk, we became aware that Kapadia’s son Arif wanted to buy a seperate home of his own. Samad told Ghaffar that Arif wanted to buy a house which will cost one crore or more but Arif has twenty five lacs in his possession and dreaming of getting the rest from his father Ghaffar Kapadia. Samad asked Kapadia weather he had enough amount to provide to Arif so that he can go ahead and find some deal for him.
Colors on the face of Ghaffar Kapadia’s were changing rapidly. His mood turned violent and he began to use abusive language for his son.
What Ghaffar told us, was the story of all middle class families. His son Arif was the father of two children and his wife was expecting another baby. Arif knew very well that his father had no savings and still he fought with his mother for a separate home. Ghaffar had advised him not to get separate. Actually, the house in which they were living was owned by Ghaffar Kapadia while his son was running the expenses of house because Kapadia did not have any income.
Samad broker was a strong supporter of joint family system. He tried to convince Arif about his parents’ troubles that they endured to raise him and in educating him in a way that he was getting a decent income and now he was trying a solo flight leaving the parents on the dry ground.
We were listening but could not remain silent any longer. I was the one who spoke up first. I asked Kapadia to sell his house to his son Arif at market price. Samad broker informed that the house will go easily for fifty lacs, but Arif had only twenty five lacs and that was also engaged in stock exchange.
Yakoob Kiriya could not remain silent he said that it is very difficult for Arif to find a luxury home with baby sitting and house keeping service all for free.
Siddique Master went one step further, he asked kapadia that he should neglect their grand-son and daughter-in-law totally. When the children will miss the school, milkman will go back without delivering milk and Arif will run out to get tea for his wife his mind will come to right place.
Yakoob Kiria was family type amongst four of us. He said that Arif's wife was expecting a third child and this was a time, every lady wants some older woman like the mother-in-law to be on her side. Ghaffar told us that the whole thing started when one day his wife asked his daughter in law where they were going which made arif very angry that why she keeps on asking where are they going to. “Arif is totally crazy to mind his mother asking this, when a mother asks her children where they are going it is because she is worried about their well being.”I said, Kiria continued that Arif must understand that no one can take care of his wife and children better than his own parents and he will repent after taking a wrong decision. He advised Kapadia to motivate his son with love instead of fury.
As we all separated in rather a gloomy mood, Abdus Samad said I will try to change his mind.There was a loud horn as we were standing almost on the road now so we moved along.
Arif who was already half convinced in favor of the joint family system by the good great lecture by abdus Samad.Hearing of the incidence from his wife about his daughter he also felt ashamed.Now Arif was thinking in the right direction.
Late that night he sat with his father and his mother. His wife Salma brought some more tea. Arif begged pardon from his father for what nonsense he had said about the separate home. It was best to continue as was going and that they will think about separate homes when his children grew up.Deep down Ghaffar knew this turn of mind was brought about by Samad broker.He smiled to his son and patted his back as he used to do since he was a kid…a father’s way of showing nothing has ever happened.
Arif had already begged pardon from his mother. So everything was settled and talk about a separate home was a thing of the past.
Ammi's Old Trunk by Subuhi Saiyed (India)
It used to be an annual winter ritual - my time with her, when she'd take out all her old saris, angarkhas, fragile chiffons and tissue-and-brocade dupattas to sun them on the terrace. Each one had a story woven into it.
The winter sunning was a ritualistic affair that Ammi was fanatical about. The day would begin early with her trying to hurry through the cooking and cleaning. Almost always it'd be a simple but perfect meal of daal-gosht and rice with a cucumber-carrot-mustard pickle. By ten o'clock, she'd be done and I'd wait with mounting anticipation for her to unlock the old green trunk in the bedroom.
The first thing to waft out was the smell of cloves and dry tobacco and neem leaves - an old but fragrant smell.
I had my favourites in that trunk. Ammi knew this and teasingly she would fish them out last - or so I thought. It was not the case, as I found last year when I opened the trunk alone.
It was all about taking out each outfit carefully, unwrapping the muslin, gathering the cloves and the leaves in another square of cloth to be used again, and piling the outfits neatly on the bed. It so happened that my favourites were deep down in the trunk and took some time to surface.
The red carpet in the living room was carried to the terrace and thoroughly beaten by the maid before Ammi's treasure was laid out on it. Ammi and the maid would take each dupatta and each sari and gently shake out its secrets.
There was the stunning orange-and-black tissue dupatta threaded with silver and edged with a brocade border. It had been specially woven by the Banarasi neighbour in Junagadh at the behest of Ammi's dada abba for her first reading of the Quran when she turned four.
I'd drape it over my head and prance about the house pretending to be a bride, pulling shy faces, making Ammi roar her big-hearted laugh. There was the delicate gold sari, which her nani left her as her inheritance. Ammi's nana amma had nobody to support her financially;she lived all by herself in a small house with a jamun tree outside the window through which the cool moonlight filtered. The story goes that on the nights she prayed the tahajjud namaz, she'd find three or four gold coins under the jaanemaaz. The peach brocade gharara with a velvet top and silver gota work on the neckline still retains its nawabi stamp. It was worn by ammi's nani, ammi and me. Perhaps the most spectacular was the transparent organza fuscia angarkha to be worn with a black blouse embroidered in gold thread with silver gota underneath. Ammi would insist that the older generation knew how to look good in simplicity. Each sari was hand woven for Ammi's trousseau. The mustard-and-gold banarsi is still my absolute favourite. The silk is threadbare now in some places, but as I hold it against my cheek, I can still remember the stories she told me. I hope this does not end with me.
The winter sunning was a ritualistic affair that Ammi was fanatical about. The day would begin early with her trying to hurry through the cooking and cleaning. Almost always it'd be a simple but perfect meal of daal-gosht and rice with a cucumber-carrot-mustard pickle. By ten o'clock, she'd be done and I'd wait with mounting anticipation for her to unlock the old green trunk in the bedroom.
The first thing to waft out was the smell of cloves and dry tobacco and neem leaves - an old but fragrant smell.
I had my favourites in that trunk. Ammi knew this and teasingly she would fish them out last - or so I thought. It was not the case, as I found last year when I opened the trunk alone.
It was all about taking out each outfit carefully, unwrapping the muslin, gathering the cloves and the leaves in another square of cloth to be used again, and piling the outfits neatly on the bed. It so happened that my favourites were deep down in the trunk and took some time to surface.
The red carpet in the living room was carried to the terrace and thoroughly beaten by the maid before Ammi's treasure was laid out on it. Ammi and the maid would take each dupatta and each sari and gently shake out its secrets.
There was the stunning orange-and-black tissue dupatta threaded with silver and edged with a brocade border. It had been specially woven by the Banarasi neighbour in Junagadh at the behest of Ammi's dada abba for her first reading of the Quran when she turned four.
I'd drape it over my head and prance about the house pretending to be a bride, pulling shy faces, making Ammi roar her big-hearted laugh. There was the delicate gold sari, which her nani left her as her inheritance. Ammi's nana amma had nobody to support her financially;she lived all by herself in a small house with a jamun tree outside the window through which the cool moonlight filtered. The story goes that on the nights she prayed the tahajjud namaz, she'd find three or four gold coins under the jaanemaaz. The peach brocade gharara with a velvet top and silver gota work on the neckline still retains its nawabi stamp. It was worn by ammi's nani, ammi and me. Perhaps the most spectacular was the transparent organza fuscia angarkha to be worn with a black blouse embroidered in gold thread with silver gota underneath. Ammi would insist that the older generation knew how to look good in simplicity. Each sari was hand woven for Ammi's trousseau. The mustard-and-gold banarsi is still my absolute favourite. The silk is threadbare now in some places, but as I hold it against my cheek, I can still remember the stories she told me. I hope this does not end with me.
Malbari Hotel....An Old Man's Day dreams by Abdul Sattar Lakhana
It was a cold and gloomy evening. We all four old friends were sitting at the Malbari Hotel and carrying on small talk aimlessly. Suddenly Malbari came to us and told all of a sudden that he will not open his shop the next day as he had to go to his community's gathering.
The information was casual but its effect on us was like a bomb explosion right on our heads. We were so accustomed to sit at the hotel that we just could not think of spending a day without Malbari Hotel.
We were dumb founded when Siddique Master spoke up: “let’s go for a long bus ride.
I will borrow some money from my son to go for the bus ride. We will go to Saeedabad and back it will take 5 hours.” So was decided.
We all gathered at the closed hotel next day and walked to the nearby bus stop and took bus number D3 .The seats were broken and full of oil smears .I hesitated to sit. Yaqoob Kiria spoke up "Dada just sit down and send your suit to the dhobi to remove the stains ".
So we settled in the bus and the bus started rolling on. The journey up to Gul bai was normal but as we proceeded towards Sher Shah it was evident that we were riding a concrete mixer.
I told my friends, “ had we chosen to sit on the footpath it would have been much better.”Ghaffar Kapadia laughed and exclaimed that thousands of people daily travel this way without any complaints. Road worsened as we moved on and bus started tilting heavily on either side.As we neared Saeedabad the entire road was gone. The bus was traveling on a rough ground.
After much beating, we reached the last stop of the bus and the conductor shouted that our destination was here and we had to get down.We were so buffeted that it was difficult to get up, but somehow we got up and got down from the bus.
The entire area was so different from our Kharadar .The work shops and spare parts dealers were all over. There were small tea shops in between. Without speaking a word we silently proceeded towards a Quetta
After the tea and getting some rest on the Manjhis, we started to walk around the area.
As we walked around, we entered a large market .We kept walking and as we reached the end of market the scenario changed.The shops now were again workshops and spare parts' dealers. There was a sign board proclaiming that we had entered Itehad Town
We all were a bit afraid .Yaqoob Kiria whispered "lets go away .All people have guns with them.”
There we saw a bus coming Master told that this bus goes to Saddar, lets ride this bus. .
Ghaffar Kapadia bought some peanuts and we got in to a bus going to Saddar .Vendors came into the bus and started selling their wares. One was very interesting .He was selling cure all tooth powder. He claimed that any illness you have, would be cured by using this tooth powder and that too in 5 rupees. That tooth powder could cure any thing short of death.
X 10 goes through so many areas with various cultures.
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| Bus Stop At Saddar Karachi |
Soon the bus was in front if Rainbow center in Saddar.It was the end of our journey and time to alight from the bus. The bus was going towards Gizri and Seaview.Siddique Master was about to say to continue but we starred at him and laughed. We said good bye to each other and went towards our homes after an adventurous evening.
Malbari Hotel....An Old Man's Day dreams by Abdul Sattar Lakhana
If you have lived or have seen Karachi
This Malbari hotel is situated in an area called Kharadar near Bakda Hotel.We often gather at the hotel in the afternoon. This hotel is a small shop having hardly enough space to place a stove and a wash basin. The chairs and tables are spread out on the street.
Nowadays a cup of tea costs fifteen rupees. We all four hardly have any money to have tea.As we did not have any place to sit, we talked to the Malbari to get his permission to sit there without having tea .He consented but told us to have tea occasionally.This idea was liked by him because deserted hotel was not visited by many clients.When we four regularly sat there other people started coming in, that suited the Malbari.We started dicussing anything in this wide world and Malbari also joined in
It was 31st December, the last day of the year so it was petty cold. I was lucky enough that day to have some extra money in my pocket and I could afford tea for four. I went to the Malbari hotel but none of my friends were there yet. As I settled down I saw Sidique master coming followed by Ghaffar kapadia.We were waiting for Kiria but here was no sign of him.After a while we so him coming, seemingly he was not in a good mood.We trued to cheer him up but he was very angry over some thing.Siddique master told him that Dada is paying for the tea today and that news cooled him down a bit!
As we ordered our tea Yaqoob slowly started his story.He was invited to a wedding dinner a day before.He reached the shadi Hall at 9.30 as were the timings on the invitation card, and was set back to see no no one from the host family there, only a few workers from the hall management were decorating the stage for the bride and the groom. Yaqoob had to argue for a while to get in. Then he tried to call the host but could not get to him, he sat alone there until almost after an hour guests began to arrive. But he could not see the host yet. Some body told him he was busy at the other side.It took one more hour before the bride and the groom arrived. Yaqoob was feeling hungry and thought now he would have the dinner finally but that was only his dream. A round strange customs has started now. After a long wait every thing seemed to have settled down but no signs of the dinner yet.Yaqoob looked for the host and asked him what is the matter we they are not serving dinner as it is getting very late. “Some important guests have not yet arrived”exclaimed the host. Kiria was annoyed by this, “If I am not important why was I invited” Kiria lost his mind and shouted in loud voice
Other guests also joined in their voices and asked their host why he invited them if they were not important. Kiria was so furious that he walked out of the hall without having dinner
It was past midnight and there was no chance of getting anything at home so he found a cheap hotel that was open at that hour and had some thing to eat. Off course at his own expenses he vowed never to go to any invitation again.
