There is always that someone in our lives who might have
spent only few moments with us, but when they are lost to the cruel winds of
time we end up thinking what if I would have known him better?
Often it is a passing glance, an impromptu smile or a moment
of confusion that leaves us with memories of people who came in our lives and
swept pass leaving us in the everlasting wonder of who they were?? Why we met? Where
they will be now??
Ultimately, incidence years later spark a sudden memory in
some remote area of your brain, a face flashes by your eyes leaving you with a
pensive smile or painful muttering.
Blessed I am that I’ve had so many people whom I’ve never
known who they were, but their memory brings a sudden sense of happiness. I’ve
met them in lands apart, in circumstances unimaginably different and reasons I
still cannot fathom. But they remain in there, somewhere.
I’ve often thought about writing about these so many
brilliant humans I’ve met. I find it very odd that we only praise others
amongst us when they are taken away from us in some form. These “Eulogies”
define that person who just died as extraordinary and this and that. But somehow
in their lifetime, we never praise them enough. It’s just as if we only see the
good in people when they are taken away?
So this goes out to someone I’ve literally known for just
about few hours. I think if I collate all the time I’ve ever spent with him it
won’t exceed more than 3-4 hours. In fact to be very honest we don’t know each
other’s name!
Cold, dark, misty and treacherously freezing nights of
Quetta. People who have lived in Quetta will be aware that the cold of Quetta
is unique in its nature. The dryness of air and high elevation combines to take
the wind through your bones and you end up gasping for breath.
It was a night in one of the long dark winter months. Quiet
late by Quetta standards, the doorbell rang of our house amidst the roaring
noise of winds. Going out from your warm bed to see who was there often was the
point of conflict amongst us siblings, so there was that usual quarrel of who
will go out and answer the door. I asked in a slightly raised voice:
“Kaun hai?”
“Bhai, am hai. Tandoor wala. Idhar kili kabeer ki taraf ka
tandoor wala”
He answered in this voice slightly trembling due to cold.
“Kaun?”
I did not recognise, or perhaps my brain didn’t work out the
logic of why a tandoor wala will be standing outside our house in this bitterly
cold weather?
“Bhai am aai, am idhar tandoor par roti lagata hai. Who bhai
ghar par hai jo aap ka roti lainay aata hai”
By then I did opened the door, wrapped in this torn “pattu”,
wearing an old pair of peshawari chappal and nearly shivering next to an old
“Sohrab” cycle was this lean shadowy figure.
He removed the part of his pattu from his face displaying
the big bright smile and his full of happiness eyes.
“Oh aap mil gaya, bhai am itna dair say idhar chakkar laga
raha tha aap ka ghar donndnay ko. Woh kona wala dukaan say am nay poocha tha
kay who haji sahib or us ka teen beta kahan rehta hai..am ko naam nhn pata tha
to am bus idhar itna chakkar lagaya gharoon ka to aap ka barabar waloon nay
bataya kay haji sahib or us ka teen betay yahan rehta hai”
His happiness was apparent from the way he was speaking.
Perhaps with his speech glands going numb in that cold he wasn’t sure himself
of what he was saying. But he continued.
“Bus bhai am aap say milnay aaya tha..am kal Afghanistan jaa
raha hai..abhi pata nhn hai wapsi mapsi kab tak hoga…bus aap kay liay yeh
paratha banay tha um nay to yeh aap ko daita…chalo bhai bus dua karna..bara
khushi hua aap ko mil kay..Allah Hafiz”
And that was it. He handed me a big shopper that was there
on his cycle stand which was brimming with the distinct tandoori “parathas”
made especially with butter and milk in Quetta. Handing me the bag he turned
around, waved a hand to me and rode off in the dark of the night!
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| Photo Credits - Mohammad Omar |
Who was he? Just our local breadman. He was the one who used
to make the “Naans” at our local tandoor with the use of those two long steel
arrow type things. And what I did for him? Honestly, I can’t remember. In all
its reality at most I just used to greet him whenever I went to tandoor, a
smile Assalam o Alaikum which he at times returned and at times not due to his
pressure of work.
The most I can remember as “good” I did for him was that I
never haggled for my number. Even if someone showed a bit of urgency behind me
in the line (or the somewhat queue we had there) I just asked him to serve them
first. He was illiterate so often when complicated arithmetic turned up he was
nearly lost, so I usually helped him a bit on that. And if it was really busy
and all the “Staff” got engaged in making the “Naans” I just sat down on his
shop and managed the money in, money out for him (Nothing alarming as in that
sense I’ve worked in numerous tandoors, chicken shops and with Sabzi walas)
Yet, when leaving for Afghanistan during the peak times of
war, he didn’t forget me. He brought in as a gift the very best thing he had to
offer. And I think in a number that he could have managed with the flour in his
shop on that day. The bitter cold, bone crushing wind and heavy fog didn’t stop
him from looking for more than 2-3 hours for me, he did delivered the “Gift” he
wanted to!
I said, I hate writing eulogies. I know we never saw him at the
shop again, his colleagues at the shop never heard from him again. No one knew
where he went. But there is something telling me that he is alive, somehow,
somewhere!
Smiling, as I am!
