Gawal Mandi (Tee)
Very soon the lights will come on and illuminate the old architecture – like a torch held up below the chin. The man looks up at the sky to see a fading blend of blue and purple. Yet another day, he thinks to himself. He looks down to see the bowls of different seasoning powders: red mirchi powder…like that red spotlight below the corner of this structure; yellow haldi powder…like that yellow spotlight near the window of that structure. Waiting for customers, he picks up a piece of cloth lying next to his side and waves away the flies coming to rest on spots of grease. His shop is near the gate of this newly famous street, so he earns comparatively less than the ones farther up, since the people like to walk a bit and look around before they sit and satisfy their appetites. It’s dark now and because it’s a weekend, the place is crowded: Lahorites with guests from Karachi, young friends, extended families, a national celebrity, local residents, people from all classes.
Sitting cross-legged, he bends down to check the flame below the simmering oil in which he fries the pakoras.
“How much are these for?” a man comes up to him and asks. The man’s wife waits behind him, kohl in her eyes, gold bangles in her wrists. A newly wed couple probably, he thinks.
“How many do you want?” he asks him.
“Give us a plate, we’re sitting there, on that table,” he points to a green plastic one.
“Ok, I’ll send over my boy. It will cost you 20 rupees…” he says and reaches over to get the mixture in the bowl. The hot oil splashes and crackles as he pours in spoonfuls of the mixture and draws out crisp golden pakoras. Before he could shout out to the boy to serve the plate, the man comes over to take it himself.
Giving the shopkeeper the money, the man balances the white paper plate heaped with hot pakoras and heads over to the table where his wife sits expectantly. She hasn’t said much all throughout the evening. She hasn’t said much all throughout the entire month they’ve been married, he thinks, as he sets down the plate carefully on the table. Other than responding to his questions and being polite, she hasn’t said anything substantially interesting. He sits down with a sigh, pushes the plate over to her side, and starts looking around.
“Are they good?” he asks her.
“uhmm” she replies, as she bites down on one.
“Once you’re done eating those, we’ll go over and have some dahi bhalas from that man.” he tells her, hoping to hear more than just a mouthful.
“Okay…” She doesn’t even look up to see where he’s been gesturing to.
“His shop is crowded, I’m sure they’re good eh?” he ventures.
“Yeah…probably” she says.
Not knowing what else to say, he smiles at her, nodding in agreement. She smiles back and looks down at the plate. He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then looks up to see the dim stars against a dark night. Yet another day, he thinks to himself.
