t the heart of local festivities, where the vibrancy of joy collides with the simplicity of wooden craftsmanship, Mohammad Sajid, who hails from Muzaffargarh, orchestrates a whimsical spectacle for the poor children of the city. His Ferris wheel, called a hindola or a doli is a modest amalgamation of vividly painted wooden swings suspended from a criss-cross of wooden boards, manually propelled by the strength of one or two men. This unique ‘wheel,’ a familiar sight in the rural melas (fairs) of Pakistan, graces the impoverished and lower middle-class neighbourhoods of bustling cities, offering a respite for children yearning for outdoor amusement.

Amid Eid festivities, teamed with his helper Rehmat Ali, he decorates the wheel with colourful buntings. The two of them transport their hindola, where a congregation of eager children awaits their turn. Each swing accommodates three to four children whose laughter and gleeful squeals cascade through the neighbourhood.

The genesis of Ferris wheels can be traced back to the 17th Century in Middle East. While it remains unclear if manual Ferris wheels debuted in the Indian subcontinent concurrently, the local iteration has become an integral part of rural fairs in Pakistan. Sajid’s hindola, with its vibrant red, yellow, green and blue bands, becomes a beacon of delight, a cherished escape for children in a city where parks and outdoor entertainment are scarce commodities.

Sajid pursued education until Class 8, venturing from a smaller city to a large city several years ago. The inspiration to become a custodian of joy sparked within him when his uncle, once an operator of a hindola, passed away. Determined to carve his own path, Sajid meticulously oversaw the construction of his hindola in Muzaffargarh before embarking on a journey to transport it atop a bus bound for the new city. Each part of the intricate structure, packed separately, found its place in the city of his choice, where it was reassembled.

Securing his hindola with chains and padlocks, Sajid returns to the same location every night for a few weeks, then ties the wheel behind a donkey-cart to take it to another location. “Even so, the two of us have to push it as well,” he says. Wherever they go, they are ready to bring smiles to the faces of children. A five-minute ride on his hindola costs Rs 5 to Rs 10, with a considerate charge for siblings. The uncertainty of daily earnings is a testament to the unpredictable nature of his profession. The four swings of his hindola sway backwards and forwards as they go up and come down with as much speed as the operator’s strength and stamina allow.

In the rare mishap of a child falling from a swing, Sajid, with a sense of responsibility, shoulders the burden of their treatment. In the transient joy of his hindola, he finds purpose, not just as an operator but as a purveyor of cherished childhood memories in the tapestry of urban landscape.

Rumana Husain is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com