Mariam Ahmad - potter

n the heart of Ranchore Lines in Karachi, Hajiani Mariam Bai sits surrounded by small items of terracotta pottery. At the age of 80, Mariam Bai radiates a timeless charm that captivates anyone approaching her open-air stall on the footpath. She used to make pottery from clay on a wheel and bake it in a kiln, but for many years now she has been only selling pottery produced by others.

Draped in a chintz shirt and dopatta, Mariam Bai sits unperturbed amidst the bustling surroundings. A nearby chicken shop attracts swarms of flies, yet she remains unfazed. She spends a busy time every day of the week, from around midday up to sunset, watching passers-by and their activities in the bazaar around her. She knows all the shopkeepers and they respect her independence.

Mariam Bai’s journey into the world of pottery began in her childhood. As the only child of her parents, who had migrated from Mandvi in Kutch, India, she found solace and companionship in the art of clay. Her father’s karkhana (workshop), where pottery came to life on a spinning wheel, became her playground, turning her into a skilled artisan.

Tragedy struck Mariam Bai early in life when her husband passed away, leaving her to navigate the complexities of widowhood with a four-year- old son in tow. “I was very young, but I never married again,” she says. Undeterred by adversity, she delved deeper into her craft.

Twice in her life, Mariam Bai has been to Mandvi, a journey made to go back to her roots and meet relatives. “As I was my parents’ only child, as well as a widow, they paid for me to go to Mecca-Madina to perform Haj. I am very grateful for that,” she says, her eyes sparkling with gratitude.

Residing in Lyari with her son, who toils in odd jobs to sustain their modest livelihood, she says that her son has five sons and a daughter. “Although he makes enough to take care of his family and me, I like to be independent,” she says with a smile. Commuting daily from Purana Kumbharwada to Ranchore Lines in a shared rickshaw, she transforms the ordinary into an adventure. Her earnings, modest yet significant, cover the rickshaw fare, a couple of cups of tea and a small saving to take back home.

The terracotta pottery that Mariam Bai proudly displays ranges from piggy banks or galla / gulak as they are known locally to small items such as scours, small pots, platters and saucers. Whenever she needs to bring in more stock, she brings a sack-full in the rickshaw. The men in the street help her offload it. Old men and women gather around her, sharing stories and laughter, creating a warm camaraderie.

“Whatever doesn’t sell, I leave behind in a shop along the street,” she gestures to a small store. “In this street, children and their parents are happy to buy the galla to store their change. No one is rich, so they do not have paper money to save,” she gives out a toothless laugh.

Mahmood - Monkey-show-man

In Pakistani cities and towns, the sight of a man with a small brown monkey, a madari or bandarwala (showman or monkey man), is an enduring spectacle. Among them is Mahmood, a seasoned performer, orchestrating his monkey show with a flair at Sea View Beach in Karachi, positioned against the vast and picturesque Arabian Sea, capturing the attention of onlookers amidst the sound of the waves and the salty sea breeze.

Armed with a bagful of small treats and a collection of quirky props, Mahmood transforms the promenade at the beach into a stage for his primate companion. The small arsenal includes a stick, a dunce cap, a pair of comical plastic glasses, a small tin box for the monkey to sit on, and a dugdugee - a rattle drum employed by all monkey-men to attract attention.

Mahmood migrated from Sialkot to Karachi eighteen years ago, and has not just made the city his home but has also been using the city’s stage for this traditional form of entertainment. He does not engage in any other kind of work during the mornings and just lounges around in his one-room house near Kala Pul. His family, consisting of his wife of twenty years and three children attending a government school, shares this modest space. The monkey, an integral part of his act, resides in a cage within the confines of their home.

At the age of forty, Mahmood reflects on a childhood spent watching his father, a fellow madari, and seamlessly absorbing the art of training monkeys. His family, deeply entrenched in the traditions of professional madaris, has passed down these skills from one generation to the next. “I don’t know if my son will become a madari when he grows up as there is no longer any money in this,” he says. Despite the dwindling financial viability in the trade, he persists, earning a meagre Rs 600 per day on average – a sum scarcely sufficient to feed six hungry mouths.

Recalling the passing of his last monkey two years ago, Mahmood shares the story of acquiring his current companion from Empress Market. Purchased at the tender age of two months, the young monkey’s malleability became an asset in training. Mahmood invests considerable time and effort, dedicating four to six months to impart the necessary skills through daily lessons. The result is a well-trained performer named Mr Potato Gentleman, a deviation from the conventional Mr Aaloo (potato), injecting an extra layer of entertainment for the delight of children, who laugh heartily at the age-old acts.

Beneath the veneer of amusement lies a more profound concern, shedding light on the ethical considerations surrounding the use of animals for entertainment. While the laughter rings out, it’s essential to question the fairness of subjecting these intelligent animals to perform for human amusement.

Irfan Mayo - milkman

A young man of twenty, Irfan Mayo navigates the city’s streets on his motor bike, a makeshift chariot carrying the essence of freshness - fresh milk. Born and raised in Kasur, a town located 55 kilometres southeast of Lahore near the Indian border, Irfan belongs to the Mayo (or Mewati) Muslim Rajput tribe, tracing its roots to North-Western India. Like many others of his community, Irfan’s family’s journey took a turn after the tumultuous events of Independence in 1947, leading his grandparents to migrate to Pakistan.

The unique linguistic identity of the Mayo tribe is expressed through Mayo, a language belonging to the Indo-Aryan language family. In 2002 Irfan’s family moved out from Kasur. He attended a government school for boys, but left school after Class 8 before transitioning into a full time role as a milkman.

“I have been supplying milk since I was 10 years old,” Irfan says in a conspiratorial tone. He recalls encounters with policemen, a regular part of his journey, where a small fee of Rs 50 would smoothly pave his way forward.

Mounted on his motorbike, Irfan carries two GI canisters, each holding 40 litres of milk, one on each side. “My father used to carry these on a bicycle in his younger days,” he reminisces about the evolution of his family’s trade. “Then he switched to a motorbike. I’m glad he did that. It is faster and can cover more distance.” Irfan picks up the milk from a shop. The pickup is followed by deliveries to homes. The canisters are ingeniously equipped with ice which serves as the safeguard against the perishable nature of milk. A large drip-can accompanies him, facilitating the precise transfer of milk, with a ladle, into transparent plastic bags. Some people prefer to take their milk in a pot, but most prefer to have it in a plastic bag.

Irfan’s work day begins early, at 5:00 am. It’s a tireless routine that extends for two to three hours at a stretch. He then returns to the milk shop for refills or a brief respite at home for breakfast and lunch. Occasionally, the exciting bazaars become pit stops for a quick meal or a cup of tea. Irfan claims that he serves around 150 homes daily. He concludes his work at 5:00 pm, returning to the company of his parents and siblings.

“I have regular households on my daily supply list,” he mentions. “Sometimes I get stopped for milk by strangers.” In the city where the hustle is a way of life, the young milkman negotiates the complex environment of his existence.

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