estled in the vicinity of the pre-Partition movie-house Nigar Cinema in Karachi’s old part, Paan Mandi is a bustling neighbourhood. Amidst the jostling crowd, an array of big and small businesses thrive, ranging from the wholesale market of betel leaves (paan) – as the name of the area suggests, to the less conventional, like women engaged in flesh trade.

Amidst this backdrop, Abdul Rasheed, a young man in his mid-twenties, carves his niche as a purveyor of oils. Clad in a shirt and blue jeans, he stands out amidst his surroundings, bounded by bottles of oils in a kaleidoscope of colours. These oils, extracted from an assortment of nuts, seeds and fruits such as flax/ linseed (alsi), mustard (sarson), almond (badaam), walnut (akhrot), olives (zaitoon), sesame (til), Indian gooseberry (amla), coriander (dhania), fenugreek (methi), carom seeds (ajwain) and coconut (naaryal), showcase the diverse range he offers.

For Abdul Rasheed, this is not a full-time endeavour; it’s a part-time pursuit that supplements his primary role at a cell-phone repair shop. His father, a seasoned practitioner in the art of grinding and selling oils, does the job until lunch hours. At 3 pm Abdul Rasheed takes over, driven by a sense of duty to allow his aging father the much-needed rest.

Originally from Kutch in India, Rasheed lives with his parents in Agra Taj Colony. Like his father, he has had no formal education. His father instilled in him a wealth of knowledge, supplemented by hands-on experience in the craft. The hand-cart he operates is a testament to this legacy. The oil is stored in plastic bottles that once contained soft drinks. These bottles now host an array of oils – each boasting distinct properties and applications. They have different colours as well: red, yellow, green and black.

The cart, a two-tiered, custom-made structure, reveals an organised chaos of paraphernalia. A long wooden pestle, a funnel, empty tins and plastic bags coexist with storage drawers for seeds, nuts and dried or fresh fruit. In moments of lull, when customers are scarce, Abdul Rasheed finds solace on an old plastic chair, a temporary respite in the midst of his vibrant yet demanding trade.

The intricacies of his seemingly straightforward business unfold slowly. He seldom sells full bottles. Instead, most of his customers seek smaller quantities, skilfully measured and poured into plastic bags, the necks secured with several rounds of thread. The simplicity of this transaction belies the laborious process that precedes it – the relentless churning of the pestle-grinder and the meticulous cleaning of the wooden pot after each oil extraction. Yet, Abdul Rasheed wears his pride as a badge, finding fulfillment in the artistry and tradition that define his modest yet significant occupation.

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