unk dealer Nazim Husain, a kabari, manoeuvres discarded treasures on his handcart from street to street. His handcart is a mobile repository of yesteryears’ cast-offs. The assortment is nothing short of an eclectic mosaic - decrepit cartons, forsaken canisters, weather-beaten pails, antiquated cans and a menagerie of bottles. A tangled web of wires, pipes whispering tales of another era, newspapers from a bygone day, an aged chest, and a pair of weathered speakers, all ensconced in a chaotic manner atop his cart. Tomorrow promises a new chapter in this salvage saga, an ever-changing narrative of discarded memories.

His typical call, “baatli paper wala, raddi akhbaarwala,” is an announcement of his arrival in the streets, beckoning the residents to partake in the ritual of recycling. Balconies and windows transform into observation decks as curious women respond to the song of Nazim’s trade. Baskets dangle from ropes, transporting offerings to the cart below. For weightier transactions, Nazim ascends the stairs. In another neighbourhood with large villas, he deals mostly with the domestic staff, exchanging stories along with goods.

Nazim Husain’s journey began far from the city where he now lives. Hailing from Thana Musafirkhana in the Bahawalpur district, he has been a resident here for fifteen years. He wed late, only after settling his debts, and shares his modest abode with a wife and four sprightly children, five to eight years old. Although he never went to school, his children are pupils at a nearby public school.

Nazim leaves home at 8:00 am and retrieves his trusty handcart from the baraa kabari (big junk dealer) who owns a fleet of twenty carts. Equipped with scales, weights and the money to make the day’s transactions, Nazim adheres to fixed rates, eschewing the art of haggling.

“I buy plastic items for Rs 25 per kg and iron for Rs 20 per kg. English newspapers are bought for Rs 20 per kg but Urdu counterparts receive a more frugal appraisal. Stale roti (flat bread) is for Rs 10.00 per kg, and each glass bottle merits Rs 2.00,” he says. He quits for the day at around 5:00 pm, usually quite exhausted. After handing the purchased stuff over to the baraa kabari, Nazim manages to stow away a modest sum of Rs 100 to Rs 200 per day.

The tale doesn’t end at that. Nazim’s trade is a cycle of rebirth, a testament to the art of recycling. Stale bread metamorphoses into fodder for water buffaloes, goats and cows; plastic and iron embark on a journey to other dealers from where these discarded materials set forth on a grander expedition, for the recycling sanctuaries of Lahore. The refuse of one becomes the raw material for another, as it is recycled in factories there.

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