Anwar Khan, fried liver seller

orty-six-year-old Anwar Khan looks older than his age. His weathered countenance bears marks of a man well acquainted with life’s toils. For the last twenty-two years he has been a familiar figure in the area, where the aroma of his fried beef liver beckons passers-by to his open-air stall.

Hailing from a village near Peshawar, Anwar Khan is a torchbearer of a family legacy deeply rooted in the culinary arts. “Before me, my brother, and before him, my father, were stewards of this trade,” he shares, tracing the lineage of his occupation. Every day he pedals to his designated spot on a trusty bicycle, ready to embark on another day of serving his loyal clientele.

From 9:30 in the morning until 7:30 in the evening, Anwar’s stall becomes a hub of activity, attracting a diverse array of patrons—men, women, and children alike—all drawn to the irresistible allure of his signature dish. “Fried liver isn’t just a meal; it’s an experience,” he explains with a grin, his pride in his culinary craftsmanship evident.

Despite lacking formal education, Anwar Khan is a patriarch devoted to ensuring a brighter future for his eight children. While he may not wield a pen or decipher the written word, he holds steadfast to the belief in the transformative power of knowledge. “All my children have had the opportunity to pursue an education,” he states with unwavering conviction. Some have read up to class ten, while others have left on completion of middle school. One of his boys works in the Police force, while another has ventured overseas to seek employment in Saudi Arabia.

Each morning, he procures 20 to 30 kilograms of fresh liver, storing it in his freezer until the moment it meets the sizzle of the frying pan. Priced at a modest hundred rupees per plate, his savoury delicacy is available with roti for an extra amount. “The key lies in the spices,” he confides, revealing the secret behind his delectable concoction.

Despite the demands of his bustling business, Anwar Khan remains resolute in his commitment to self-reliance. “I take pride in my work without burdening my wife. I do the work myself,” he declares emphatically. From the meticulous washing and marinating of the liver to its final transformation into a culinary masterpiece, every aspect of his operation bears the mark of his tireless dedication.

Niaz Husain, paper scavenger

Niaz Husain, once an assistant to a cook at Quetta’s renowned Serena Hotel, reflects on his departure from the bustling hotel industry, now immersed in the gritty reality of scavenging for recyclables. Despite the allure of stable income and complimentary meals that accompanies such employment, Husain found himself grappling with meagre wages insufficient to sustain his family of six—a wife and four children.

Clad in traditional shalwar kameez and a peak cap, Husain cuts a figure of modest stature, with a lean frame, a black beard and deep-set eyes that betray a hint of introspection. His gaze lights up with a sense of purpose as he traverses open plots of land strewn with discarded paper and polythene bags. With nimble movements, he diligently collects these materials, filling a sizeable white sack slung over his shoulder.

Residing among fellow labourers, Husain embarks on his daily routine at 9am, scouring the urban landscape for valuable recyclables. His employer provides him with the necessary equipment—a sack—and compensates him with modest sums ranging from Rs 400 to Rs 600 every other day, commensurate with the volume of materials collected. On fruitful mornings, when the collection has been good, yielding loads of stuff, leaving no room in the sack, he takes it back to his employer’s place where he unloads it and returns to resume his pursuit almost immediately. Husain gets back ‘home’ every day after a ten- to twelve-hour search through the city for paper and polythene bags.

Occasionally, Husain ventures in search of sustenance. He prefers to scavenge around greengrocers. He exercises discretion if something appears absolutely rotten or is covered with dirt. He does not pick it.

“My children are quite young. My eldest daughter is merely eight years old and my youngest son is an infant,” Husain shares as his voice reflects the weight of responsibility. He visits his family in Quetta for brief intervals every three months. “I have been doing this for five years now; what else can I do? Life is tough,” he says of the relentless grind of his daily toil.

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