[Reader-list] The Outsider, the markings, and the city

[zainab at xtdnet.nl]

18th February 2006

His name is Mustafa, the local hero.
Khushaali is the chai shop, Mustafa’s citadel.

This evening, one of the cuustommers in Khushaali began to inquire about
Mustafa. Where is Mustafa? Please take me to his home. I want to see him.
I realize that the addiction that his cuustommers have is not just to his
tea, but they are addicted to him – dastaan-e deedaar-e Mustafa.
Muzaffar asks Salim to take the cuustommer to Mustafa’s house – show him
the house from the outside, don’t let him inside Mustafa’s house. Make
sure you are around.
The cuustommer was obviously slightly deranged and therefore Muzaffar was
maintaining caution.

I entered the shop this evening. I sat amidst the men. Muzaffar, as the
other day, asked me to come over to the corner and sit there. I realize
that Muzaffar has created a ‘place’ for me in the space of Khushaali. And
I am still curious as to why Muzaffar has fixed that place for me. From
that place, I am clearly an observer, an outsider, removed from the
regular cuustommers. Muzaffar, knowingly or unknowingly, has put me in a
place from where I can watch the proceedings of the shop, almost like a
journalist/hawk who keeps an eye, watches 


Muzaffar makes some inquiries. He asks me about A – where is the bhai who
came with you the other day?
He is busy. Has some work.
Okay.
Bhai was fascinated by the radio you had.
Muzaffar blushes.

Muzaffar has a 10 AM to 10 PM job. I ask him if he shuts the shop in the
afternoon for lunch. No, I don’t. The boy (Salim) is there. He looks after
the shop in my absence.
But when Mustafa was around, he would shut the shop in the afternoons for
lunch, I inquired curiously.
Mustafa is a private man, Muzaffar says and laughs. I assume that by
‘private man’, Muzaffar means that Mustafa being the owner of the shop can
do as he pleases.

(I am intrigued by the usage of the terms public and private in everyday
parlance. In each space, in each location in the city, the terms public
and private take on different meanings, different connotations.)

Muzaffar has been in Bombay for two months. He lives in Nakhuda mohalla
with his gaonwalas (co-villagers). I ask him if he has others from his
home with him. He says no. I ask him then whether he feels alone. He has a
wry smile. He does not respond.

This evening, I am simply sitting in Khushaali, with no agenda. Here and
there, cuustommers come and go. Mustafa’s fan (who wanted to visit his
house) is lounging around. There is no one to throw him away. He speaks
with others and states that Mustafa has rented out the backyard, beyond
the kitchen, to Ramzaan bhai for his travel agency. I wondered why Ramzaan
bhai would want to set up a travel agency inside a chai shop and it
occurred to me that perhaps, the advantage in this case, is the steady
flow of cuustommers and also the organization of community in this
neighbourhood – factors of word-of-mouth, goodwill, operation of the eye,
information circulation.
Ramzaan bhai’s travel agency represents the modern aspect of Khushaali.
Clearly, the space is different. A kind of ‘modern’ interior arrangement
has been built inside the stone wall and wooden environment of Khushaali.
And a wooden door separates the travel agency – it acts as a door, a
curtain, a source of closure for dealings which need not be ‘public’ to
the public which visits Khushaali.
(I am certainly fascinated with the way in which the notion of the
‘public’ operates everyday, in the city 
)

Muzaffar and I make light conversation. I don’t have questions for him. He
has a few for me, mundane.
Where do you live?
Byculla.
Byculla?!?
Yes.
Are you Shia?
Yes.
Hum to Sunni hai bhai (I am a Sunni), he says with a tone that clearly
indicates his position – Muzaffar clearly sees himself as an outsider in
this largely Shia neighbourhood. From where I hail, Bareichi (in Uttar
Pradesh), there are Shias living on the outskirts of our village.
Otherwise the population is largely Sunni.
Yeah, I guess Bombay is one city where the concentration of Shias is a
lot, I said casually.

I ponder over Muzaffar’s statement hum to Sunni hai bhai. It is a
pertinent remark. It indicates how Muzaffar has defined himself as an
outsider. This evening, as I was walking around Imambada, I had also
defined myself as an outsider – a girl who comes to the neighbourhood
wearing trousers and body hugging T-Shirts, clearly distinct from the rest
of the crowd, clearly marked, clearly an outsider. And then the question
arises in my mind about notions of community – Muslims are definitely not
a homogenous community in the Imambada neighbourhood. There are clear
demarcations, clear distinctions, clear boundaries, clear markings. And
then we talk of communities in the city? Wow!

I continue to sit. Three more cuustommers come in. They are men. I start
to feel uncomfortable. I decide to continue sitting. People passing by the
street peer into the shop sometimes, perhaps because they are intrigued by
the presence of a ‘modern’ female in a predominantly male setting.
(Maybe I am reading too much 
)

Muzaffar and Salim get to task. Unlike Mustafa who does not care much
about his cuustommers, Salim and Muzaffar wipe the table, offer a
newspaper to one of the cuustommers, serve water to some of them. Muzaffar
and Salim clearly operate by practices of a regular hotel. Mustafa on the
other hand does not care two hoots – his cuustommers are expected to
create their own space in the shop. He simply makes tea and serves it.
(I wonder about Muzaffar’s notions of work ... and also regularity 
)
Muzaffar tells me later that these days business is down. Yes, there was
boom business during Muharram, but these days, there is less public.
(Again I notice his usage of the term ‘public’ 
)

Two cuustommers come in. One of them switches off the fan in the shop.
Nothing novel because the space of Khushaali is the space of the
cuustommers. They start conversing in Marathi and discuss about visas and
work permits to some place which I assume is in the Middle East. This
neighbourhood thrives on the Middle East – for talk, for politics, for
work, for sense of identity, Islam, community and a host of other things.

Finally, I decide I want to make a move. I notice that one of Muazffar’s
and Salim’s acquaintances has come into the shop. By my marking, this man
is a loiterer, the faltoo. But perhaps in the space of Khushaali, the
faltoo is as integral as the regular cuustommers – after all, some
cuustommers are sophisticated faltoos
(my notion of faltoo emerges from the context of ‘work’, that is, a faltoo
is one who does not work, one how loiters and is a potential miscreant.).





Zainab Bawa
Bombay
www.xanga.com/CityBytes
http://crimsonfeet.recut.org/rubrique53.html