His Name is Khan

I was standing outside the taxi with my luggage but there was no sign of the driver. Calling his number a couple of times had proven to be futile, so I just stood there, waiting for him to appear eventually. It was probably a minute later, though it seemed longer, when I saw a man in a red shirt, running towards me. He had a big grin on his face.

“Sorry sir, I thought you would be a few minutes and decided to get some tea.”

On closer inspection, he seemed more like a boy than a man. His smile had a mix of both innocence and mischief and whatever irritation had accumulated inside me, vanished. 

Once we were on our way he apologized again.

“I haven’t had a chance to eat lunch today - it’s been really busy.”

It was a few minutes past 4 pm. I asked him to stop at Fanoos on the way, where he could pick himself up a kaati roll. He nodded his head and said that he would take a break after dropping me off. No amount of insisting on my part could get him to change his mind. 

“Arrey saab, this is a daily routine. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a nice meal in peace,” he said. 

It broke my heart when he said that. As we kept talking, I got to know that he was 24 years old, had a son who was born 8 months ago and was the only earning member in the family that included his parents and two younger sisters, who he had to marry off. He told me that his name was Mabrouk. 

“But you can call me Khan,” he said laughingly.

I could see Khan’s face in the rear view mirror and not for a moment while we were talking did he stop smiling. He began asking questions about me but I was embarrassed to tell him about my indulgent lifestyle, where I did not feel the need to work and worse still was on my way to New York for a 6 week holiday. It made me feel horribly guilty. While not being unaware that most people have to work really hard to make ends up, hearing about it first hand from an individual who didn’t seem outwardly unhappy, was especially hard. 

Overly burdened from a very young age, Khan began driving a tempo truck illegally at the age of fourteen. An age when all I had to worry about was homework. When he was seventeen his father lost a limb in an accident and couldn’t go to work any longer. His sisters were taken out of school because they couldn’t afford the fees. I would have got really depressed if he wasn’t so nonchalant about it and if the smile had left his face. 

“It’s all kismat,” he said looking towards the Heavens. “I didn’t want to get married as it would mean even more responsibilities, but my parents would not hear of it.”

“They are also right,” he continued. “After all the family name has to continue.”

“What if you were not able to have a son?” I asked.

He laughed and said “Uski ab fikar nahin, beta to paida kar liya (I don’t need to worry about it, now that I have a son)”.

I wish I had taken a picture of Mabrouk. He had the warmest and most honest smile I had seen in a while. As he helped me unload the luggage, I felt almost sorry that we had reached the airport so quickly. He had told me so much about himself including the fun he used to have with his friends and how he looks forward to Eid, which is one of the rare times that he takes the day off and has a celebratory meal. By the end of the cab ride, I didn’t feel like Mabrouk was a stranger or just an individual who had driven me to the airport in his taxi. I opened up my arms and gave him a hug. I also gave him a large tip.

“Go have an indulgent meal now,” I said, pretending to scold him.  

I could see that he was fighting back tears. We exchanged numbers and I made him promise that he wouldn’t forget me.

As I began walking towards the check-in counter, looking at the crowd, filling out forms, going through security and waiting to board my flight, my mind moved on to so many other things. By the time I was in the plane, I had pretty much forgotten about Khan. 

                                                                         ****

Two days ago on Saturday I got a call from a name that I didn’t recognize. But as soon as I heard his voice, I knew. 

“Sir, I’m outside your building,” he said in his usual lively manner. “Chai pilaoge (can I drop by for chai)?”

Once again he hadn't had lunch so I made him a plate with whatever I could find in the refrigerator. And once again it slipped my mind to take his picture.