Tales from the Spice Lands

Somewhere in the Land of Nihariana

"Oye Joshi, ithay naal aa zara haleem ki daigh vich gotha tou laa!"

"AYAAA AUNTIE SHAZIA!!! Ya Rabb, kidhar phass gaya mein!"

"Oye Joshi, come here you! Stir the pot of haleem until it's ready!" screamed Auntie Shazia as she sat on the pakwaan's main counter, counting the money collected from the latest batch of daal. The food had been distributed to local centers, who then delivered it to workers buried in their exhausting labor jobs.

"COMING AUNTIE SHAZIA!! My God, where have I got myself stuck!!" Joshi muttered as he quickly wiped his hands on his flour-stained apron and ran toward the lower kitchen.

Massive steel pots hissed with steam. The smell of ghee, lentils, and masalas hung heavy in the air.

"Auntie, this is already done, yaar!" Joshi said, peering into the bubbling pot.

(Yaar is an informal word for "friend" — kind of like saying "dude.")

"Oye! I'm not your yaar! And you better stir that pot just how I tell you, or else I'll deduct your salary. As little as it is already, you'll be left with nothing," Auntie Shazia snapped, never pausing her money-counting or letting him out of her peripheral vision.

"Abey yaar..." Joshi sighed under his breath and began stirring the pot obediently like a well-trained soldier.

Closing Time at the Pakwaan

All the workers had lined up at the front counter. It was payday.

"THAT BIRYANI YOU MADE WAS TOO SPICY! THE CUSTOMER WAS VERY DISAPPOINTED!" Auntie bellowed at one of the cooks.

"OYE TUM! Why don't you leave this job and go work in construction, hmm? OH WAIT — THEY WON'T EVEN TAKE YOU THERE BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN SEPARATE THE EGGS FROM THE WHITES!"

She sighed dramatically.

"I SWEAR, IT'S LIKE I'M RUNNING A CHARITY AND NOT A PAKWAAN!"

It was Joshi's turn now.

He approached the counter like a man facing a lion — except this lion had lipstick, a bun of doom, and smelled of fried onions.

"Auntie, Auntie. Of course, this isn't a charity. People here are treated like people, not wild animals… well, most of the time," Joshi smirked and held out his hand.

"Ah, the not-so-great son of the Great Ramathkar. To what do I owe the misfortune of your mere presence in my restaurant?" she said with a forced smile.

"Maybe... maybe because I cook like none other around here. I may not be as great as my father, but I know my way around haleem and nihari."

Auntie turned a bright shade of crimson. For a moment, it looked like she'd combust, but instead she reached under the counter and pulled out the biggest wad of cash. She slammed it into Joshi's hand.

"The customers asked for seconds. And thirds. Good job. Now take the money and scram before I kick you out of your own late father's pakwaan."

Joshi chuckled.

"Scared to face me with tears, Auntie? Is my cooking really that good?"

"Ithay aa tu haramzada!!" (Come here, you bastard!) she roared, lunging at him.Joshi, nimble as ever, escaped her monstrous grasp.

On the Way Home

SMACK.

A hand slapped Joshi on the back.

He whirled around, arms raised in defense.

"OOHH YAARAA! AHISTA HOJA BHAI!!" (WOAH DUDEEEE! GO EASY ON ME BRO!) Ammar flinched, covering his face.

"Next time I'll take the haleem shift, man. Cool down. You already pissed off Auntie — and y'know, she is kinda old."

"I was this close to breaking your face. Where were you when she called for help?" Joshi growled.

"In the bathroom! Yaar, I swear! I would've been there otherwise," Ammar pouted.

"Uh huh. Just like you were there when I needed backup at the supermarket and you took a magical thirty-minute 'bathroom break.'"

The two laughed, pushing each other like brothers as they stepped out into the evening streets.

But outside was no joke.

The streets were broken — lined with rusted tin huts and the stench of neglect. Cries of children echoed through alleyways, mothers clutched to empty bottles, and fathers stared into nothing with tired eyes.

The land of Nihariana was crumbling.

And its poison was in the air.

A trash pile rotted in every corner. The garbage collectors hadn't come in weeks. People walked over disease like it was a carpet.

Under the moonlight walked Joshi — the one who wished to change not only hearts, but life itself.

"Sab ko khatam kar doonga…"(I'll finish them all...)He whispered into the cold night.

"Oye?! Are you even listening?" Ammar snapped his fingers. "We have to work double shifts tomorrow, you know?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah..." Joshi blinked."Isn't it all just… too much? A mother without milk for her child, a father broken after giving everything, children's dreams crushed in the dust. Why do we tolerate this? Who gave them the right to treat us like this?"

Ammar stared him down.

"Yeah, Joshi. Everyone gets it. Everyone. But we can't do anything. Not really. It's all just a race to the end. A race to fing death."***

He stepped forward and pulled Joshi into a quick hug.

"All we can do, mere yaar... is work. And pray. Get some sleep, hmm? I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, Ammar disappeared down the street.

Joshi Enters His House

"Ammaaa! I'm home!" he shouted, kicking off his sandals.

He grinned, waving the bundle of cash."Look! Auntie Shazia gave me the biggest cut today!"

But when he entered the room, his mother was sitting silently, a letter in her trembling hands.

"Amma… what happened? What's this?" Joshi asked.

She looked up slowly.

"Sit down, my son. It's time we talked."

"About what, Amma?"

"About your future... and this land's future."

She set the letter down on the small round table between them. Joshi, now seated across from her, stared at it in silence.