In a world teeming with human beings, one rarely comes across individuals entitled to be called humans. People step into the lives of others with the aim of either short-changing them or taking as much benefit from them as they can. Earning money has become the sole purpose of the majority of human beings. Judging others by the money they earn has become the new fad in metropolises. Amidst all this disheartening situation, if one gets to meet someone who does not give any heed to what others have, and for whom the only thing that matters is the purity of heart, then one realises that there still exist some people on account of whom the world is beautiful and worthy of being inhabited.
It is part of human nature that we gradually fall in love with all those things —be they humans, possessions and places —we give enough time to. Anarkali is one of those places in Lahore that has become an inevitable element of my being. Anarkali is one of those places in Lahore that has become an inevitable part of my being. During my two-year degree, I spent almost every afternoon and evening of every week in this historical bazaar, which, according to some sources, is the largest in South Asia. There would be countless youthful people invariably present, adding to the beauty and energetic vibe of the place. But on fewer occasions, I got to meet people who left indelible marks on my personality. The person about whom you will read in the following passages is a moderate yet impeccably graceful man.
Just like his name, he possesses a Kamal personality. Anwar Kamal Sahib is one of the liveliest and most well-mannered human beings in old Anarkali. His face is always adorned with a particular smile: a smile that starts at the lips and ends at the eyes. He sports a walrus moustache and dons plain clothes. He runs a general store—Shaffo General Store—located right beside the Hafiz Fast Food corner, and his shop is almost invariably crowded with students. Shaffo and Gogga are his sobriquets. He greets his regular customers as if he is bowing an adaab, displaying utmost grace and reverence. He does not keep his store open most of the time, as he says he always has had enough and is content with what he has at the moment as well. Perhaps, he seems to agree with Mahbod Seraji, who writes, "Don't take life too seriously; you'll never get out of it alive!"
He did his BA from MAO College, Lahore and spent his teenage life the way he wanted to. Describing his student life as 'rangeen,' he informed me that the cinemas of Lahore like Capri, Nishat, Gulistan, Naghma, Mubarak—the list is endless— were like his second home. “Those were good times,” he said, appearing to be happy and melancholy at the same time.
Students come to him and converse with him in a way as if he is their younger brother. They do this rightfully as he is quite young at heart and keeps advising them on certain matters for their own benefit.
It's nothing short of a blessing to find Anwar Kamal Sahib at his store. I visited his shop this recent Friday and luckily found him there. When I enquired, "Why do you close your shop around Maghrib? It is peak time as youngsters throng this place after getting free from their evening classes." With a particular sheen in his eyes and a smile on his face, he replied, "Dear, it's been over forty years since I have been seeing these lively people. There is no end to this. If you had not arrived, I would have closed the shop and gone home way before now."
I pray he gets to see many more springs of life. The next time any one of you visits his shop, do not forget to salaam him on my behalf.
P.S. Look at his artistic pose! This assures us that he must have been a hero in the prime of his life.