Hyderabad Market

Tailor Shafi Ahmed peers disdainfully from behind his glasses. Specializing in stitching sherwanis, the Karachi resident bemoans the loss of Hyderabadi culture that has meant fewer footfalls at his shop.

“Gone is the kurta pyjama and with it the Hyderabadi ‘saqafat’ (culture) with all its ‘adab’ (etiquette) and murawwat’ (consideration),” said 58-year-old Ahmed, wearing a shalwar kameez.

He lives in Hyderabadi Colony, opposite Karachi’s Central Prison. The place derives its name from the erstwhile princely state of Hyderabad that during partition became a part of India. Comprising some 350 homes, the neighbourhood is predominantly inhabited by those who migrated from Hyderabad. But old timers in this quarter say the place has lost its sophisticated ways, be it in terms of manners, cuisine or sartorial traditions.

Ahmed must have stitched thousands of sherwanis — a coat-like tunic with a fitted collar. Among his clients he counts two former Sindh governors and qawwal singers. His father, before him, stitched the dress for Khwaja Moinuddin, the famous playwright who with the money earned from his plays set up the BVJ School, Ahmed’s alma mater. “Khwaja sahib would never even think of wearing a sherwani stitched by anybody other than my father,” said Ahmed.

But today designers abound in Karachi and sherwanis are worn strictly only on formal occasions like weddings, that too in winter. The pajama, lungi and kurta have turned into attire meant for home. “You won’t understand, our sherwani is like the famous ‘kacchhey gosht ki biryani’ (a Hyderabadi rice speciality). You have to be a connoisseur to know the difference.” A fast-paced life and western influences have reversed the fortunes of many a famed symbol of Hyderabadi culture.

Many original migrants have also left the place. In a nearby lane, rightly named Achar Gali — from where every shop seems to let out a mouth-watering aroma — there is the famous shop-cum-café Chatkharey. It has been doing a roaring business in all kinds of Hyderabadi pickles and dahi barey and pakoras since 1964. But this is probably the last generation to be putting their fingers into pickles.

“When the (state-owned) Pakistan Television didn’t have its own cafeteria, all the actors and singers would make a beeline for my shop for the midday meal,” said 46-year-old Syed Mashood Shah Fahim. Among his regular customers are famous satire writer and artist Anwar Maqsood and his older sister Bajiya. Even now, during the holy month of Ramadan, Chatkharey and other similar shops remain open till the wee hours.

“This becomes a food court and our quiet, sleepy lane comes alive,” said Fahim. The recipe for the achars, a well-guarded secret until now, had been passed on from mother to her four sons. But the art may die with them.“I don’t think I’d want my children to run this business,” said Fahim. “There are other businesses to be ventured into.”

Of course, some culinary outlets still continue to draw crowds such as the oldest Hyderabadi kitchen here, once run by Sheikh Abdullah, popularly known as Abu Mian. The late Abu Mian looks down from a framed photograph adorning the main wall of the shop run by his two sons. The man wearing a fez in the photo seems out of place in the run-down shop.
Since his death 30 years ago, his sons have taken over the catering business and are famous for their khubani ka meetha, kacchhey gosht ki biryani, baghharey baingan, harees and Hyderabadi dum ka keema among other things.

They are known for scores of other food items that once evolved in the kitchens of the Nizam of Hyderabad and were elevated to an art form. Mehmood, the eldest son, says the nizams served some 26 varieties of biryani for their guests.

The colony has over a dozen catering outlets, while in Karachi there are over 250 kitchens excelling in Hyderabadi dishes. “All were once working under their father,” pointed out Ahmed. The winds of change are blowing in Karachi’s little Hyderabadi Colony, taking away with them some delightful old world flavours.