Even while bathing, Ajab had not taken off his uniform, saying: ‘You do not know the worth of my uniform. I just can’t take it off even for a minute’
I WAS summoned by Ajab Khan’s diminutive maternal grandmother. She is an affectionate old lady. Most of us in Kangal Colony call her Nani (grandmother). She doesn’t live far away from my abode. I hastened to her. She appeared disturbed. I held her wrinkled hand, and asked, “Are you alright, Nani?”
“There is nothing wrong with me.” Nani settled on her ancient cot and said, “Have you, of late, met Ajab?”
“Yes, of course.” I felt concerned, and said, “We meet frequently.”
“Have you felt any change in him?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular.” I thought for a while, and said, “Except, when I hug him he stinks like a dead duck.”
“And why does he stink?” She asked.
I scratched my head, and replied, “I am afraid, I do not know, Nani.”
Nani said, “Ajab hasn’t bathed ever since he became a Police Constable.”
Surprised, I asked, “But, why hasn’t he bathed?”
Nani replied, “Because he doesn’t take off his uniform.”
I meekly said, “It is hard to digest, Nani!”
Nani held me by my ear and said, “Even in bed, your friend doesn’t take off his uniform.”
Ajab Khan and I are bosom friends. We both come from a small town, Juhi, in the interior of Sindh, and are now settled in Karachi’s famous Kangal Colony. Ajab lives with his grandmother, Nani, and I live with my pets, a lamb, a wolf and a talking parrot. It is a wise and witty parrot, and speaks eloquently. It keeps advising the lamb not to drink from downstream and be devoured by the wolf.
Ajab Khan and I have studied together up to Intermediate. Thereafter, something bizarre happened in Ajab’s life. He fell in love with the famous Indian actress, Juhi Chawla, after watching her few films. Ajab believes Juhi Chawla originally hails from our small town, Juhi. He abandoned his studies and decided to proceed to Bombay and see Juhi Chawla in person, and express his profound love to her.
Ajab Khan approached the Indian Embassy (High Commission) in Islamabad, and applied for a visa. In the column for the purpose of his visit to India in the application form, Ajab wrote: “To express my love to Juhi Chawla.”
It was promptly turned down. The concerned Indian officials told Ajab, “Unless the rulers of India and Pakistan thrash out their political problems, no Pakistani can express his love to an Indian subject. Similarly, no Indian can express his love to a Pakistani subject.”
Ajab came back dejected from Islamabad. Before he could overcome his dejection, Ajab was hounded by Agencies. They whisked him away to an unidentified location for interrogation. He was grilled, “Why did you go to the Indian Embassy? What secrets did you pass on to the Indians? What did you tell them? What did they tell you?”
It took Ajab incalculable months to convince his tormentors that he was a genuine lover, and he had nothing to do with politics. His only desire in life was to express his love to Juhi Chawla, and get himself photographed with her in front of the Taj Mahal. It was then that they closed the file and let him at liberty to lick his wounds, physical, mental and spiritual. Thereafter, Ajab went into oblivion. Except his grandmother, Nani, no one in Kangal Colony thought Ajab would ever return to civilization.
But one day, to everyone’s surprise, Ajab returned, and that too attired in a Police Constable’s uniform. He did not disclose the secret of his becoming a Police Constable. He had developed a few idiosyncrasies. Notably, he had become a man of few words. But, at times, he spoke incessantly, and that too meaninglessly. “You are Ajab’s best friend.” Nani said, “Only you can convince him to take a bath. If he doesn’t, I am afraid he will develop scabies. I have seen lice crawl on his neck.”
The same evening, I got hold of Ajab. Attired in his dirty, wrinkled uniform, he had returned from duty. I hugged him. He said, “I feel tired and exhausted.”
“Take a bath.” I said, “You will feel fresh.”
He hesitated.
“I don’t think Juhi Chawla will ever fall in love with a stinking person,” I insisted and said, “you must bathe, Ajab, at least for the sake of Juhi Chawla.”
I took him to a community hammam (bath). He went into a hammam and bolted the door from inside. I thanked the Heavens when I heard the enormous flow of splashing water from the shower. After 10 or 15 minutes, he unbolted the door. To everyone’s comical horror, there emerged from the hammam a drenched Ajab. While bathing, he had not taken off his uniform! I dragged him away, and asked, “Why didn’t you take off your uniform before bathing?”
“You do not know the worth of my uniform.” Ajab said, “I just can’t take it off even for a minute.”
“What is so special about your uniform?” I asked.
“Come with me.” Ajab smiled, and said, “I’ll show you what it does.”
Ajab took me along to the Colony’s main market. On our way to the market, the cart-pullers, vendors, tangawalas and the rickshaw drivers saluted Ajab. At an awkward juncture, he stopped pedestrians from walking for 10 minutes. They obeyed him. While passing by a fruit shop, he picked up an apple and passed it on to me. Instead of foaming, the fruit-seller exchanged pleasantries with Ajab Khan. “It is all because of this worthy wardy.” Ajab said, “Without it, I am nothing. I am nobody.”
