Bundukhan Kebab House

After a full day of watching Faisal play field hockey, the Bajwa family was ready for food (and lots of it!) They packed into the family car and travelled across the city. Even though the air was hot and humid, the streets of Lahore were filled with traffic.
Yasmeen rolled the window down and laid her arm on the window ledge. As she watched the passing traffic, she leaned her head upon her arm. The soft, golden glow of flourescent light illuminated the building along Grand Trunk Road. As light flickered across the sides of buildings, it reminded Yasmeen of the glow from a flame.
Mr. Bajwa pulled the car into the crowded parking lot and stopped at the front door. Mrs. Bajwa and the children got out and waited in line and Mr. Bajwa drove off, looking for a place to park.
Mrs. Bajwa dug into her coin purse and gave several rupees to Faisal so he could eat with his hockey friends. Faisal’s teammates gathered outside, hanging out and talking about the game. Meanwhile, the rest of the Bajwa family waited for father. They would eat together.
Inside the Kebab House, thick gray smoke clouds filled the air. At the counters, field hockey players and patrons lined one side of the counter, while grillls and chefs lined the other. The restaurant was noisy as people ordered food and a trio of musicians played music on the stage.
Each of the chefs had a separate duty. Two men stood directly behind each grill and supervised the cooking. They turned each of the skewers lined up on the grills and then busily fanned the grills with sturdy wooden boards, feeding oxygen to the fire.
Flames licked up and embers inside the grills glowed as the charcoal became hot. A boy walked up and down the aisle with a pair of metal tongs. His job was to stack the charcoal inside each of the grills, so the meat would cook evenly.
In the back of the kitchen, men prepared the meat. One man fed lamb and onions into a press and turned the handle on the grinder. Strings of ground lamb came out the other end. He sprinked the ground meat with spices and churned the mixture in his hands.
Another man took the bowls of ground meat and carried them to the other end of the counter. He carefully pressed handfuls of the mix onto the skewers and took them to the grills, where they waited to be cooked by the same chefs who were turning the skewers and fanning the flames.
Even with this commotion, the three musicians played their rababs, stringed lutes from Arabia, and sang traditional Pakistani songs. While they played, the chefs sang along. Some of the customers joined in, singing and dancing.
Even though they didn’t recognize the song, Yasmeen and her brothers clapped their hands and stomped their feet. Mrs. Bajwa looked over her shoulder at Yasmeen. Yasmeen stopped, aware that she was it wasn’t very ladylike at all to sing in public. Out of a simple respect, Yasmeen’s brothers stopped clapping, too.
When Yasmeen reached the counter, she looked over the many kebab choices. There were Seekh Kebabs and Doner Kebabs, and Shish Kebabs, and Kathi Kebabs.
A boy rubbed his carving knife against a sharpening stone. With each stroke, the knife and sharpening stone made a swishing sound. After the boy finished sharpening his knife, he shaved pieces of lamb off a roasting spit. He dumped the shavings into a serving bin labelled “Lamb Shawarma.”
The Shish Kebab chef threaded ingredients onto pencil-thin wooden skewers. Ingredients alternated between meat and vegetable: potatoes, lamb, peppers, lamb, tomatoes, lamb, and then onions on the end. Because of the great variety of ingredients, Shish Kebabs were Yasmeen’s favorite.
Yasmeen ordered a Seekh Kebab to share with Khan. They placed it on a tray and moved along the counter. Khan chose a large plate of fries and Yasmeen ordered two cups of tea. Their tray was full as they approached the register.
At the register, she counted through her money, handing the cashier several rupee dollars. The cashier handed the change to Yasmeen. Khan grabbed the bowl of fries and followed his sister to a picnice table on the patio.
She arranged napkins on the table and then sat the Kebab across the napkins. Khan placed the french fries next to the Kebab and sat down. They took turns tearing pieces off the skewer. The char-grilled lamb meat was tender and melted in her mouth.
The rest of the family joined Yasmeen and Khan on the bench. Yasmeen watched her family as they enjoyed their foods.
Her father and mother shared a Shawarma sandwich while Mohammad ate from his own Doner Kebab. Unlike Yasmeen and Khan’s Seekh Kebab, the Doner Kebab was wrapped in a soft, fluffy bread, just like the Shwarma.
“Papa?” asked Yasmeen.
“Yes, dear?”
“Is there any difference between Shwarma and Doner Kebab?”
“Shawarma is basically Doner Kebab without the skewer.”
“Where did they come from?” she asked.
“Shawarma and Doner are Turkish words. They both mean “to turn. Kebab means 'meat.'”
“So Doner Kebab means turnning meat?”
“Exactly,” said Father.

“Can I try some?” asked Yasmeen.

Her father held his half of the sandwich for Yasmeen as she took a bite. The taste of vegetables, including cucumber, tomato, and lettuce mixed with grilled lamb and spicy dressing.

“Mmmm,” she said, “but why do we use a Turkish word?”

“In ancient times, nomad-warriors wandered across the Himalayan and Karakoram mountain ranges from Turkey. These nomads brought their culture and traditions with them, including kebab.”

“Did they bring us anything else?” asked Khan.

“They brought us the gift of Islam,” replied father.

“But I thought Pakistan was a country for Islam.”

“It was, but the Turkish warriors were the ones who first brought Islam to Pakistan.”

“What happened to the people from Turkey?” asked Khan.

“Some Turkish peoples settled in the areas of Pakistan and India.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Yasmeen.

“Has anyone ever seen a Turkish flag?”

The children shook their heads.

“If you put the national flag from Turkey next to Pakistan’s flag, they would look almost identical. Both flags have a white crescent moon and star. The Pakistani flag has a green background and the Turkish flag’s background is red. And, of course, the Pakistani flag has the white bar down one side. Without knowing it, most Pakistanis have Turkish heritage”

“Do we have Turkish heritage?” asked Yasmeen.

“We could be Turks,” answered Mr. Bajwa, “We could also be Spaniards, Arabians, Chinese, Mongols, and, of course, Indians.”

“Which one are we?” asked Khan.

“Our relatives could be from any of those cultures. They rode in travelling caravans from all over the world. In ancient times, a kebab was the best way to cook.”

As she enjoyed each morsel of grilled lamb, Yasmeen thought about ancient times. In school, Yasmeen had learned about the Himalayas and the Karakoram mountain ranges. The world’s second highest peak, K2, was located in the Himalayas. Another mountain, Nanga Parbat, was the ninth highest. In fact, ten out of the world’s thirty highest mountains were located in or near Lahore.

Nomadic caravans travelled over mountains by camelback, hunting for mountain goats and ibises. At the end of the day, the nomads stopped to set up camp. Afterwards, they sat around the fire, roasting their meals on a cooking stick. While they ate, they shared great stories by firelight.

Even though the city streets were nothing like the Himalayas, Yasmeen imagined herself in the pale golden glow of firelight. He hunting companions shared their meal while they gathered around the campfire for warmth. Yasmeen watched the traffic as it went wherever it was going. “It is not that different from now to then,” she thought to herself, “maybe except for the speed of the vehicles.”

After dinner, the Bajwa family waited for Faisal to finish celebrating with his friends. Mr. Bajwa ordered five cups of Falooda. Yasmeen drank from her tall glass using a straw. The drink looked like a strawberry milkshake. It included rose syrup, vermicelli, tapioca seeds, and milk, and ice cream. Khan slurped his Falooda too quickly. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Falooda headache?” asked Yasmeen.

Khan nodded.

“You shouldn’t have drank it so fast,” reminded Mrs. Bajwa.

Still, little Khan continued drinking his Falooda too fast, periodically stopping to recover. When Faisal noticed his family enjoying the icy summer drink, he said goodbye to his friends and joined his family for dessert.

As the last red thread disappeared from the sky, a familiar sound came from the tall towers situated at the mosque, known as minarets. It was sunset, time for Maghrib, the evening prayer.

People gathered at water fountains and carefully washed themselves, preparing for Maghrib. After they washed, they kneeled on the ground and faced Mecca, a special place for all Muslims. They recited their prayers, bowing to the ground and thanking Allah. They also thanked the prophet Mohammed. \

After evening prayer, it was time to go home. They piled into the Bajwa car and took their caravan home. Even at night, the fire-like glow of streetlamps illuminated the sides of the buildings and Mosques. Even now, Yasmeen still felt like a nomad, journeying from the desert prairie to her home.

Once they reached their house, Yasmeen was glad to be home. She recorded an entry in her journal and said her last prayer before going to bed. It was an eventful day, and she could use the rest.