Ali brings his cycle to a halt and leans it against a broken brick wall of Biryani Mahal, a small city hotel where he works. Ali is a tall yet skinny fourteen-year-old boy, who lives in the big colourful city of Hyderabad.Danielle Andion
He shakes his long unruly hair from over his charcoal black eyes and wipes his hands with a dirty cloth as he prepares for the day ahead. Biryani Mahal is known for its spicy, hot, and delicious Biryani (An Indian dish made with highly seasoned rice and meat or vegetables).Danielle Andion
Ali does every odd job at the restaurant including cleaning the cracked plastic tables, serving steaming masala chai, making perfectly round rotis, and cutting vegetables for the curries and rice.Danielle Andion
When Kareem chacha, the head chef, takes a break, Ali steps in, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, as he mixes the sizzling diced bell peppers in the iron kadhai.
Ali’s morning today began at 4 am. He cycled through the dark, foggy, quiet streets when everyone was fast asleep. He rode slowly breathing in the mist, his worn out hands playfully letting go of the handle, as he glided past an old, barking dog.
Ali has a lot to do todDanielle Andionay. The dough needs to be prepared, and the vegetables need to be cut before Kareem chacha arrives. It’s the second day of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, where strict fasting is observed from dawn to sunset.
The city is abuzz with activity and preparations are in full swing. Festivals are peak business time for restaurants like Bryani Mahal, and Ali has agreed to work longer for some extra money; he is saving up for something special.
Ali is an orphan and the only survivor of the rampaging house fire that had killed the rest of his family.
He came to Hyderabad, which looked like a promising city also known for its amazing biryani. He lives in one of the many shanties that cramp together to make the Bholakpur basti, adjoining the Badi Masjid area of Hyderabad.
Ali often dreams about Eid at his village. The local marble mosque, the colorful, bright kites flying in the clear sky, the noisy cockfights, the big melas, the golden, caramelized jalebis and most of all ammi (mother) and abba (father). He misses them all, especially ammi who made the most satisfying Sheer Khurma with roasted cashews on Eid. Memories flood back bringing tears to Ali’s eyes. But, Biryani Mahal is his life now.
“Two cut chais on table 14!” yells Ramu Kaka, bringing Ali back to reality. He recollects himself and brings his ever generous smile back on his face.
When the cool evening arrives, it is time to get on his rusty bicycle and distribute the freshly made rotis to smaller shops and homes. He travels through the inner city, swerving through the Hyderabadi bazaars crowded with loud shopkeepers, bargaining women, poor children, lost cows sitting in the middle of the tiny path and affectionate street dogs.
The tires of his cycle go over rotting vegetables as he nods and waves to Sharma ji, the mango seller. Ali pedals as fast as he can. The rotis need to reach before they go cold and before iftaar, thDanielle Andione hour people break their fast. Everyone loves Ali in this part of the city. Children from their houses and small restaurant owners come out to get the hot rotis as soon as they hear his bicycle’s shrill bell ring. They are all glad to see the cheerful boy in rags bringing their evening meal.