Home away from home

Sharif Manzil is a musty building in Old Delhi where the city's Afghan migrants have eked out a living for the past two decades. Nilima Pathak asks them whether, after all this time, they consider it home.

Wandering through the labyrinthine lanes of Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi, you may chance upon a dingy building known as Sharif Manzil on the narrow laneway, Ballimaran.

In the bowels of this dingy, unremarkable building, Afghan migrants have been selling their wares - carpets, woollen mats, music cassettes, green tea, copperware, ceramics and other items - since 1979, when they migrated to India following the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

The building, once boasting over 80 shops, was once a commercial hub for the city's Afghans. But the businesses gradually dwindled and today about 10 shops remain. Some are housed
on the first floor - its walls unkempt, paint peeling - where legendary poet Mirza Ghalib once held recitals.

For Pushto-speaking Afghans, Sharif Manzil is a place where they can eke out a living in a once-alien city that has become their home away from home. Residents say the building is where freedom fighters met during India's independence struggle.

In the daytime it served as a dispensary and in the evenings, it was used for socialising. But today, only a decrepit structure stands as testimony to those times. Many of the Afghan vendors
here have lived in Delhi for more than two decades, yet few express a desire to return to their homeland.

Yasin Khan, who has been here since 1980, says many left for other countries.

"Fifty per cent of the Afghan refugees have migrated to Canada and South Africa seeking better employment opportunities. Only about 300 families are left in the city now," he says.

"There are some who have got Indian citizenship, but several are still waiting after 20 years. Our children were born here and are studying in city schools. There is no life left for us in Kabul." Many survive by trading merchandise, such as music shop owner Khalilullah, who sells audio cassettes for Rs30 (about Dh2.45).

"I used to stock the latest Afghan numbers at one time, but few people come by these days. Presently, it is Hindi films and Hindi film music that (attract customers)," he says. Dusty books line the racks, but there are few takers. A poster of the late Afghan leader, Ahmed Shah Masood, is an eye-catcher in his small shop.

"Life was so different during his time," he sighs.

No going back
Trader Mohammad Nabi Karimi, whose shop, Karimi Carpets, is in Sharif Manzil, came to Delhi in 1980. "It took me time to settle here and after a couple of years I got married in Delhi and now have three sons," he says.

"We did good business earlier, but now it is just a matter of opening the shop and whiling away time waiting for the customers. Even though we hear that things have improved back home, there is no question of going back," he says.

Karimi and his family visited Afghanistan in 2000. "But when we came back it was like a homecoming," he says.

A car mechanic in Kabul, Karimi was unable to get a job in his trade in Delhi. "Life was quite unstable at that time. But once I decided to get married, I knew I had to get my own business and opted for a room in Sharif Manzil on rent and started selling carpets," he says.

Afghan carpets, which proved popular in Delhi, were brought to him by visiting friends and relatives. Karimi, who gained Indian citizenship in 1999, lives in Vikaspuri in west Delhi with his family.

"Several of our Afghan friends are satisfied living here. For us, selling carpets is now our business, which I hope at least one of my sons to carry forward," he says.

The heart (and stomach) of Sharif Manzil
A lone Afghan restaurant called Kabuli is on the first floor of Sharif Manzil. Serving authentic Afghan food, this is where members of the community touch base.

Restaurant owner Ahmad Shah says he saw the potential for an Afghan eatery when he arrived in India. Today, he has many regular customers.

"When I came to Delhi from Afghanistan after the Taliban uprising, I found fellow Afghans surviving on fruits and chappatis with yoghurt - because Indian food is (too) spicy for the Afghan palate," he says.

Since opening Kabuli 19 years ago, he hasn't looked back. And despite there being fewer Afghans doing business in the vicinity, he says there are days when the restaurant does good business.

His menu includes Kabuli pulao, keema, kebab, kofta and shorba.

And between two slots of lunch and dinner, the restaurant serves momos (Tibetan dumlings).
"Flavours are the lifeline of Afghan food ... cardamom and turmeric are essentials. But only people who can eat bland food come here," he laughs.

At the restaurant are Afghan traders who have come to India to sell carpets, dry fruit and other items. "We love this land," they exclaim.

One of them, carpet dealer Mohammad Kabir, says he's been visiting India for 22 years.
"I bring in an exquisite variety of handwoven Pashmina carpets and dry fruit. On (my) return (trip I) take back a wide range of electronic goods," he says.

The Afghans appear comfortable in Delhi, although they tend to congregate with their fellow countrymen in areas such as Lajpat Nagar, Bhogal, Malviya Nagar and Vikas Puri. Some get aid from the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), although many support themselves and even women have found means to support the family income, such as stitching clothes or being translators for Afghan patients.
 
Translations: occupying a niche
With Afghanistan lacking proper medical facilities, many Afghans come to India for treatment. As most cannot speak Hindi or English, migrants are employed as interpreters.

"People come ... for several kinds of treatments including heart surgery, joint replacement and physiotherapy," says Mahmood Jan, a translator.

Mahmood is brought in by hospitals when required, a service paid for by the patient. In addition to helping patients, he accompanies their relatives on shopping trips.The work is demanding, says a young boy, who also works as a translator but prefers to remain anonymous.

"Generally, I have to work 12 hours daily. And similar to a doctor's job, I can be summoned if some patient requires help late in the night," he says.

Far from the family
But despite advantages of living in Delhi, there are some things that can't be replaced - like family. Zeba, a mother of six, longs for her parents and siblings, who she hasn't seen since she and her husband, a carpet trader, came to India in 1980.

"There's poverty at both ends, hence no possibility of a meeting," she laments.

Given a choice, she says she would rather stay in India than return to Afghanistan permanently.

"Scarcity of food and lack of security have forced many Afghans to flee the country," she says.
While many Afghans are resigned to staying in Delhi, some of the better educated look to move to Canada or Europe for better prospects. But the numbers in the latter category are relatively few.

Some traders suspect the standard of education is still very poor back in their country.

"Unless there is education, how can one expect development in any country?" says Shah Mahmood, a trader in electronic goods. "Presently, we do not know how is the situation (of education) in Afghanistan."

Having come to the city in the mid-1990s, Mahmood's family remains in Kabul. He looks tense when reminded of home. Yet he lightens up when he talks about India; in fact, he says he finds Indians generous and friendly.

However, one elderly Afghan woman
I meet is not so happy about the early days in Delhi. "Now things have changed a lot. But earlier, at the slightest provocation, there was harassment from the police and the landlords," she says.

While it hasn't been easy uprooting and starting a new life, for those at the Sharif Manzil, India is a land of opportunity compared to their war-ravaged homeland. Indeed, given the choice to return to Afghanistan, nearly all say they'd prefer to stay in their adopted country.