Mr Khan's Lahori Restaurant

Today we take you on a journey to Karachi In "Khan’s Lahori Restaurant". Mustapha Khan runs a modest but successful eatery in Karachi, serving his famous Lahori Chicken Curry. When thugs demand protection money, Mustapha refuses, leading to chaos when the thugs return the next night. Later, they return, escalating the conflict further. In a showdown, Mustapha and his cook, Bilal, fend off the thugs, but it only leads to more problems. Will they pay the gangsters or will these two unlikely chef heroes make a stand that results in a life-changing decision?  

Transcript

Khan’s Lahori Restaurant

Mustapha Khan’s Lahori Restaurant was not the most luxurious of establishments and made its living from the docks and office workers from the warehouses that lined the Karachi harbour road. The walls were decorated with pictures from the chef’s home city of Lahore. The large poster of the Basshahi Mosque always made him feel homesick. He missed the shops and cafes of Fort Road and the lazy Saturday afternoons by the banks of the Ravi as it meanders towards the Arabian Sea but lazy days do not put food in your belly and Lahore had plenty of empty stomachs and few jobs. He left Lahore with two things, his Mother’s recipe for Lahori Chicken and his friend Bilal who had many talents but the greatest of them was his ability to make the best Roti bread Mustapha had ever tasted. 

Mustapha’s restaurant quickly gained a reputation for his Mother’s Lahori Chicken Curry and was now famous throughout Karachi and was much loved by his customers. It had a thick sauce made from chana dal, deep yellow almost orange in colour from turmeric and hot and spicy from the garlic and cayenne pepper.  

It was after midnight when the door burst open and two burly men strode into the restaurant. One of the men went over to the only diner and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him from his seat.

He barked. “Get out.” 

The man quickly decided that as he hadn’t paid for his chicken curry and as he had nearly finished, a strategic retreat was the order of the day.

Mustapha Khan was cleaning down the kitchen when he heard the noise out front. He came out from the back and saw the two men by the door. One was taller than the other, his nose was flattened against his face, and the other had a scar down his cheek. Both looked as if they had done ten rounds with a Bengal Tiger and the tiger had won.

Mustapha said “We are closed for tonight. Gentlemen but come back tomorrow for the best Chicken Lahori you have ever tasted. Thank you and goodnight.”

They said nothing but kept looking around the restaurant and once they were satisfied that no one else was around. The taller of the two men opened the door.

“Ok, Boss, no one but the little fat one in here now.” 

A thin man in a shiny suit and a fedora hat came through the door,

“Mr Khan, good evening,” he said in an obsequious voice  “I am here tonight to help your business. I represent the Traders Insurance Company and we are worried that you don't have enough insurance cover to take care of all the threats to your business.

“I have insurance and can you all please leave my restaurant? Now!” 

“That’s not very polite Mr Khan.” The thin man said. “My name is Mr Gurmani and for the small sum of 20,000 rupees a week, we can 100% guarantee you will have no trouble from thugs and criminals in your lovely restaurant. “ 

Mr Gurnami had recently been promoted to the dockside area and would now receive a percentage of all the protection money he collected. He was very keen to expand his empire and impress his bosses. They had given him Hashim and Yusuf as enforcers but Mr. Gurnami saw them more as the runts of the gangster litter. They were better than some of the young men his bosses employed who were too ready to pull a knife or fire a gun. Dead shop and restaurant owners don’t pay protection.

“I have no trouble in this restaurant” Mustapha continued. “and I can’t afford that amount of money, so thank you and please leave.” Mustapha had no doubt the thugs and criminals he was talking about were him and his associates. He slipped his hand under the bar counter and took out a large wooden club. 

“Mr Khan” Mr Gurnami said “I see from the weapon you now hold in your hand you are not prepared to behave in a business-like manner even though I have shown you nothing but respect. I will report your refusal back to my superiors and I just hope for your sake there are no bad consequences of this. Good evening Mr Khan. “ 

With that, the three men left the restaurant. 

Mustapha quickly locked up and he picked up the few remaining plates from the table and took them through to the kitchen. 

In the harbour area where the restaurant was, there were many criminal gangs keen to take over businesses or get them to pay protection. There would be no point in going to the police as they were usually on the gang's payroll or just too lazy to do anything about it. Mustapha hoped this was just a try on but in his heart, he knew they would be back.

Now, it was time to go home and get a few hours of sleep before Saturday came and once again his restaurant would bursting with customers and smells of cinnamon and garlic would fill the air. 

Saturday evening at 8.00 o'clock the restaurant was full and the two waiters scurried about like demented hens. In the kitchen,  Bilal the roti wallah turned out dozens of breads from the tandoor as Mustapha Khan ladled bowl after bowl of his Lahori Chicken Curry. 

As fast as he could serve them, the waiters would take them out to eagerly awaiting customers. That was the only curry on the menu on a Saturday night and served with rice and roti it was a Karachi favourite not just with the exiles from Lahore but with many locals as well. People would queue outside sometimes for an hour waiting to be ushered into the hot, sweaty smoke-filled room. Mustapha Khan had a successful philosophy, keep it simple, keep it cheap and make it with love. 

Suddenly a man with a scar down his cheek jumped up from a table and shouted “Mouse, there is a mouse in my curry” he held the mouse up for everyone to see. 

Then a man with a flat nose shouted “There is one in mine as well.” 

All hell seemed to break loose The two men  threw punches at anyone near them and people were screaming and heading for the door as quickly as they could. The onlookers in the queue outside pushed forward to see what was going on and before long everyone was tripping over each other and some were falling to the ground. 

Mustapha Khan stood in the kitchen door and  summoned every ounce of his strength and bellowed at the top of his voice.

“STOP Now!” What the hell is going on? Slowly the fighting subsided. Diners scrambled to their feet. The floor was a mess of broken crockery, curry, rice and roti. 

Mustapha recovered his composure “Very Sorry everyone. Please come back soon and you’ll get a free curry on me. So sorry.” 

He turned around and called out “Table wallahs!” from behind the bar counter two heads popped up. “Here Boss” 

“What happened?” 

“Two men Boss, they found mice in their curry. Then the fighting started.” 

“Which men?” The two waiters look around the room. “Not here now, Boss” 

“What did they look like?”

“Big men, ugly men, one had a flat nose.”

“Clean this mess up please.”

Two hours later the restaurant was clean and tidy again. The broken chairs were stacked in one corner but everything else looked like it would be OK.

“OK, you two, time to go home. I’ll get some more bowls and chairs in the morning. We open as usual for lunch.”

Mustapha locked the door after they left and returned to the kitchen where Bilal was cleaning down the work surfaces. 

“I am going to get the chickens ready for tomorrow Bilal. You finish up the cleaning and you can go home.”

From the fridge, he took out a large box of chickens and began to butcher them. Suddenly there was a loud crash and shoving his butcher’s blade into the pocket of his apron he rushed into the restaurant. 

The door frame was shattered where the lock had been forced off and in the doorway stood Mr Gurnami with his two goons standing just behind him.

“Good Evening Mr. Khan, I came as soon as I heard the terrible news of the trouble in your restaurant tonight. If there is anything I can do to help then please let me know. “

“Well, you could start by fixing the door you just kicked in.”

“I can assure you the door was like that when we arrived. I have spoken with my superiors about our conversation the other night and they were very disappointed that you refused their very generous offer. It would seem in the light of recent events that your fine establishment much needs our help.”

“Mr Gurnami, I know it was your thugs that caused the problems in my restaurant tonight. I work hard to make a living here and I am not about to give away my meagre profit to a bunch of gangsters. Get out now.” 

Mr Gurnami turned to the man with the flat nose and said “ Hashim, we need to teach Mr Khan a lesson in politeness, can you please oblige?” Hashim stepped out in front pushing back the corner of his jacket he took a leather-coated cosh from an inside pocket. 

“It would be a pleasure boss.” 

Hashim moved quickly towards Mustapha and as he raised his cosh the kitchen door flew open and Bilal  came rushing in with a butcher’s cleaver in his hand. Hashim immediately backed off. 

Mr Gurnami turned to Scarface. “Yusuf, get him” Now Mustpha had taken his butcher’s knife from his apron and the two unlikely warrior chefs stood side by side. 

Bilal waved his cleaver at the thugs who stood rigid in front of them. “Come near me and I’ll chop you like I chop chicken.” 

Mr Gurmani shouted at his men. “Get them!”

Yusuf took a knife from the scabbard on his belt and lunged for Mustapha but Mustapha grabbed one of the chairs that had been stacked in the corner and smashed it across Yusuf’s head. Yusuf tumbled backwards and crashed into Hashim. 

Suddenly Hashim screamed in pain, his eyes narrowed as blood poured from his mouth. Muspaha could see Yusuf knife sticking out of his chest as he slumped backwards. All the men seemed frozen for a moment and then Yusuf turned and ran towards the door pushing Mr Gurnami out of the way.

“You will pay dearly for this.”  said Mr Gurnami his face red with fury, he turned towards the two chefs as he left and said. “You are deadmen, deadmen,” 

The two chefs looked at the now lifeless body of Hashim. Bilal was the first to speak his voice shaking with fear, he looked at Mustapha and said “Deadmen? I don’t think he was joking. These guys will be back and soon.”

“Wait there.” Mustapha ran through the kitchen to the little office at the back. He opened the safe and quickly scrapped the contents into a plastic bag.

“Bilal. We don’t have much time. We need to get as far away from Lahore as we can. Follow me.”

As the cargo ship “Pride of the Tyne” new ship's chef looked back on the city he had worked in for the last ten years he gave one last wave of his hand as it sailed slowly out of the harbour. 

The best roti wallah in Karachi stood beside him and said. “Where is this ship going Mustapha?” 

Mustapha smiled “I have absolutely no idea.”

Jeff Price September 2023