Qureshi Brothers Ki Shop

Subah ke saade chhe baje the, aur Hyderabad ke old city ki galiyon mein wohi familiar saans chal rahi thi—chai ki khushboo, cycle ki bell, aur kisi na kisi ke ghar se aati bartan dhone ki awaaz. Qureshi Brothers ki tailoring shop bhi roz ki tarah jaldi khul chuki thi. Imran Qureshi pehle hi machine ke paas baith chuka tha, chalk se kapde par nishaan laga raha tha, aur Rashid counter saaf karke billing register khol chuka tha. Shop ke bahar ek purani si board latak rahi thi: “Fine Stitching, Sherwani, Uniform, Alteration”. Naam simple tha, kaam serious.

Imran ka nature bhi kaam jaisa hi tha—seedha, precise, bina extra bakwaas. Woh kapde ko aise dekhta jaise koi doctor patient ki pulse check karta ho. Rashid bilkul ulta tha. Woh do minute mein kisi customer se aadhi life story nikaal leta, phir usi story ke beech mein fitting, payment aur delivery ka jugaad bhi kar leta. Dono bhai shop chalate the, lekin asal mein woh shop poore mohalla ka chhota sa adda ban chuki thi. Koi chai pe aata, koi shaadi ka card dikhata, koi bas yeh poochne ki “bhai, aaj kal rates kya chal rahe hain?” aur phir aadha ghanta wahin nikal jaata.

Neeche wale room mein Sana rehti thi. 24 saal ki, chup-chaap, apne kaam mein busy. Subah tuition padhati, shaam ko ek office mein part-time data entry karti, aur jo bhi bachta, usmein ghar ke kharche aur apni survival manage karti. Woh zyada kisi se baat nahi karti thi, bas itna hi ki “Assalamualaikum” aur “Theek hai bhai, thank you.” Uski aankhon mein ek alag hi thakan thi, jo kisi ne poochhi nahi, aur jisey woh khud bhi roz mirror mein dekh ke ignore karti rehti thi.

Unke abba, Haji Qureshi, retired tailor the. Ab machine ke shor mein zyada involve nahi hote the, bas kabhi-kabhi kursi pe baith ke kapde dekhte aur ek adha comment chhod dete—“Is collar mein thoda aur clean finish chahiye,” ya “Rashid, customer ko pehle suno, phir bolo.” Dono beta unki baat ko advice samajhte the, par lecture nahi. Haji sahab khud bhi lecture kam, situation zyada create karte the.

Uss din ek ajeeb sa family aaya. Partitioned family—yaani ek hi ghar ke log, lekin baat-cheet mein kaafi daraar. Teen auratein, do mard, aur ek young ladka jo constant phone pe tha. Unki baat se hi lag raha tha ki shaadi ka function pending hai, aur tension already high hai. Unhein urgent sherwani chahiye thi, aisi jo “family dignity” bhi bachaye aur function mein koi awkwardness bhi na ho.

Rashid ne unko turant chair di. “Arre miya, aaram se bolo. Scene kya hai?” Unmein se ek uncle bole, “Bhai, kal function hai. Shaadi ka reception nahi, bas family gathering hai. Lekin samajh lo… sabki nazar hai.” Imran ne kapde ka sample dekha, phir seedha bola, “Kal? Tight hai. Par possible hai. Agar aap measurements abhi de do, kaam ho jayega.”

Woh sherwani koi normal order nahi tha. Imran ne usko bas stitching ka kaam nahi samjha. Uske liye woh ek emotional repair tha—jaise family ke beech jo silai khul gayi ho, usko dobara jodna. Usne kapde ko haath se feel kiya, lining check ki, shoulder line dekh ke bola, “Isme over-embroidered look nahi chalega. Simple rakhenge. Respectful. Clean. Aisa ki pehne wala khud ko sambhala hua feel kare.”

Rashid ne apni taraf se promise kar diya, “Bhai, time pe ready ho jayega. Aap bas trust rakho.” Imran ne use side-eye diya. “Trust bolne se kaam nahi hota, Rashid. Time pe kaam hota hai.” Rashid has diya, “Arey bhai, dono hote hain. Kaam bhi, trust bhi.”

Raat ko shop band hone ke baad, jab machine ki awaaz thami, tabhi Sana ka phone baj utha. Woh neeche wale room mein thi, thodi der pehle hi tuition se lauti thi. Call uske ghar se tha. Uski awaaz pehle normal thi, phir dheere-dheere uska chehra safed pad gaya. Hospital emergency. Kisi family member ki tabiyat achanak kharab ho gayi thi. Doctor ne bola tha ki abhi paisa arrange karna padega, warna treatment delay ho jayega.

Sana ke haath thode kaanp gaye. Uske paas zyada cash nahi tha. Salary aane mein do din the. Aur ghar wale bhi aise the jo har baar usi se umeed karte, lekin khud uski help ke time pe helpless ho jaate. Woh kuch pal tak bas wall ko dekhती rahi. Help maangna uske liye hamesha last option hota tha. Woh kisi ke saamne bojh nahi banna chahti thi.

Upar shop mein Rashid ne uski awaaz sun li. Woh seedhiyon ke paas aaya aur poocha, “Sana, kya hua?” Woh pehle toh hichkichaayi. “Kuch nahi… bas ghar se emergency call aayi hai.” Rashid ne bina drama ke poocha, “Kitna chahiye?” Sana ne turant sar hila diya. “Nahi bhai, main manage kar lungi.” “Manage?” Rashid ne halki si hansi mein kaha, “Emergency mein manage kaun karta hai, miya? Batao na.”

Woh andar se toot rahi thi, but bol nahi pa rahi thi. Rashid ne uska face dekha aur samajh gaya ki scene serious hai. Usne bina zyada sochke apni drawer kholi, savings nikali, aur phone uthaya. Pehle ek local contact ko call kiya, phir Amin Bhai ko. “Bhai, medical emergency hai. Thoda cash adjust karna padega. Kal tak de dunga.” Amin Bhai, jo har area mein kisi na kisi se connected the, bas itna bole, “Address bhejo. Main dekh raha hoon.”

Bas, yahin se problem shuru hui.

Mohalle mein baat ka speed broadband se bhi tez hota hai. Kisi ne dekh liya ki Rashid ne Sana ko paise diye ya dene ka arrangement kiya. Kisi aur ne suna ki special customer ke order ko priority mil rahi hai. Aur phir partitioned family ko bhi kisi ne ulta seedha bata diya ki unka sherwani order delay ho raha hai kyunki “andar ka kaam” chal raha hai. Old city mein line seedhi nahi hoti, baat ghoom ke aati hai.