Shahid Am I?
Riaz (clears space and settles himself in the room) Come.
Shahid (confused) Where?
Riaz Sit, sit. I’ve ordered food from an excellent Pakistani takeaway near here.
Shahid Thank you.
Riaz The boy will come soon. Where are you from?
Shahid Sevenoaks, Kent.
Riaz I am from Lahore originally.
Shahid That ‘originally’ is a big thing.
Riaz You recognise that, eh? You are a Pakistani at heart.
Shahid Well … not quite.
Riaz But yes. I have observed you before.
Shahid Have you? What was I doing?
Riaz You are hard-working. We all are who come here. I am without a doubt over your earnestness.
Shahid I’m desperate for good Indian food.
Riaz Naturally you miss such food.
A knock on the door.
Ah, here he is.
He opens the door to Hat, bringing the takeaway.
Meet Shahid — he’s been living quietly in the room next to mine. A proper student!
Hat Salaam-a-leikum. I am Hat.
Shahid Shahid.
Riaz His father owns the takeaway. He is paying for him to study at the college.
Hat (to Shahid) Nice room, brother.
Riaz (to Hat) Have you brought your abha’s famous brinjal pakoras to start with?
Hat (putting the takeaway cartons on Shahid’s computer table) Everything exactly as ordered. Kebab rolls as well.
Riaz (exclaiming) Masha-Allah!
He sits on the floor and opens the cartons.
Come, Shahid — eat!
Hat (to Riaz) Papa very annoyed — he say definitely no more meetings in our café.
Riaz (reassuring as he eats) We will respect his wishes. Don’t worry — now go.
Hat hesitates.
(Realising.) Ah! The money, of course. Take out a note from my pocket. Come, come, Shahid — this is the best food in London!
Hat fishes a fiver out of Riaz’s pocket, as Shahid joins him in eating.
Shahid Are you a student too, Riaz?
Riaz Yes, of the law. Before, I gave only general and legal advice to the many poor and uneducated people who came to see me in Leeds. But now it is time to make a proper study. So, here I am in London — the mecca for all students, no? (Notices Hat standing by.) You need more money?
Hat (brandishing the fiver) I have no change!
Riaz Arey, give it to me later. (To Shahid.) Your family name is Hasan, am I right?
Shahid Yes.
Riaz (glowing) A family that bears the name of the martyred son of Ali can only be of great distinction.
Hat browses through Shahid’s bookshelf.
Shahid I’d like to think so.
Riaz How, then, did they let you come to such a derelict college?
Shahid Because I met a lecturer called Deedee Osgood. I really liked her. So I enrolled. Do you know her?
Riaz Oh, yes, she has a reputation at the college.
Shahid At my interview, she only asked what I liked to read and the music I listened to. I talked of Midnight’s Children — have you read that?
Riaz (indicating Hat browsing Shahid’s shelf) Hat has never seen a book before — he is an accountant. (Returning to Shahid’s question.) That book was accurate about Bombay. But this time he has gone too far.
Shahid When that writer got on TV and attacked racism, Riaz, I wanted to cheer. He spoke from the heart.
Riaz My abha spoke from the heart. He set me on the path of showing our suffering people their rights.
Shahid That’s exactly what the man argued on TV — our rights against racism.
Riaz How do you like the pakoras?
Shahid They taste just like my ammi’s.
Hat Wicked, yaar! I’ll tell my abha. He be dead pleased.
Riaz (to Shahid) What does your abha do?
Shahid Travel agent. He bought the agency where he worked as a clerk when he first came to Sevenoaks.
Riaz (exclaiming, with satisfaction at having polished off a kebab roll) Al-hum du’lilla — he found his right path.
Shahid Mum runs the agency now with my brother Chili. His wife Zulma’s from Karachi.
Riaz While your papa enjoys a well-earned retirement!
Shahid (matter of fact) He died six months ago.
Riaz (sympathetic, as he wipes his fingers on a handkerchief) To pass your last days so far from home must have been very painful for him.
Shahid Not Papa. Every evening he’d lie in bed in his smoking jacket and entertain visitors like some pasha. His ‘centre of operations’, he’d call it, swigging whisky and soda in a long glass, with Glenn Miller on the turntable.
Riaz looks at him.
Him and Ammi — they’d never go anywhere themselves, apart from Karachi once a year.
Riaz Your brother, he is in charge of the business now?
Shahid Chili? He has a looser attitude to work.
Riaz Is he a dissipater?
Shahid bristles.
(Urging him on.) Eat, eat!
Shahid complies.
What do our people really have in their lives?
Shahid Some have security and purpose at least.
Riaz They have lost themselves.
Shahid They’ve certainly lost something. My parents always despised their work and laughed at customers for boiling their bodies on foreign beaches.
Riaz Precisely right! No Pakistani would dream of being such an idiot by the seaside — as yet. But soon — don’t you think? — we will be parading about everywhere in these bikinis.
Shahid That’s what my mother and Chili are waiting for. I’ve got to tell you, Riaz — after Papa died — this is the truth now –
Riaz Anything less is worthless.
Shahid I lost it for a while. Did badly at school. I’d, uh, got my girlfriend pregnant, and she’d had to have a late abortion. I started hitting the clubs after that, just bumming around. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I wanted — wanted to — uh –
Riaz Yes, yes?
Chad enters.
Chad Riaz, brother –
Riaz gestures for Chad to keep quiet.
Riaz (to Shahid) Speak openly — he is one of us.
Shahid I wanted to be a racist.