Originally, the term dhaba was used for restaurants on the highway, which serve local food dishes. These roadside shacks were basically mud structures with charpaais, for mostly truck drivers going to and fro, to sit upon and have food.

With time, the charpaais were replaced by wooden tables and chairs. Still, the food at any dhaba has a homemade desi feel to it.

Now, the word dhaba has come to represent desi cuisine so much that many Indian/Pakistani restaurants in Europe and America have adopted it as a part of the name.

I frequently pass by one such dhaba in the Malir District near the Malir Cantonment Area. Like a compelling story which grabs the reader, I am drawn to the wonderful sights and sounds of the place.

One day I decided to pay it a visit. Run by two Pakhtun brothers, this dhaba has been shifted to Karachi all the way from Peshawar.

When I approached them, seeking permission to portray their workplace, they were surprisingly welcome to the idea. I say 'surprisingly' because I’ve oft been shooed away every time I have tried to cover any small restaurant or dhaba, owing perhaps, to the secrecy of the recipes or ingredients that they use and are careful not to reveal.

Sur Gul, the owner of this dhaba, did not hide behind any refusals or excuses. He is exceptionally proud of his little dhaba and everything he serves there.

In the chai corner inside, Gul's brother, Ali Sher Khan stands making tea. For breakfast, they serve rusks, bread, cakes, cake rusks and parathay.

The young helpers serve food to customers, cut vegetables, prepare spices, wash utensils and clean the dhaba. All of them appear to be happy; joking, laughing, living like brothers.

While we were talking about food and his business, Gul said: “You can see all the stuff here: vegetables, meat, utensils and spices – nothing is unclean or of poor quality. We are honest with our customers and provide what we ourselves eat, you can clear all your doubts when you enter Khan's dhaba.”

I spent a good long time at the dhaba, taking pictures of everything and not once did Gul appear to run out of patience. Instead, he offered me food and tea. I have to admit to being oddly disconcerted that Gul didn't even bother to ask me who I was and why I was here.

The only time he did interrupt me once was to say:

“Take a good picture of me and get it printed, I will keep it here in the dhaba.”

Ali Anas is a media student at IoBM.