CHAUBURJI Baba Ji, for this is how he was known to all and sundry, passed away six months ago and with his passing went a small part of Lahore's history. I first came to know of this unique old man from a relative and the more I heard about him and his evocation, the more the urge grew to meet him and see his world behind the old wooden door. It was unfortunate that on arrival I discovered that I was a few months too late. As one travels along the Mall towards the Lahore Airport, turns right on Sarwar Road from the Rahat Bakery intersection and right again into the quiet street known as Link Sarwar Road, one sees an old structure in need of much repair on the left, accessible through an old wooden door. Stepping inside is like entering a time warp. The only furniture in the room is an old counter, an old wooden almirah and intriguingly, a bed. A door-less opening leads to another room with inadequate lighting, where one sees a long wooden table, some storage bins, bags of flour and what appears to be a small arched steel door in the opposite wall. This is the late Baba Ji's bakery, front office and bedroom, now run by his children, grandchildren and perhaps his great grandchildren. Once the spot used to be bustling with goras and mem sahibs seeking to order or pick up bread and cookies made from closely guarded recipes. Today, the bakery boasts a number of exclusive patrons that refuse to savour products from other big names in Lahore and travel from as far as Islamabad to stock their cookie jars. The secret of this small family run establishment's success is a limited menu, unparalleled quality, personalised service, old time simplicity and an unflinching lack of commercial greed. I got a taste of all these, when I placed my order at the counter with the old baker's middle-aged son. "Mian ji, would you like some black pepper and cumin in your biscuits?" he asked, adding, "the Baba always said that gora sahibs liked to have theirs a bit spiced up with pepper." I laughingly told him that I was no gora sahib, but I would nonetheless try what he was suggesting. As I stood there ordering, I started quizzing him about how well the business was running in view of the ongoing recession and conditions in the country. He looked at me with a winning smile and said that he was grateful for what God was providing him through patrons that came to the establishment generation after generation. The most interesting part of this quaint bakery is that its owners are ever ready to take you around and show how they produce their breads and cookies. Their dough is prepared from real ingredients and not the shortcut stuff available in stores; they use hops to raise their flour and pure butter as shortening, but it is their old baking oven that takes the cake. It is like a very low ceilinged room accessible by the arched steel door in the wall. The floor is made of bricks laid over layers of khera and powdered rock salt. This combination acts as a super heat retainer that keeps the oven at the right constant temperature for hours on end. Long poles with flat iron spatula-like things at one end are used to push in baking trays and to retrieve them once they are done. When I returned to Baba Ji's bakery to collect my order, I asked the son as to why was the old bed lying in the middle of the front room and acting as an impediment to customers. His reply was simple in every context. Neither he nor his other siblings had even remotely considered moving the rusted piece of iron furniture as their late father had slept in it every night for as long as they could remember. The bed not only created a connection with their departed parent, but perhaps also brought them good luck. I then asked as to why was he not modernising his facilities or expanding his business. The response left me humbled to no end. "We are not greedy and are content with what we earn". As I made my way home, I started envying the Baba and his descendants, and it dawned on me that in the ultimate analysis these poor folks were not poor at all. They had been enriched by the greatest wealth of all - a life full of happiness and contentment. The writer is a freelance columnist.