The Arab World Restaurant Ruwi: A Memoir

An old pic of the Arab World Restaurant in Ruwi from the outside

As early as I can remember, the Arab World Restaurant in Ruwi High Street, situated diagonally opposite the Ruwi Police Station in Muscat, Oman, had always been home to us. Run by my Uncle, Nasser-ka (Dad’s sister’s husband), the restaurant used to be an essential stopover every time we went shopping in Ruwi, the closest high street from our homes in Muttrah and Wadi Kabir. My Dad used to love sitting there for hours, chatting with Nasser-ka and the other employees of the restaurant, who were mostly from his hometown of Mahe or nearby towns of Thalassery and Kannur back in Kerala, India.

It was the place in Muscat, where the natives of the above-mentioned places would frequent to discuss home, politics and even the latest offers at Al Fair (the go-to supermarket chain before LuLu, KM or Carrefour became a thing).  As the restaurant was located right in the middle of town, it was easy to identify, and many would drop-off parcels from India for people who stayed far-off to come and collect when they came down to the capital.

The Arab World Restaurant is a franchise that was begun by Mohammed Said Khalfan, an Omani entrepreneur with Yemeni roots along with his brother. The one at Ruwi, which was the first branch, started in 1978 on the ground floor. Khalfan later decided to go solo and decided to extend the restaurant to the first floor. My Dad, who was back then in charge of one of the only department stores in Muscat, called the Billah department store, went with Khalfan to check out the location of what would eventually become the first Arab World Restaurant. The place used to be an office space, but through some meticulous planning and the watchful eye of Khalfan, as reminisced by my Dad, he turned it around into the sprawling restaurant it came to be known for.

Initially, the restaurant was run by a Lebanese manager, with Egyptian, Indian, Syrian and Yemeni workers. In 1980, Nasser-ka took over the reins. Over the years, the Arab employees left, and the restaurant had natives of Mahe, Thalassery and Kannur from Kerala in India running it. Then, at the beginning of 2010s, Bangladeshis joined the workforce. If the restaurant walls could speak, it would talk about Ruwi High Street's evolution, its businesses, and the people that made it what it is today.

The restaurant's most interesting aspect was its menu, which remained unchanged for more than 40 years, except for the additional introduction of mandi ten years back. The limited menu offered breakfast, lunch and dinner. Mornings were limited to foul medames, salad, meat and chicken hummus. Lunch and dinner used to be the busiest. While mutton, chicken and fish biriyani were served in the afternoon, at night, you could get a full platter of chicken tikka, areas (meat-stuffed pitas), mutton tikka, lamb chops, kebabs and more served with khubz (Arabic bread), hummus and a starter combo of salad, soup and macaroni. 

The meal would be topped off with a small glass of mint tea, which was in itself, something that was unique to the restaurant. So much so, that some British customers took home the recipe for it. After not being able to replicate it, they came back to see for themselves how it was prepared. A dinner meal cost just RO 1.200 in the 1980s, which increased to RO 1.500 only in the 2000s. A small increment of 300 Baiza over four decades is something unheard of in today’s capitalistic economy.

The restaurant was also known for catering to weddings and funerals, which involved cooking with 1-10 whole goats. They were so popular that people would come from far and near to place their orders at this very restaurant. Their selling point always remained the amazing Arabic food influenced by Yemeni, Omani and Egyptian cuisine. The place was choc-a-block on any given day of the week, be it for breakfast, lunch or dinner. 

I remember frequenting the restaurant when I was a kid, with my Dad, Mom and Brothers. My Brothers and I would be served soup and macaroni, and the occasional tikka, almost every time we were there. I would make my way through the kitchens interacting with all the lovely gentlemen, who addressed me as Nizar-ka’s (my Dad) son. While on one end, Nasser-ka would cut the vegetables, another person would plate the salad or hummus. At the same time, another person operated the barbeque station – the excitement palpable every minute I was there. We would talk about everything - from how the meat was marinated to what was happening in school and the mutual leg-pulling. Many fondly still remember the conversations we had when I run into them.

The restaurant used to deliver food to those in jail at the Ruwi Police Station, for close to 10 years, between 1980 and 1990. They also served the Walis (Governors) offices of the various Wilayats (governorates) in Muscat. Thousands have eaten from here and would vouch for the food hands down. Some loyal customers used to come in for their favourite meal every single day. They were known to everyone at the restaurant - from the waiters to the cashier and even the kitchen staff. Therefore, even before the customer sat down, one would know what he would order, how he liked his meat cooked and what discount needed to be given. After the Ruwi branch's success, the Fanja branch was started three years later, and there was no looking back after that. Branches popped up in Ghubra, Amerat, Bousher, Barka, Sawadi Barka, Al Khoud, Al Khoud Seeb, Bidbid, Fanja, Izki, Seeb (now closed), Ibra (now closed), Nizwa Ferk, Ibri and Salalah.

Unfortunately, after more than four decades in service, the beauty that is the first branch of the Arab World Restaurant in Ruwi has shut down. 2020 has not been kind, and it has claimed yet another victim. Through all the inflation, rent hikes and changing eating habits, Arab World Restaurant remained true to its roots – serving good Arabic food accessible to everyone. Almost every other store from around the area shut shop or moved elsewhere, but the Ruwi branch of the restaurant survived through it all, like a set frozen in time. The pandemic ultimately became its undoing. The restaurant’s cultural and food impact on locals and residents alike can never be forgotten, and I am sure its legacy will survive through the other branches. The Ruwi Arab World Restaurant will always remain an institution. An institution of good food, warm people, and unforgettable memories.

The Nomad That Is Me - Part 3 (The Story Of My Homes)

The summer sun in Muscat is quite stupendous. As soon as you get out of the creaky Indian Airlines flight, you feel the heat hit on you like a fresh waft of plain sunny-ness. In the summer of 2000 I returned to Muscat. Dad was running his own business, albeit a small one. I remember two years back dad had a huge Volvo sedan (I think it was the 850 or 900 model.) But things change and Dad had shifted to a more modest car – the Nissan Primera. We were heading back to dear old Al-Fayha complex. The same fourth floor. The same second last door on the left. But not for long. It was just a temporary stopover for us.

Ruwi at night, the Sultan Qaboos Mosque in view (Photo courtsey: Sudheer S)

We were moved towards an apartment in the more crowded-industrialized area of Baladiyah street, close to Ruwi. It was a fresh start, and there were loads of things to do. For starters, me and dad took up charge of cleaning the whole place up from scratch. We began with the kitchen, since Mom needed it ASAP. And it was quite difficult cleaning the place up. It was filthy dirty the first time we saw it. A lot of pest faeces, darkened corners, and dusty cupboards – all washed clean and disinfected. And then there was the carpeting, starting with the drawing room. There were two bedrooms. The master bedroom had a huge bathroom (which my Mom didn’t like at all – because it is difficult to clean such a large space – she cursed that bathroom for as long as we stayed there.) I kinda liked the enormousness of the bathroom (kinda made me feel like a king.) Then there was the laying of the tiles for the corridor, that Dad got from his new wood workshop. And it was totally my masterpiece; I laid all the tiles across the 15 foot by 4 foot corridor. Still very proud of it.

The neighbourhood was not that great. There were too many metal workshops and what not out there. It was not the ideal residential place. And maybe one of the reasons that I didn’t even have any pictures of the place. After long, we resumed going to school by bus, which was again quite boring. I don’t exactly remember who used to stay next to me there (I think it was Clayton or somebody.) But there are some beautiful memories of the time when I was staying there, although outside of our home. I used to go to the Al Safoor plaza (was it?)(it was on the Bayt Al Falaj street, that’s for sure), where Nikhil used to stay. He was a big fan of basketball, and me new to the sport. But I guess I did try my best to gather what I could do about the sports and used to play it along with him out there. Then there were the carom board sessions with the masters of the flick and fingers – some of the most awesome-st carom moves I have ever seen – and they were the local factory workers and the watchmen who used to amaze me with their skills. Nikhil too was really good at it. But I really did have good times out there.

But then it was another trip that I enjoyed quite much. Jonathan and I used to head out to Qurum with his Dad in the evenings on weekends. And we used to roam about the handful of malls that dotted the Qurum commercial centre. John’s Dad used to be at the SABCO centre, while ma Dad at the Wadi Commercial Centre. Our hang out place usually used to be at the electronics store on the ground floor. The Playstation (yes the first series) had just come out, and we had a chance to play it. But it came with a catch. We had to play Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (yes the PS game), and get to at least the fifth question to play one of the any games available with them. Since John liked quizzes, he got to play that, while I got to play the games part. It was a win-win situation. The weekends were real fun, and I also remember heading to John’s place to work on our computer project for the exhibition. John’s a genius I tell you. While in our eighth grade, he bought a Bible of sorts on the software Flash, and read the entire manuscript, and made his own animation for the start of our crude quizzing game (made on Microsoft Powerpoint!) So there I was working on the computer, even though the latest I had till the end of 2001 was a Window 3.1. Whatever I know about computers, is all thanks to Jonathan Prakash Kotker. Great guy. Great time. Great memories.

Tragedy struck us toward the end of August. Dad got involved in one of the worst car crashes. If you saw the sight of the Ssangyong Musso he was travelling in, you would be amazed to know that all three travelling in it survived. Dad was the most affected. We had to take him back home for rehabilitation. He was very badly injured and there were just too many stitches all around. So back to Kerala we headed. It was a sad end to a new start.

The usual lush greenery of Kerala greeted us once again. Dad spent a lot of time with the Ayurvedic doctors, and he made good progress. And we were staying at our Grandparents place. Again. But there was an eminent move on the way. But that is for another blog post. Another day.

The Nomad That Is Me - Part 1 (The Story Of My Homes)

Its true when people say that this generation is not going to have a hometown to support or be passionate about or even boast about. We have become nomads. With very few people sticking to their roots, people are travelling anywhere and everywhere their jobs take them. I am no exception, but with the case of job being my reason, is only very recent.

I was born in a small yet historically relevant city in God’s Own Country (Kerala, in South India) called Calicut, a.k.a Kozhikkode (historically because that was where Vasco de Gama landed almost five centuries back.) But I didn’t stay there for long considering the fact that my father was one of those millions who had shifted base to the oil-rich Gulf in the 1970’s. (and yeah, I am the only one born in Kerala among my siblings. Both my brothers were born in Muscat, Oman.) So sooner than later, I was in the Middle East getting used to the constant air conditioning and biriyani or ghee rice on Fridays (it used to be a tradition for up until the late 1990’s in our home – Mom used to make neychor (ghee rice) with chicken curry or different biryanis on Fridays, so that the whole family sat together and ate peacefully after the men came back from the Friday Juma prayers). Oh yeah, I forgot to mention – the sweltering heat, even though nobody ventured out before it was at least 4 in the evening.

I vaguely remember where we used to live when I was really very tiny (I have to ask ma mom one of these days about it), but yeah when I was around 5 years of age, I clearly remember staying in this flat in Muttrah. It had huge halls and there were around 10 apartments within that hallway. It was fairly a huge apartment with two bedrooms and very friendly neighbours. It was the 90’s, people did talk to each other then. My mom, used to being the clean and practical one used to even get out of the way into cleaning the hallways, clearing it off the cobwebs and dust from time to time. I remember a Malayalee family, with whose children I used to play around with. When my mom left for Hajj, dad used to make us breakfast in the morning, cover it with a plate and head off to his office. Me and my brother after having our breakfast (which mainly included bananas or Upuma) used to head out to our neighbour’s place, where we played our hearts out until it was evening and our dad came back. It was a fairly nice place to stay. I remember my mom walking me down the steps towards the bus to take me to the school, which was situated towards the Corniche side of Muttrah (and yes, this very school would metamorphosize into the once prestigious Indian School Al Wadi Al Kabir).

That apartment was also the site of one of my worst personal accidents. I had burned myself real badly when I knocked over a mug of boiling hot water, which was being used as a vaporizer to clear off blocked noses. Ugh, the pain of having my skin peeled off when my dad pulled down my shorts to help take the scalding hot water away from my body was absolutely excruciating. For the next one month, I had to visit the hospital every day to have new dressing on both ma thighs. But that was just one of those many things, that you will encounter in your life. You will never know when the next incident that will scar you for life can come along.

The Al Fayha Complex as in 2009 (courtsey: Jonathan Kotker)

But after living there for almost three years we shifted base to Al Wadi Al Kabir, when the new school came up there. It was called the Al Fayha Complex and it was the company building. It still remains to me the best place I have ever stayed in my entire life. We lived through there from 1993 until 1998. We started at the second floor, and after my Uncle (Dad’s brother) brought his family down from India, we shifted our flat to the fourth floor. It was a two bedroom apartment with a sitting room, two bathrooms and a very nice kitchen. We lived a very comfortable life there, with mosques on all four sides of the building, the school was just walking distance and I made quite a lot of friends, with whom I still keep in touch.

I also remember heading off to three buildings to the left, behind the Adam and Sons Jewellery (who have been robbed quite a number of times), where my close buddy Jasper used to live. We would take out the Four Square, mom had gotten for me when she came back from India attending her sister's wedding. We'd go on out to the road, and make the pipes on the side of the wall our wickets and play gully cricket. Occasionally we were disturbed by the Omani hooligans, who didn't take a liking to us just minding our own business. But we did have a huge Asian contingency there. The Pakistani boys in our building used to get together in the evening and display some of the most awesomest gully cricket i have ever seen. I was basically blown away by their fast bowlers and big hitters. Being the small me, i was not able to be part of their teams, but time to time i too got a chance to see my wickets being shattered with a 100 km/hr ball.

Other than that our building had so many interesting people. There were the sisters (i don't remember how many they were) from Hyderabad, who used to always come out in their Hijab, which made them all the more mysteriously attractive. There were also the bachelors on the first floor, who used to work in the printing press on the ground floor. There was Jijesh uncle, one of the coolest friend's my Uncle ever had (he even got me a walkie talkie from Singapore when i asked for it, but leave it my elder brother who asked me not to accept it, since he thought our Dad won't like it.) I remember the time when me and my brother got into a fight destroying the huge balcony window (and the subsequent punishment by Dad, who beat us with his now famous cane stick.)

I also remember the time when my Uncle decided to cook for his sick wife, and literally got the pressure cooker to explode by trying to open it before it had lost out on all its pressure (the dal was all over the ceiling.) Relatives used to visit us. We had parties. This place sure did have quite a lot of memories and anecdotes to go along with it. It was a beautiful time. It was a beautiful place.

But all honeymoons get over. Sadly, my Dad hit a rough patch after his Sheikh expired and people were in danger of losing their jobs. He decided to send us back to India at least for the time being. So there, after almost 12 years in the Gulf I was heading back to the place I was born in - Calicut.

I didn't like it one bit that we had come back to our motherland. I was getting comfortable with the kind of life i lived in Muscat - quite, slow and relaxing. Its not like i hated Calicut or anything, but you know how it is when you leave your best friends in the world, and come to a place to begin a new life all over again. It was quite tough. And this was one of the main reasons, i initially didn't like the place. But things change, and it sure did for me. But that is for another blog post, when i move into our second home.