The crazy true love story behind one of my favorite S.F. lunch spots

San Francisco Chronicle​

6 days ago

Last weekend I performed at Story Fest, a live storytelling event where journalists from local news organizations bring their reporting to life onstage. When the organizers told me the evening's theme would be 'migration,' I knew immediately which story I wanted to tell — the romance of Mohammad and Rabia Waqar, the owners of Mashaallah Halal Pakistani Food Restaurant.
When I interviewed Mohammad for my review of Mashaallah Halal last year, I asked him how he came to open a restaurant in the basement of a struggling mall. He said it was all Rabia's idea, describing her as his 'fortune cookie.'
I asked Mohammad about his chicken biryani. 'That's Rabia's invention,' he told me. 'I give this credit to my wife. She's so creative.'
I asked him if he wanted to be identified as 'chef-owner' in the review. 'Chef-owner is fine,' he said. 'Also, I highly, highly, highly give the credit to my wife, to my partner, to my love, to my everything, Rabia.'
Finally I was like, you know what? It kind of seems like you want to talk about your wife more than you want to talk about your restaurant. I asked if Rabia was there and could join the call. She was. They're always together.
What emerged from the conversation was the contours of an epic love story, one which I highlighted in a video that accompanied the Mashaallah Halal review. Rabia told me that she came from a strict, conservative family in Pakistan. When she married Mohammad, who is 21 years her senior, she wasn't sure what she had signed up for. Would he be controlling and domineering? Instead, she found him to be supportive of her ambitions and independence, 'polishing' her as she studied English, got her first job at Grocery Outlet and learned to drive a car.
I wrote my first draft for Story Fest, but there were lots of holes in my narrative. I had only interviewed Rabia and Mohammad once for the review, mostly about the restaurant and their food. In order to flesh out their love story, I needed to know about the first time they met and the early days of their marriage. So I called them again.
Two hours later, I deleted almost all of my draft and started fresh. What Rabia and Mohammad had told me of their courtship was astounding, the stuff of Lollywood epics.
In 2007, Mohammad is preparing to return home to Sahiwal, a city in the Punjab province of Pakistan, for a niece's wedding. He's been living in the Bay Area and working in restaurants for some 20 years. He's divorced and in his 40's, and he's thinking that maybe he'd be open to getting remarried. A friend from his local mosque mentions that he knows a family in Sahiwal with a lovely, educated daughter and encourages Mohammad to meet her. He'll arrange a dinner. Despite his reservations about their difference in ages, Mohammad agrees.
When Rabia receives this invitation, her life is at a crossroads. When I say Rabia's family is strict and conservative, I mean you-must-marry-within-your-extended-family strict and conservative. She's the first woman in her family who's been allowed to go to college, but now that she's graduated, she can feel the walls closing in. She's in her early 20's and will be married off soon, and her ambitions will be ground to dust.
So when she hears about this American guy who wants to meet her, she's eager. She fantasizes about what he might be like, imagining, she told me, that he'll arrive with a guitar, wearing pants, a shirt and 'long shoes.' (Although I'm not quite sure what she means by this, I envision cowboy boots with pointy toes.)
Instead, Mohammad shows up in traditional dress: shalwar kameez, no long shoes — and no hair either. 'What the hell is this, man?' she told me she said to herself. She's not interested.
But Mohammad makes an effort over the course of the evening, telling jokes — he came to America hoping to become an actor, like Al Pacino — and trying to catch her eye. By the time Rabia gets home, she's made up her mind. She doesn't know much about Mohammad, but she knows he lives in America, and this is her chance to write her own future.
Rabia approaches one of her four older brothers and tells him she's been introduced to a family friend and that she wants to marry him. He's livid. His younger sister married to some old guy? No way. But Rabia convinces him to go meet with Mohammad, and some hours later, her brother returns to the family home, charmed. Okay, he tells her. I'll be your advocate.
He gathers Rabia's three other older brothers and their father and says, 'Rabia wants to marry this guy, and I've told her she has my permission.' All hell breaks loose. Rabia's father and three brothers fly into a rage, rejecting the marriage. Threats are made, and a gun is produced. Rabia's brother, the one who supports her, is like a mountain. 'He's standing in front of me,' she told me. ''Anybody have a problem, deal with me.''
Rabia doesn't sleep that night. She knows that if she closes her eyes and drifts off, there's a real risk that she will be killed for dishonoring her family.
The next morning, she's more resolved than ever to escape, and that's when her father announces that he has news. Overnight, he has arranged her marriage. To his sister's son.
Rabia's sister, mother and the brother who is on her side immediately go to Mohammad, telling him that all is not well back at the ranch. Rabia is languishing at home, steeped in misery, when her sister suddenly reappears. 'Go to your cabinet, get your one dress, and come with me,' she tells Rabia. Then, they run, hand-in-hand, to a car that's parked around the corner, and they drive directly to the courthouse, where Mohammad is waiting.
And just like that, Rabia and Mohammad get married. They're basically strangers — Rabia doesn't even know his full name — but as she signs the marriage certificate, Rabia feels lightness. 'I feel like, 'I got it,'' she told me. 'Now I feel freedom.'
She returns home, goes to her room and finally sleeps. The next morning, when the fighting starts again, she says to her father, calmly, firmly, 'Enough. I already married him.' She packs up all her belongings and meets Mohammad at the marriage hall, where she has her makeup done, puts on beautiful clothes and has her wedding photos taken. After all the strife of the past few days, she allows herself to relish the moment. 'Allah made something beautiful for me, something nice for me,' she said. She was no longer scared.
I wish I could say that it was all smooth sailing from here on out, but there is so much more tumult to Rabia and Mohammad's story. They're essentially in a long-distance marriage for eight years before her visa situation is sorted out and Rabia can, finally, join Mohammad in the Bay Area. And when she gets here, there's still one problem, in her mind — she never gets to see her husband. Mohammad goes to work early in the morning, they see each other for a few hours before bed and then repeat the same thing all over again. Rabia tells Mohammad that she's done spending time apart. She thinks they should start a business so they can be together every day.
This is why Mohammad calls Rabia his fortune cookie. Their restaurant, Mashaallah Halal, was her idea. First she convinced him to buy a food truck, then they expanded into the basement of the mall, which is where I found them together, behind the counter, dishing up plates of palak paneer and lamb korma. Soon they'll open another location a few blocks away.
I asked Mohammad if it ever felt like too much, working side-by-side seven days a week. 'We enjoy each other's company,' he said. 'We love each other. Rabia does not let me go even to the bathroom for 10 minutes peacefully. Five minutes will have gone by and she'll say, 'Waqar? ' 'Yes? ' 'Are you okay? ' 'I'm in the restroom.' So that's life.'