Polished truths
Imagine waking up early every morning to scrub, polish, clean and mend. Imagine stitching and sewing even when needles prick your skin because medication would only render the work of your hands useless. Imagine facing the feet of people because the face of your job lies in the shoes they use.
That would be the sum of a day in the life of an average cobbler, or mochi as it is called in Urdu.
Most of us are fortunate and privileged to be educated enough that we do not need to engage in manual street labour to earn a living. We live in a world of technological advancements where a click, swipe and ‘x’ could start and end our work. Perhaps we have forgotten about these people who still live their lives and earn a living with their bare hands.
During the past week, I spent time meeting several cobblers in Karachi as part of an idea initiated by my lovely colleague Taimur, with my friend Basil who acted as my translator and co-interviewer. The cobblers were all between the ages of 20 to 35 and were coincidentally all from the Bajaur Agency. We encountered a number of varied personalities and it was highly fascinating to spend a day in the shoes of the people who give life to our shoes.
Doctor shoes
“If everyone ended up becoming a doctor, healing hearts and mending bones, then we would have no one left to mend our shoes and heal our soles.”
Basil translated what I said to Wahab after listening to his wistful dream of wanting to become a doctor. Wahab laughed quietly and shook his head in disbelief.
The youngest amongst the cobblers I met, Abdul Wahab, was just 21 years old. He came to Karachi in 2003 when he was 10 years old and began learning the cobbling profession from his father. After learning the skills within three years, he sent his father back to their village in Bajaur.
“I sent my father back because he had been working here for 45 years. I was ready to take over from him,” said Wahab.
When talking about his family, I noticed a drop in tone in his voice.
“I live with three other workers in an apartment. I miss my family very much, so I call them every night.”
I could only imagine how difficult it must be for him to live without a family and on a menial wage.
But he surprised me with his response to be surviving on Rs 1000 on a good and busy day at work, which is in the midst of the Saddar market area.
“I am one person and the amount I earn is enough to buy my supplies and food, as well as send money back home,” he said.
When I asked him what he enjoyed most about being a cobbler, he motioned towards a pair of army boots that he was polishing.
“I like polishing army and navy boots till they shine brightly. It also makes me good money,” he said, his eyes catching the light of the gleam on the shoes.
There were several shoes that were strewn around his make shift shop, polished to shine, a true testament of his hard work.
Initially I thought the bulk of a cobbler’s job went into polishing and cleaning. But I learnt from Wahab that he also spent his time mending, sewing and hard stitching.
“I don’t like hard stitching because it causes these swellings on my hand which I cannot medicate, being a hindrance to my work,” he lamented.
I asked him to show me the bruises and calluses on his fingers. He was initially hesitant but after some persuasion from Basil, he revealed his fingers. The effects of hard stitching evidently marred them.
My heart sank imagining how it must be to live a life of pain just to get by each day. Yet it was something Wahab seemed to do so ordinarily, with such extraordinary determination. There was a certain roughness etched not just on his hands but also on his face. It appeared to be a reflection of the hardship he has experienced as a person.
When he smiled for me during my portrait shots, I saw a side of him that was a variation of his shy and reserved persona, one that looked like he could become a model. But I baited my breath and held back my inappropriate comments as I handed him my favourite sandals which I had unfortunately broken recently. He pulled out the loose flap from my sandals, cleaned the inner layer, brushed a clean, new sole and pasted it like a doctor mending a wound. He handed it to me, with that same warm smile. My heart swelled with gratitude. It was like reuniting a mother to her baby.
Fishing for shoes
“It’s not that difficult to live by Rs 300 a day – I have chai (tea) for breakfast, cook my own food at night and cycle to work,” said Tayyab, when he explained to me how he gets by.
I am always inspired by men who cook because it is perceived to be a ‘female’s duty’ in this region. However, Tayyab through these years of independence had learnt to cook for himself. “I cook fresh fish, fried with masala (spices) and complement it with chawal (rice) at night. It tastes good and is affordable.”
It was endearing to learn about how he supported himself in every way – even in the areas usually done by the female counterparts of their family. He was also quick to point out to me where I could buy good fish.
“I go to the fishery nearby; you must go there baji (madam), the fish there is very fresh!” he said.
He was a man who had picked up a sense of independence in the early stages of his life when he came to Karachi in 2003. He came from Fata with his father to earn a living in Karachi.
This attitude for self-sufficiency was also reflected in the setup of his shop which was sandwiched between the food streets of Boat Basin in the Clifton area. Amidst the crowded mess of the food streets, his neatly arranged rows of shoes and slippers seemed like a secret shoe library breathing a sense of serenity.
Tayyab had also arranged his shoes according to size and variety on hand-made card board shelves.
His shoe polish supplies were arranged in an orderly manner in the neat box in front of him.
He appeared to be a pleasant mannered man who welcomed policemen and fruit sellers to come over to his store to have chai.
Even my driver had come up to have a word with Tayyab during my interview with him. It clearly wasn’t a coincidence to find out that he after all didn’t like one thing at least about his job.
“When a grumpy person comes to me and lets out bad energy – he converts a very simple task into an extremely difficult one,” he said.
Instead he enjoys the warm company of people to pass his time.
“I feel in high spirits when people come to me to mend their shoes,” he said.
However Tayyab’s good days may be short lived. His shop, though hidden in a quiet lane of Boat Basin from 9am to 9pm is sometimes subjected to problems by the authorities.
“I am scared that the KMC (Karachi Municipal Corporation) will come and ask me to close down my shop,” he said.
It’s upsetting that Tayyab is pressured and is caused inconvenience by authorities while he is simply trying to make a living off his profession – an honest business that has no catch at all.
The Shah Jahan of shoes
While the emperor Shah Jahan made history with the legendary Taj Mahal, a cobbler I met, called Shah Jahan, told me about how he crafted his own legend.
“Fifteen years ago I came to Karachi on my own, with no money, no food, nothing in hand. This is not my forefather’s work. I learnt cobbling after fixing my own shoes.”
He built a life for himself from scratch as he learnt the ropes of mending shoes on his own.
Sitting in an open space beneath a thin tree across the food streets of Burns Road, Shah Jahan was loud and gregarious as he told us proudly, “I am a one man show. I cannot work under anyone as I will somehow fight with them, so I work and eat from my own hands.”
He is 32 years old and lives alone in Karachi, while his family of four and a wife live in Bajaur. As the father and sole bread winner, he admits to being in the shoe business just for its economic benefits.
“I have no real interest in doing this but I can do it well, so it makes me a good earning that I can send for my children to go to school,” he said.
Average monthly income for Shah jahan is usually between Rs 1200 – 1500 which he spends minimally before sending the rest back to educate his children. Unlike the common misconception of laborers wanting more hands in the field, he insists his children further their studies.
“I do not want them to be like me. I want them to be educated and able to start a good business,” he told us as he scrubbed his shoes under the hot sun with minimal shade.
He appeared to be a determined and strong headed man who did everything he could to make ends meet. During our interview, he shuffled around his cobbler supplies and continued work while talking to us.
It was clear that he behaved like he was a king when he shared an anecdote about the different types of customers he had.
“Once a man came to me and stepped on my sundaan and told me to polish. But I refused as I don’t like it when people come to my shop and become demanding. I replied to him that he can give me his shoes and I will do it when I have the time,” Shah Jahan said.
He honoured his job and wanted people to respect that as well.
The emperor who built the Taj Mahal, and the cobbler who built his life from shoes, shared the same name and another thing in common – their staunch pride to make things happen.
It was very heartening to have interacted with people who get by day to day doing things we sometimes forget to take notice of.
There is a saying that our eyes are windows to our soul; perhaps our soles are the doors to our destiny.
Lets take time to remember the people who spend hours and put in effort to fix and polish the means by which we walk to better things in life.
Concept by: Taimur Sikander