The intermittent morning breeze picks up pinches of dust along the road and flings them upward. Still, at nine o’clock, stillness clings to the morning. A gentle haze fills the atmosphere, filtering the sunlight til it is a white, rarefied light. On the road, I pass the dhobi’s sidewalk stall. He’s just flipped up the metal door that keeps the small structure enclosed at night. The kiosk is divided at hip-length with what amounts to a large ironing table. This is where he works every day with his wife and son.A dhobi is a man who washes clothes for a living.* A closely related profession is pressing or ironing, and the person who does this job is the istri-wala.* It is common for the same person to do both jobs. Istri-walas work from small sidewalk stalls in residential neighborhoods. Though their booths look like temporary shacks, many of the dhobis and istri-walas I spoke to have been working in their neighborhoods for years.
Ram, my istri-wala, begins the day by sweeping clean the sidewalk and street around his stall. He makes a small pile of dirt and garbage and leaves it for the street-sweeper to collect when she makes her rounds later in the day. His grandson, perhaps three years old, looks on. Ram’s wife arrives as he begins to tell me about his profession.
Ram, his wife, and his son work seven days a week, starting around nine or ten each morning and finishing shortly before dark. Some customers drop their clothes off, as I do, whenever they have accumulated a small pile. Alternately, Ram’s son collects them from the homes of clients in the neighborhood. Ram estimates that he takes in 50 pieces of clothing to be washed every day and irons about 300 pieces. Most of the pressing is done there, in the stall on the street, with a large metal iron filled with hot coals. Ram has a washing machine at his home; he also has an electric iron for items that need to be pressed delicately. He has worked in this spot for thirty-five years.
While it isn’t an easy life, the earnings from Ram’s work have been sufficient to raise a family of four sons. His grandchildren study in school. Another dhobi, just down the road from Ram, tells me that his oldest son works as a reporter for a local news channel. All of his four children have studied through high school and, so far, two have completed college.* This dhobi, named Babu Lal, chose this profession fifteen years ago after working unsuccessfully as a tailor of “ready-made” garments.* I asked him if he liked his work and he replied that it wasn’t a matter of liking; he is compelled to do this work in order to live.
While Ram and Babu Lal have chosen to work as dhobis and istri-walas, there are other families in India who are part of the dhobi caste by birth. It is an “untouchable” caste, as are many castes associated with cleaning. Members of the dhobi caste might work as launderers, but is just as common that their families have long since left this type of work and are engaged in agricultural work, skilled labor, or other types of employment. Social discrimination against members of this caste still occurs and institutional affirmative action is not fully effective in redressing the disadvantages they experience.
Perhaps because of the caste associations of washing clothes, one family was adamant in telling me that they do not wash clothes; they only iron. This particular family has worked in the same location for thirty years. Unlike the other families I spoke to, they live just across the street from their stall. Their home is a tent made of yellow tarp stretched taut against bamboo poles. When they tell me this, I am afraid that my disbelief registers on my face -- how can they possibly have been living in that tent for thirty years? For now, I can only believe them. And a closer look at their stall does reveal that they have settled in. It spans about twenty feet of sidewalk. Pictures have been hung on the boundary wall and small images of Hindu deities have been installed. There is a nook with a mattress for resting and taking naps.
Apart from this expansive, albeit motley structure, the istri-walas’ stands are small, rarely filling the whole sidewalk. They look transitional, impermanent, sometimes flimsy, yet they are each the centerpiece of a livelihood. There is no legal or official licensing process involved in the set-up of an istri-wala’s stand. And although the structures usually hug the walls of private property, there is rarely an objection to them. They are, in fact, an integral part of the neighborhood, since few households have washing machines and dryers are nearly non-existent.
Since all the families I spoke to reported working in their respective locations for many years, I asked them what changes they had noticed in their neighborhoods. Almost all of them listed increased traffic and the construction of high-rise apartment buildings where older, single-level structures had once stood. One man tells me that culture has diminished. When I ask him to explain, he points to my outfit. “You are wearing a kurta* and jeans. Even my daughter wears that. But before, girls would wear salwar pants (traditional loose pants worn) with their kurtas.” He nods for emphasis, and I am reminded of the potential of clothing to carry meaning.* Another woman says, “Before, there was more love.” She doesn’t elaborate, since her husband then interrupts. I can only speculate on what she means, but her comment brings to mind the eternal refrain of one generation to the next -- that something has been lost.
When the work for the day is done, Ram’s son brings my pressed clothes to my door. He stands patiently in the stairwell while I count out the change -- two rupees for each item. The door shuts, he and his father close their shop. Neighborhood activity recedes into kitchens and sitting-rooms at the back of houses and the stillness of the cool night returns.
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*The feminine form of dhobi is dhoban.
*The feminine form of istri-wala is istri-wali.
*"College," in India, refers to a further two years of study after the tenth grade
*Clothes in India are either stitched to order by a local tailor or are bought “ready-made,” requiring no or little further stitching.
*A kurta is a long, somewhat loose shirt worn by both men and women and in a variety of styles.
*A great book on this topic and in the Indian context is Clothing Matters: Dress and Identity in India by Emma Tarlo.
