Mansukhlal, my shoemaker.
Minu Jasdanwala
(6/8/17)
There is a beautiful leafy Neem tree on the airport road which is adjacent to the street where I live in Rajkot. The road is busy for the whole day. It remains mostly clean because it leads to the main entry gate to the Rajkot Airpot. The reason is when the high profile politicians land on the airport and enter the main city passing through that road. To please them, the local corporation cleans it very often. There is that tree stands observing the local city traffic, political impostors and other airport travellers, day in and day out. Under the Neem tree, the spot is occupied by the shoemaker named Mansukhlal. Mansukhlal is a senior citizen with one and a half leg and with little deafness. He has made a little mound under that tree. It looks like a step with a flat broad top, like an old guru at meditation sitting a couple of feet above the ground level. In the morning when I pass across his enterprise, I see him watering his land. Resultantly with that practice, that spot looks an agreeable place for his business. The place looks neat and no dust rises from it. To protect from the sun, there are dense branches over Mansukhlal. In addition, he comes early and retires early at his decided office hours. He possesses an anvil, coils of many threads, few long needles, cheap polish wax and liquid colours, hammers, few pairs of unwanted footwear, 2/3 broken tumblers used by someone in their toilets (perhaps), patches of leather and other necessary apparatus necessary to conduct operation on broken chappals and shoes of people like me.
Today I had some time before lunch, so I decided to visit the old man. I do not change my things often. I have a pair of leather boots which are now almost 9 years old. My father gifted them a few days ago before I took teaching as my profession. My right boot sole was off but I did not wish to get rid off my boots. I approached Mansukhlal to mend them. He was occupied with the pair but as soon as he found profit from my pair, he pushed aside his stitching and got his hands on my feet pride.
‘How much would you charge?’, I asked.
‘Not much’, he replied and added examining my broken glory, ‘It will cost not much. Give me Rs 20.’
I gladly asserted and parked my bicycle beside his spot. On my left at a distance, there was a traffic waiting for the train to get past across the railway crossing. Mansukhlala began mending. Near him was a heap of fine sand ready to be mixed with cement. There was a construction site of a tall skyscraper. I placed my cotton bag in which I transported my boots for Mansukhlal’s fingers on the heap of sand and sat on it. I am always careful about my jeans. I prevent my fabric from being stained and dirty.
‘Are you in army?’, asked Mansukhlal for the first time in so many years.
We never had chance to communicate since I have known him.
‘No, I do not work in force’, I replied.
‘What do you do for living,?’
‘Well nothing much. I teach in college and also give few private tuitions.’
‘That is good,’ he said, passing his sharp needle and thread through my right boot sole and taking them out from the leather above.
Lately, I have begun to take interest in such earthy people. I told him that since he resides very near his business point so he must be walking all the way everyday. I know the fact because when I visit mechanic Salim to repair my vehicle, I had chanced to see Mansukhlal walking like a duck and smiling at me with a walking stick in his hand. Later I found that they are neighbours.
‘No I do not walk. I come by auto rickshaw and return by auto too.’
‘So your kid does not drive you here.’
‘He can, but I let him sleep when I come. He works under mechanic Salim, your friend.’
‘Yes, yes.’ I said.
My boot was now taking fine shape. I felt for the old man. To give him more confidence in his shoe mending profession, I also asked him to polish my old pair. That added smile on his already sweet face.
‘How much does the rickshaw ride charge?’, I asked inquisitively.
‘Rs 10 per ride. Rs 20 for 2 ways,’ he returned feeling good that he uses a three wheeler for transporting.
‘And how much do you earn daily?’, I continued my inquiry.
‘Easily around Rs 100 to Rs 140,’ he joyfully said.
I could read the happiness on his face on earning whatever little amount he gathers daily. His eyes revealed many things. My boots were almost polished. His wrinkled hand had still great grip on the brush he was gliding to restore the shine on the leather. Because I was on the bicycle, he thought that it must be very difficult for me to procure a new pair of shoes.
‘Here your boots are ready. Take proper care. They may survive for at least 2 more years.’
I smiled at the instance and left Mansukhlal to resume his footwear surgery feeling happy to have given a little employment and holding back the desire to buy new pair of shoes for myself.
