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From
Dhobi Ghat to doorstep
From
Dhobi Ghat to doorstep “You have arrived late again. It’s become your habit now and I am fed up with your practice of coming late. I am seriously thinking of switching to another dhobi. A laundry would be the best option if I cannot get another dhobi,” Mrs Maria Aslam says while yelling at her washer man. The angry housewife threatens to fire him. He is late in delivering the clothes again. “Bibi Jee! I am extremely
sorry. The rain washed away my efforts. I had to wash the clothes again, and
then wait for a day for the sun to dry them again,” Moosa pleads. Poor
Moosa, who has been a dhobi for more than four decades, tried his best to
convince the housewife. Keeping the dying trend of taking dhobi service in
mind and saving himself, he gave bad weather and the pathetic roads as his
excuse, but all in vain. The recent rain which disturbed routine life in the port city specially made life hell for the dhobis. Moosa was not the only one who got scolded by his costumers. Unfortunately, almost all low-wage washer men received more or less the same treatment. There are still many families who are satisfied with their traditional dhobis who they believe are committed to their job and handle their clothes carefully. On the other hand, customers especially housewives believe that handling such people is not an easy task, as they always make excuses for coming late. “My dhobi was quite punctual and delivered clothes on time, and then he started coming late. Every time he has some issue which creates hurdles in his work. I tolerated it on a few occasions but then decided to drop my clothes at the laundry,” an exasperated housewife, Maha complained. “Although, it was bit expensive but I had no other choice,” she regretted. During a survey, Kolachi learnt that even though housemaids wash clothes at most homes, some families utilise the services of the old dhobis. Meanwhile, the newer ‘kaam wala jodas’, carpets and curtains land at the laundry. “You cannot risk new and sensitive items by giving it to dhobis. They wash clothes by hand which have higher chances to damage sensitive items,” Mrs Azeem shared her concern. Although, dry cleaners also refuse to take responsibility of any loss, but the chances of such incidents are lesser if compared to the dhobis, she adds. Laundry shops have machines and the workers at standard dry clean shops know how to deal with different types of fabrics. Secondly, price also makes a difference. Families drop new and expensive items at the laundry while the rest are given to the dhobi, she says. If, a person is time-bound
the chances of delay are quite lower at the laundry than the dry cleaners. In
some cases people give clothes to the dry cleaners to get them perfectly
pressed, Muhammad Ali told Kolachi. “I cannot take the dhobi’s excuses
when he comes late with my clothes. My wardrobe must be ready and pressed
clothes must be hanging in it,” he said. Mukhtar, a dhobi by-profession, told Kolachi. “Most people believe that it was an easy job to operate from door to door and collect dirty linen from households and return it back to the owners on time. A good dhobi would never deliberately delay the return of clothes, because he knows the client will get annoyed. In this case, he could lose his job too.” Mukhtar, in his 60s, started to work with his father when he was only eight years old. At that time, his job was to collect clothes from doorsteps and load it on a donkey cart. Nowadays, his son and a grandson work in the same profession travelling miles within the city to collect clothes from their customers. There are few localities in Karachi where traditional dhobis can be found easily. Often, they live and work the same area and travelled from place to place throughout the day, he commented. “Washing dirty clothes is our professional and donkey is the basic component of our lives. Traditionally, our ancestors used this animal as their mode of transportation along with the cart, which carries clothes and we still have donkeys to run this business,” Mukhtar narrated. All clothes are collected from homes and then marked with a unique sign at the dhobi ghat, “The mark helps us return clothes to the right destination. It would be difficult to match the clothes to their owners without any proper mark and we use indelible ink for this purpose,” he said. “After washing the clothes, we put out on clotheslines, to dry them. In some cases, we also put starch on the clothes, particularly, cottons before ironing them. Otherwise, clothes are only pressed and then delivered back to the client,” he further said. He complained that people often make an issue of their late arrival but never understand that dhobis also depend on a number of factors such as the weather, law and order situation and the fitness of their animals. “If the donkey is unwell then we take it to the animal hospital or vet for a check-up and may not deliver garments on time. And if the city is experiencing strife then we are also forced to stay at home. Our clients should realise the ground realities,” Mukhtar replied bitterly. A washer
man’s tale Twenty-eight-year-old Noor Mohammed wakes up every morning and fills a giant bowl with a mixture of vegetables to feed his donkey which stands at the front yard of his house. While the donkey lazily chews up its meal, Noor Mohammed squats on the ground to inspect the animal’s hoofs. He scrub cleans each one of them with a piece of cloth and then massages the animal’s legs. In his household, the donkey is not only considered an important family member, it commands a special respect. “In our house, the donkey is fed before all the other family members. It’s a tradition.” Noor Mohammed is a fourth
generation dhobi (washer man) and his life is governed by traditions like
this one that have been perpetuated by his ancestors for more than a century. “My family hails from India and we are dhobis by profession. It’s a call of blood.” Noor Mohammed is engaged to be married. He is tall, skinny and sports a thin moustache that he plans to grow. He is the third of six brothers, all of them working in the same profession except the youngest who is studying. Noor Mohammed’s house in Malir has stood for more than 48 years now. It’s small given the number of people living inside, but one can feel the vibe of well-kept filial customs and norms sitting in their barely furnished living room. There is a portrait of an old-man neatly dressed in a white Shalwar-Kameez wearing a crisp turban. “He is my grandfather. He came from an Indian city in Gujarat a few years before partition,” said Noor. Historically, the dhobis were an essential part of daily life in the Indian subcontinent. They were ‘must-haves’ for respectable white-collar families. The dhobis specialise in washing clothes with the finesse and mastery that was beyond the amateur servants or even the ladies of the house. So over the centuries, like many other professions in the subcontinent, the art of washing fabrics with care and quality evolved into an industry which remained within a well-knit community as the craftsmanship was very personal in nature like a secret recipe that changed hands down family lines. As a result, the dhobi community today in Karachi, like any other old city of the subcontinent, remains more or less confined to a giant web of cousins which they identify as baradari. As Noor Mohammed claimed, “There is not a single dhobi in this city who wouldn’t know my family. It is not that we are famous, but we have been in the business from the very beginning.” But things have begun to change. The socio-economic dynamics of the profession have altered tremendously with time, and today the dhobis of Noor Mohammed’s generations are faced with a tidal wave of problems that his ancestors never encountered. “My Dadi (grandmother) use to roam around in the donkey-cart and carry a coal-fueled iron. She’d collect laundry from her designated clients and also offer the service of ironing washed clothes on the spot. Life was easy. People used to wait, look forward to her as she was an expert. And back then, people use to have large families; the patriarchs of respectable families were perfectionists when it came to their dressing, so having a personal dhobi back then was more of a requirement than an option.” But the advent of household technologies like the washing machine and the general trend of westernised urban nuclear families have caused a major dent the culture of patronizing a personal dhobi. “People don’t have time these days. That senses of taste and royalty have vanished as the nouveau riche have taken over everywhere,” said Noor. But the dhobis too have adapted to keep pace with the times. They have taken advantage of technology where it was possible as Noor admits “Nowadays, many family dhobis work from their homes, as opposed to ghats (river banks). They have installed giant washing plants in their backyards and work from there. But installing a machine at home was a major breach of tradition. “My grandfather was not happy about this development. He thought it was cheating. As he believed throughout his life that an item of clothing can never be perfectly clean if it is not washed with bare hands with the recitation of certain verses of the Holy Quran.” But traditions are visibly being swept away by the pressure of living in this day and age. The donkey cart that Noor Mohammed uses is fast fading away. To save time, many dhobis have resorted to hiring Suzukis to transport laundry as clients want swift delivery. The rising cost of fuel, coupled with the self-promoting dry cleaners have also swallowed up their market share. “My youngest brother doesn’t want to join this profession and my father is not forcing him for obvious reasons. Being a dhobi is no longer a rewarding job. But I am bound. I have not studied much. And this is the only work I know. But given the way it’s going, I will never force my children to opt for this profession like my father pushed me,” added Noor.
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