The neighbourhood cobbler

Once upon a time, he used to be a man of utmost importance to society, a significant character in Hindi movies, and once or twice, the integral hero. Men needed his services as much as the women, and so did young and old. You could see him sitting on the sidewalk with all his paraphernalia spread around him like a surgeon ready to operate or you could find him wandering in the streets or narrow alleys with his trademark box of tools with a leather strap hanging unmistakably from his shoulder. The young reader may not be able to guess this personality from the sidewalks of life, but those in my category can easily register this once indispensable helper of society — the cobbler.

The other day, I went to the lone cobbler of our area to get my shoes mended. This sole craftsman caters to the need of three adjacent sectors’ residents, and perhaps beyond. I am a regular visitor to his shack, where he sits like a pasha, ruling his domain. With one leg tucked beneath him, the other jutting up and then bent from the knee, he serenely studied the specimen I handed out to him. After turning it upside down a couple of times, and having diagnosed the malaise, he nodded his head several times before asking me to come back 10 minutes later to collect my indisposed belonging. I remember, not long ago, when we used to take shoes for mending to a cobbler, we used to pay him in coins. On special occasions, like weddings or annual result day, we would get our shoes polished for Rs 5. It would be like a spa for the shoe instead of the regular maalish.

Gradually the cobbler’s specialised art suffered a setback, with not many adopting this trade, and hence the few, who still continued with this profession, raised their charges. As a child, the deft functioning of the cobbler with a well-defined tool for every purpose always enchanted me. Like a surgeon, he would mount his etherised patient on the anvil and bring out his cobbler’s knife to give precise incisions at the required places. This was followed by various treatments like scrubbing, scaling, rasping or pasting, and finally, it was time to put the body back together. Out of the toolbox emerged a skein of thread and an awl, which he would use for suturing. The more perfect and delicate the suturing, the better the craftsmanship would be. But those were the days!

Ten minutes later, when I went to collect my mended shoe, he smilingly handed me my bandaged shoe. Though I was not ecstatic at the coarse workmanship, I was nonetheless satisfied, and in a fit of generosity, I handed him Rs 20, instead of the usual tenner. Gingerly, he declined the note and demanded Rs 50! I was taken aback but didn’t say anything. I understand the basic economics of demand and supply, as I equally comprehend the significance of this slowly dying profession playing a crucial part on the sidewalks of life.