Tag: ear

I was a bit early for the laidback traders of Shahjahanabad. Shops and businesses open here well past 11 am. In any case it was a cold, grey day with intermittent drizzle which meant that the shops would not open before noon and only then I would get what I was there for. Small and mid-size commercial delivery vans were parked along the side of narrow passages which had started crowding. In the absence of any sunlight drivers and unloaders of goods, together with daily wager collies and jhalli wallas were crowding around tea stalls under the canopies of shuttered shops. Then there were a few food carts (rehdi wallas) busy selling hot-n-fresh breakfast – Omelet, parantha, pakoras, kachoris and bun-makhan – there was quite a variety but no kebabs. 

Whiling away time I was taking pictures of random old buildings and generally looking around when I spotted him sitting on the steps outside Chawri Bazaar Metro station – the Kaan Melia (कान मैलिया) – possibly waiting for someone with an ear-ache or an itch or simply wanting to the get the ear cleaned. Trust me, with some people it is addictive. I hadn’t seen one for a long time and thus, was looking at him as though I had spotted an extinct species. Suddenly he turned his head and caught me staring at him. That was rude of me but my eyes were fixed on his face. He had such an expressive face. There was so much he was saying. 

Tucked in his taqiyah (skull cap) was a thin flexible cable-like contraption (called Silai) with balled cotton at one end which works like an ear cleaning bud. He was clutching on to a small leather bag under his left arm. Covered under his white crochet-knitted cap was the trademark red cap of ear cleaners of old Delhi and the Central Park in Connaught Place. I was so very tempted to go and sit right next to him, turn my head – right or left whichever way he said – and let him do the rest. A tingling sensation was already running down my neck and spine.

But I didn’t do any such thing. Instead, I looked at him and smiled. He didn’t smile back, knowing well that I was not his customer kind. I stood firm on my ground and kept flashing the smile. He turned his face to the other side rejecting all my attempts at striking a conversation. He got up, folded the brown corrugated box he was sitting on, and started walking. I followed him and requested him to stop. 
Kamran stopped. This time he turned to me with a smile. आपको कान साफ़ करना है नहीं, तस्वीर आपने ले ही  है अब और क्या चाहिए ? (You won’t get your ears cleaned, you have already taken my pictures, now what else do you want?) He started walking again, but this time alongside me.

I was embarrassed by his question. He was accusing me of taking his pictures without his permission. आप से बात करना है, कुछ पूछना है आपके काम के बारे में आपके बारे में  (I want to talk to you, want to ask you about your work, about you). He stopped and gave an approving smile and then holding me by my right elbow pulled me back, saving me from the tempo-rickshaw that was coming from behind me. Kamran indicated that we should cross over and move to the other side of the road. We did. A few steps ahead was a tea shop at the corner of Kucha Pati Ram. He stopped and with his ‘eyes’ ordered tea which was being served in मिटटी के कुल्हड़ (clay cups). With tea in our hands we moved to a corner next to the giant wooden gate, safe and away from the milling crowd.

At 4 feet 7 inches Kamran was short but well built and stout. His hand clutching the kulhad seemed that of a boxer or a wrestler unlike the profession he was practicing. He looked at me and without any hesitation started talking about himself, his profession, and his family. Not expecting it to happen without a prompt or a question, I was taken aback but it made my task easier. I didn’t have to think of questions.

हम कान मैलिया लोग राज घरानों में काम करते थे।  राजा, महाराजा और अमीर लोगों के यहाँ हर हफ्ते कान मैलिया जाते थे। तब हमारे पुरखे बाल काटते थे, मालिश करते थे और नाखून भी बनाते थे।  बहुत इज़्ज़त का काम था हमारा, हमारे काम को शाही काम बोला जाता था , खूब इनाम मिलता था।  हमारी पहुँच क़िले के अंदर तक थी।  दिल्ली की सार हवेलियां और रईस हमें बुलाते थे। (We Kaan Melias (ear cleaners) worked for the royalty. Kings and emperors and very rich people of the society had kaan melias on their weekly visit. Those days our ancestors also did hair cutting and nail trimming, some also specialized in head massage. It was a respectable profession, we moved around the royalty, ours was called ‘shahi kaam‘. We were paid handsomely. We had access to the Fort (Red?), Havelis and houses of the rich gentry.) 

लोग हमें कान मैलिया बुलाते हैं पर असल में हम नाइ हैं। हमारे पेशे वालों को तो बहुत इज़्ज़त दी जाती थी। हमारे बुज़ुर्ग लोग 400 साल पहले मुग़ल फोजों के साथ हिंदुस्तान आये थे। और मुग़लों के साथ ही यहाँ बस गए। राजा महराजा लोग हमारी इज़्ज़त और एहतराम करते थे  पुराने ज़माने से ये मुसलमानों का पेशा रहा है अब और लोग भी करने लगे हैं पर इतना काम तो है ही नहीं  (We are known as ear cleaners but actually we are barbers. People from our professional were really respected a lot. Our forefathers came with Mughal army 400 years back and settled here in Hindustan. Kings and emperors would respect us and gave us a good position. In earlier times this profession was practiced only by Muslims but now other people also do it but there is not so much work).
That reminded me of something that I had read in one of the accounts that Kaan Melia were also the ‘official gossip spreaders’ and worked for the establishment of the time. They would also bring in ‘hot news’ for masses from inside the fort or the haveli.

How is the work now? How much is he able to earn especially considering the pandemic and the lockdown? How do his family and children react to his job? 

वक़्त बदल रहा है, हमारी औलाद ये काम नहीं करना चाहती।  दोनों बेटों ने दूकान खोल ली है। सारे दिन में मुश्किल से 150 से 200 भी नहीं बनते।  अब बहुत काम लोग सड़क पे बैठ के कान साफ़ कराना चाहते हैं।  बहुत से तो इस से डरते हैं।  हम तो पूरा ख़याल रखते हैं।  मैंने कभी किसी की दर्द भी नहीं होने दिया।  किसी के कान का नुक्सान भी नहीं किया। (The times are changing. My children dont want to do this work. Both my sons have started a shop. I cant even make 150-200 rupees in a day. Now a very people want to get their ear cleaned sitting on the road. A lot of people fear this. I take full care and protection. No one feels pain and I have never hurt any one’s ear) 
I ask him what are his other tools besides the twirler he calls silai. He opens the leather bag and proudly pulls out a sleek pen-like device (possibly Chinese make). Pressing a tiny button he shows me that this is a torch with which he peers down the ear. He also carries a small bottle of Dettol in another pocket. From another, he pulls out a set of pincers required to pull out the wax. A roll of cotton tumbles out of the bag while Kamran secures small cloth squares he uses to clean the ears of his clients.

A burqa clad woman passes us as we drop the empty kulhads in the bin. Out of curiosity I promptly asked him, ‘Do women also ask to get their ears cleaned? ‘Yes,’ he says excitedly, ‘many get it done in the privacy of their homes, in mohallas, and kuchas not here in the bazaar’, he adds.

Do you make enough money? He turns his head, left and then right, as if looking for someone but actually avoiding my question. I see he is worried. ‘No’, he shakes his head and looks down at the garbage filled corner of the lane. ‘The day I  don’t get a customer till noon I go and join my friends at Hauz Qazi intersection and do other work. There is always some work for a collie. I can also do household painting work or push a cart. He doesn’t look me in the eye while saying all that. ‘I am getting late, I have to go’, he turns to leave as I touch his shoulder in warmth and love. Kamran turns, smiles and asks to shake my hand.

How is the work now? How much is he able to earn especially considering the pandemic and the lockdown? How do his family and children react to his job?

वक़्त बदल रहा है, हमारी औलाद ये काम नहीं करना चाहती।  दोनों बेटों ने दूकान खोल ली है। सारे दिन में मुश्किल से 150 से 200 भी नहीं बनते।  अब बहुत काम लोग सड़क पे बैठ के कान साफ़ कराना चाहते हैं।  बहुत से तो इस से डरते हैं।  हम तो पूरा ख़याल रखते हैं।  मैंने कभी किसी की दर्द भी नहीं होने दिया।  किसी के कान का नुक्सान भी नहीं किया। (The times are changing. My children don’t want to do this work. Both my sons have started a shop. I cant even make 150-200 rupees in a day. Now a very people want to get their ear cleaned sitting on the road. A lot of people fear this. I take full care and protection. No one feels pain and I have never hurt any one’s ear) 
I ask him what are his other tools besides the twirler he calls silai. He opens the leather bag and proudly pulls out a sleek pen-like device (possibly Chinese make). Pressing a tiny button he shows me that this is a torch with which he peers down the ear. He also carries a small bottle of Dettol in another pocket. From another, he pulls out a set of pincers required to pull out the wax. A roll of cotton tumbles out of the bag while Kamran secures small cloth squares he uses to clean the ears of his clients.

A burqa clad woman passes us as we drop the empty kulhads in the bin. I promptly ask him, ‘Has a woman ever sought to get her ears cleaned? ‘Yes,’ he says excitedly, ‘many get it done in the privacy of their homes in mohallas and kuchas not her in the bazaar’, he adds.

Do you make enough money? He turns his head, left and then right, as if looking for someone but actually avoiding my question. I see he is worried. ‘No’, he shakes his head and looks down at the garbage filled corner of the lane. ‘The day I  don’t get a customer till noon I go and join my friends at Hauz Qazi intersection and do other work. There is always some work for a collie. I can also do household painting work or push a cart. He doesn’t look me in the eye while saying all that. ‘I am getting late, I have to go’, he turns to leave as I hold touch his shoulder in warmth and love. Kamran turns, smiles and we shake hands. The face mask had to be pulled up!!!