The irony that they call India...

Standing at the Andheri station last weekend, waiting for the next local to Malad a strange thought came to my mind. I saw a guy fully immersed in his job, so immersed that it seemed he was destined to do it forever, till his last breath. His skillful hands were so swift and moved so elegantly, that it seemed more like a musicians finger on her favourite instrument. Though he was doing one of the most "menial" jobs yet he was too good at it. For the unimaginative his profession was polishing the shoes of sahebs, who stood there one foot on his small angled stand with such pride, as if they ruled his destiny and enjoying the "superior" status in this cramped society.

Immediately my thoughts swayed to that Feb after noon (in 2006) at Atlanta airport, when I was transported as an offshore associate, by a reputed multi national to be part of some "very" important business meetings (read slogging) to our client site. Among all the hustle and bustle out there in the waiting lounge, it was too tough to ignore this glass house kinda of shop. Initially I thought of it as some kind of a interior furnishing firm. It took me some time to realise that in fact it was a shoe polishing centre.

The parallels are quite interesting (contrasting ? ) as well. Whereas our so very pedestrian polishwala provides the service with characteristic demurity, the service guy at the polish stop(as it is called in the commercial Sam Land) has the plastic smile, somehow trying to make you feel well served.
Here its a cacophony of blasting music and railway "noise" (read every sound imaginable on earth), there a slow and soothing music (as a value added service). The most striking contrast seems to be that where as our ever humble guy is doing is by compulsion, the proud owner of the posh outlet is doing it by choice.

All things said and done there is at least some similarity in the end result - a shining n smiling boot that's looking at you with all its sheen.

I found it quite strange to reconcile myself looking down at this guy doing his thing, may be by compulsion, destiny, even dynasty; in my very "own" (is it that close anyways? ) Mumbai and think of that shoe care centre doing technically speaking the same job with such pomp and esteem.