The Educated Cobbler

This is a true story. I repeat, this is an absolutely true story with no fabrications or exaggerations whatsoever.

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I was in Calicut at that time and my sandals needed repair. I remembered that quite a few cobblers used to sit lined up along the road near the local Medical College. I went there by bus, and sure enough, there were around four cobblers there, sitting solemnly on the road with their backs resting on the railing separating the road from the pavement. Each one of them was sitting on those tarpaulin mats, with a black umbrella somehow propped up to protect themselves from the heat of the sun. I picked one of them who seemed idle at that moment and removed the sandals from the plastic bag. Since I am not quite adept at the local language, I decided to avoid speaking as far as possible, and using gesticulations instead, to communicate.

I pointed at all the places where the sandals were torn, looked at the cobbler, nodded and said "Stitch haan.. here".

"So, you are a student ?".
"Uhh.. eh ? Ah, yes.. I am studying at NIT Calicut."
"And what is your name ? I am Sam."
"I'm ---."

And so on. Sam told me that he had been befriended by a professor of English at some college nearby, and this professor had taken the efforts to teach him English. Not only that, he had also lent Sam many books from his personal library. That was many years ago, and this professor was no longer alive. After that, Sam had taken to travelling in and around North Kerala and North Tamil Nadu - "cobblering" along the way - he had spent some years in Coimbatore, and now he was back in Calicut. Amazing !

"Stalin was from a humble background too. His father was a cobbler, like me."
"You mean Stalin, of Russia ?"
"Yes. The dictator of Russia."

So, this guy was really well read. I made a mental note to check this up, but I was pretty sure it would be accurate.

We continued chatting in English - about the weather, about Malayam, about English, about Bombay... A boy carrying some glasses filled with black tea, "chaaya" in local parlance came by, kept a glass near the mat, and went on with his round. The cobbler took the glass in his hands and asked me - "Would you care to have some tea ?". I politely declined. He took a sip, "It is very strong. All of us cobblers here drink this black tea. We need it - the heat makes us tired."

Now the sandals were done. He showed me the new stitches. He had really stitched the sandals well.

"How much ?", I asked.
"15 rupees."

That was very reasonable. I felt he should have asked more - and I wanted to pay him atleast 20. But, for some reason, I felt it would look odd, and he had that gentlemanly air and that pride about him which made me hesitate paying a tip. So I paid him the 15 bucks.

I wrapped the sandals in the polythene bag and turned to go. Sam took out a bidi, lit it up and said grandly, "Now I will fag !".

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