Patients-not just Images

Devoted to Education and Practice in Patient-centered Radiology

Chairman's Corner

The Cobbler

Ravi Ramakantan

It was pouring "dogs and cats" - not "cats and dogs" as Snoopy of "Peanuts" fame would like us say on this Sunday afternoon even as I walked on the road leading off from my school towards the bus stop, a road I had traveled 4 times a days all during my school days. At that very moment, my sandals decided to give way.

"Oh! No!" I muttered as walked - hoping against hope - towards the corner where our 'family cobbler' used to have a tent almost 35 years ago.

Stumbling along, I was relieved to see the familiar tent at the corner and amazed that it still stood. The dark, brown-black tarpaulin of yesteryears had given way to a slick bright blue plastic sheet but the old man I vaguely recollected was not under the tent. Instead the tent's tenant was a bright, young, clean shaven man - 25 odd years old. As he started attending to my sandals, a flashy car drew up along side and a young lady in high heels stepped out. Her sandals had obviously given way and she was struggling to walk up to the cobbler. The lady arrogantly slipped off the sandal towards the cobbler and said:

"How much"?

The young cobbler inspected the footwear carefully, made a diagnosis and announced the fee with four fingers of the hand,

"Four rupees!" exclaimed the woman, as she picked up the sandal in a huff and walked off toward the car.

Unfazed by the near scream of the lady, the cobbler carried on mending my sandal.

As it was taking a while with the suturing job; I engaged him in some conversation.

"There used to be an old cobbler in this spot many years back, I said "What happened to him?"

"Oh, my father?" he asked "he passed away about 10 years back"

"So you have taken over" I offered politely.

"Had to" he said; "I was not even 15 when my father passed away. I had to do this for a living".

"Why do not go and get educated in a night school or something" I suggested condescendingly.

He gave me a wry grin. "I have passed B Com in first class sir he said and I work as a multimedia operator man in a local firm".

My shame knew no bounds. I had to say something to cover-up.

"Then why this?" I asked, awkwardly pointing to his cobbler's wares.

"This gave me life; how can I give it up? I work on this on Sundays; no body can take away this job from me. I do this in my father's memory" he continued - never looking up at me.

I could have cried.

By this time, the job was done. "Two rupees" he said, before I could ask.

I gave him a five rupee coin and walked off before he could return the change. I didn't dare to look back for I was afraid he would be giving me that knowing smile.


All through the bus-trip home, the cobbler engaged my thoughts. He is the true man, I said to myself - a man with a spirit and grit aiming for the sky with feet firmly on the ground.

I know of many such people, people who have struggled and changed lives for future generations - a change so profound - one would scarce believe that they were from the same lineage.

We should be grateful to such heroes, my grandfather included - If only girl with the torn sandals cares to look back into her past, she will surely find once such hero in her own family. I wonder if this is the behaviour that hero wanted of his future generation.

Someone needs to educate that girl and perhaps many others that there is something called….. Dignity of labour.


July 2003