https://csim.in/conversations/Conversations-December2012.pdf

Amidst the hustle and bustle of Chennai city, I wind through one of the narrow side lanes at Chetpet to meet Ramachandran, the President of Chennai Rajaka Yuvajana (Sakavaiyalar) Sangam. 

The soapy waters flowing around the ironing shed and washing area, the line of clothes waiting to get dried, and the sound of clothes slapping on the stones welcomed me to the century-old Dhobhi Khana that is spread across 20 grounds of land in the heart of the city. The smell of soap and starch was pleasant, and as I looked around, Ramachandran greeted me with a warm smile.

A third-generation Dhobhi, Ramachandran has been working at the Dhobhi Khana since the age of 10. I entered his 80-feet room that was overflowing with clothes; an iron stand, a washing machine and a chair placed within. He offered me a plastic chair, but I preferred to use the stool-like structure covered with a towel. The seat wobbled, and I rose instantly. I realized that it was a cardboard piece placed over a bucket that deceived me. I hid my embarrassment and stabilized the bucket before I seated myself again. 

Ramachandran initiated the conversation by saying, “I am the President of Dhobhi Khana for over 15 years. When Moore, a British, inspected this site in 1902, he offered to construct restrooms and washing platforms for 120 Dhobhis’ who worked here. There were huge bungalows in the neighbourhood, unlike hotels and beauty parlours that are present today. These residents recommended to the British to also provide us with metro water. The Dhobhi Khana was thus launched on 8th December, 1902.”

Dhobhis’ were allowed to use the Dhobhi Khana only when there was supply of metro water in the mornings and evenings. The rest of the time, the premise was locked. The 120 restrooms increased to 128. As years passed, the number of Dhobhis’ increased to 2000 and they started re-locating elsewhere as there were not enough restrooms to accommodate them. But, they continued to work at Dhobi Khana, as additional washing platforms and water tanks were constructed and offered to them at a nominal rent.

“What are the rental charges,” I enquire.

“From 1950s to 1970s, we were charged a monthly rent of 3 rupees for the restrooms and 50 paise for the washing platforms. In 1984, the restrooms were re-constructed and the rent was waived by the government. But, the washing platforms were continued to be rented at 50 paise a month. During the Chief Ministership of Dr M.G.Ramachandran, the rent was hiked to 7 rupees, and later to 50 rupees. Recently, the corporation has enhanced it to 75 rupees,” laments Ramachandran.

“Isn’t the rent too low?” I ask directly.

“It is ten years since we have remitted the rent to the Chennai Corporation. Our association has submitted an appealed to reduce the rent to 50 rupees a month, but we haven’t sought any response as yet. When we approached the Corporation Bill Collector with a consolidated payment of Rs. 46,000 recently, he refused to accept it by stating that our ledger was missing. I am worried if the rent arrears would increase to an amount that we cannot afford,” he sighs.

Ramachandran lives with his wife and four sons in the neighbourhood. While two of his sons have studied up to BSc and DME, and work as salesmen in shopping malls in the city; the other two assist him at the Dhobhi Khana. 

“Are the earnings from laundry enough to meet your family needs?” I probe subtly.

“No. There aren’t any sufficient benefits from the government either. We belong to the Most Backward Community. Since early 1980s, we have been requesting the government to categorize our community as Scheduled Caste. Apparently, it was a week after we had submitted our petition to Smt. Indira Gandhi in 1984, that she was assassinated. Scheduled Castes have more privileges offered by the Government than MBCs. The education scholarship is Rs. 2,000 for SC while it is only Rs. 150 for MBC,” he says. 

“Have washing machines affected your trade? Has the charges for your services increased?” I question. 

“Not much! We have our regular customers. Our quality of service has been lauded by many of them. In fact, one of my customers, Mr. Venkatesa Narayana Reddy, recently sent across a donation cheque for Rs. 10,000 to our association.”

“During the 1960s, the charge for wash, starch, and iron was around 50 paise per garment. Now, it is 15 to 20 rupees, depending on the material. For bulk orders that is sourced from hospitals, hotels, and beauty parlours, we charge only 2 rupees,” he answers.

Ramachandran took me around the Dhobhi Khana introducing me to his fellow men who were at work. They were happy to get their pictures clicked and were curious to learn which newspaper I represented. The washing stones were queued neatly and each of them had a small water tank that had metro water flowing into it. Women were also present, and some had their children assisting them.

“Today is a school holiday. She is therefore helping me rinse the clothes,” says Padma.

The day for the Dhobhis’ start at 4 AM and they work until 7 AM. After lunch, they return in the afternoon to iron the washed clothes and deliver it to their customers. While few of them own auto rickshaws, most use two-wheelers to commute. During monsoon, they need an extra day to dry the clothes and for urgent orders they use a washing machine.

“I am finding it difficult to meet the transportation costs and the electricity charges. It is hard to cope with the rising prices. On an average I earn around 15,000 rupees a month, and I don’t have any savings. Some customers who provide bulk orders don’t make timely payments. Despite all these challenges, I strive towards providing quality service to retain my customers,” concludes Ramachandran.

Almost four generations down now, the Dhobhis’ don’t have any other choice than continuing the same trade. Even though their profession is slowly fading away, they still manage to make their living out of it.