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The door is coated with dust. Its brown shade has faded into one of translucence. Yet, it looks distinguished, here in Old Delhi’s Haveli Azam Khan street. Equally distinguished is Rahmat Ali, the graceful gent in kurta pajama who sits by this door everyday, morning till evening (seen extreme right in the photo).
“This darwaza is of sheesham (wood),” he says; the white stubble on his face shines like silver glitter against the afternoon sun. The door marks the entry to Ali’s workshop; he is a “machine repairer”. The floor of the windowless room inside is filled with cobwebbed ceiling fans, sewing machine motors, exhaust fans, and similar appliances. The knick-knacks are illuminated into a numinous glow by the shifting daylight.
Ali always sits outside the shop facing the street. Sometimes, he idly watches people pass by along the cramped lane, but he is at work majority of the time. Moments ago, he finished repairing the hair curler a neighbourhood lady had left.
In his late 60s, Ali remarks that the door was already there when his father, late Niyamat Ali, acquired the room for his work in 1953.
“My walid saheb was trained by acclaimed machine repairer Muhammed Ali who had a workshop in (nearby) Lal Kuan. During Partition, Muhammed Ali went to Karachi in Pakistan, and my father chose to stay in his Dilli.”
Decades later, Ali inherited his father’s profession. “My only son Ibrahim doesn’t want to be a machine repairer… He has a job.”
By now, Ali is joined by two friends — Abdul has a scissors shop in Sadar Bazar, while Muhammed Hussain has a “machine washer karkhana(factory)” in Jaffrabad. With their backs turned against the wooden doorway, the three men start discussing the crisis in war-torn Ukraine, as the slanting beam of the evening sun slowly feels its way over the surface of the door.
Hours later at night, the workshop lies locked. Ali is presumably at his home in Galli Masjid Syyed Rafi and a makeshift (night-time) chai stall has made its way to the front door.
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