THE WASH CYCLE
Bombay, India 2009
We arrived in Bombay a day early so we could rest from the long flight. We didn’t rest. After breakfast, we hired a taxi and drove to the dhobie ghats for some photos. What did you expect?
There were at least 50 cement cubicles or vats: small squares filled knee-high with water and in the middle a square block of stone (or cement) where the dirt was beaten out of the fabrics. The dhobie-wallah stood with his pants rolled above his knees and flailed away. Some of the men wore white dress shirts and casual dress pants…young men who took pride in their appearance… men who might visit their girlfriend after work.
HANGING IN THE BOMBAY SUN
I don’t know who hung the clothes out to dry. Probably the dhobie-wallah had a helper who climbed to the rooftop to peg out the clothes.
LAUNDRY READY TO BE DELIVERED
The clothes are tied in colorful bundles, loaded on one of those cart things that look as if they should have a horse or bullock pull them. But they don’t. Men push and pull the things down the busy boulevards of Bombay. The men are thin. You would be, too, if you worked as hard as they do.
Quotidian. It’s a word I learned from my daughter. It means ‘daily’ or ‘common’. There is a bakery chain called Le Pain Quotidian. Marie and I used to go there when I visited her in New York. They had a pastry…something like a doughnut…that had about a cupful of creamy, white filling. It was called a French Doughnut. When the cream began to taste too rich, I’d pile on some of their raspberry jam. I’d eat the whole thing. Happy memories: my daughter sitting next to me at the long wooden table, drinking good coffee, eating pastry and deciding what to do next.