The same drill is repeated almost every day. From his cramped, dingy one-room shelter in a slum at Sewri, on the eastern creek of Mumbai, Gangappa rushes to the nearest suburban train station each morning. In the rush-hour traffic, he jostles his way into one of the packed coaches and gets down at the Chattrapati Shivaji Terminus, roughly 10 km away. A small leather bag with his simple tools — cotton, ear pick and tiny bottles of hydrogen composition and coconut oil — is slung across his neck. His red turban, a bit faded, spells out his identity.
From the station, Gangappa goes to Nariman Point, at the southernmost tip of the city, where he settles down at a sheltered sidewalk opposite a park. Mumbai is known to accommodate all kinds of professions — even those who have little relevance today. Like traditional ear-cleaning. A good section of ear-cleaners in Mumbai are migrants who came to the city years ago from parts of the erstwhile land of the Nizam — today districts of Telangana (and adjoining districts of Karnataka) and Andhra Pradesh. Gangappa comes from a remote village in Raichur in Karnataka. The ear-cleaners’ vibrant turbans draw a lot of stares but little business.
And with the advent of cotton-swabs and ear-picks, the traditional art of ear-cleaning has become obsolete.
On an average day, Gangappa earns Rs. 200-Rs. 300. “I don’t know any other work, so I have never thought of shifting to any other job,” says Abdullah, 58, who has been cleaning ears since the 1970s.
Many of these ear-cleaners come from the cotton-growing areas, and the returns from farming have not been satisfactory. This compels them to stay on and make the most of each extra penny in Mumbai.
