Dhaka’s silent sole keepers: Cobblers of the street

In Dhaka, we live almost a vertical life!

But there are some who habitually don't look up -- because their eyes are trained to stay on the ground, scanning scuffed heels and frayed straps, through which they are able to read the city's pulse. They are Dhaka's silent foot soldiers: the cobblers!

Sitting quietly by the roadside, surrounded by scraps of leather, worn-out shoes, a few tools, and an unyielding determination to make things last, these men (and sometimes women) patch up our soles while the world rushes past.

They work with a hammer, a thread, and a faith that not everything is disposable -- not yet.

On a busy corner of Jigatola, where Jigatola Boro Masjid meets the old Kacha Bazar, you'll find Shyamol Das, a middle-aged man who can't quite tell his exact age, but he's been around long enough to know a thing or two.

Sitting cross-legged on a battered scrap of cardboard, with a hammer in one hand and a torn sandal in the other, Das grins as he says, "I've been at this for as long as I can remember. My father did it; my grandfather too. We fix shoes because, you see, a man's character is like his shoe."

He taps the sandal for emphasis, adding "Once it's broken, people start looking down on you. My job is to make sure no one's character falls apart."

For over 16 years, Das's world has been stitched together in the narrow rectangle of the roadsides. Sometimes here, sometimes there. His gaze, like that of most street cobblers, rarely rises beyond the few inches in front of him. Yet, within that small frame, he carries the weight of generations, quietly patching lives together.

"We see the world from the ground up," he says, while polishing another pair of shoes. "It's a different city when you're looking at it from here. People's shoes tell their stories -- who is struggling, who is running late, and who can afford the fancy brands."

Just like Shyamol Das, Dhaka has so many other cobblers who are scattered across the arteries of the city -- Nilkhet, Mirpur, Badda, Mohakhali, Gulshan, Dhanmondi, and Motijheel -- just name a place, and they're there!

They crouch beside electric poles, on sidewalks shaded by banyan trees, or at the edges of rickshaw stands. And what of their customers? A colourful parade -- rickshaw pullers, office workers, students, and sometimes, even a flustered female executive whose brand-new shoe betrayed her on the first day at her dream job.

Life isn't quite exactly smooth for these sidewalk saviours. They have to dodge city corporation evictions, endure the occasional wrath of the police, brave the monsoon's mood swings, and juggle rising material costs.

They might appear as invisible fixers, but their invisibility doesn't mean insignificance. For every pair of shoes mended, there's a story: a job interview saved, a school exam not missed, a festival not spoiled by a broken strap.

As Das hammers the final nail into a worn-out slipper, he smiles. "People walk miles in these shoes, chasing dreams, fighting for their families. I just help them keep going."

People like Shyamol Das are the city's repairers -- not just of shoes, but of lives in small ways. When someone can't afford a new pair, they make the old pair work. When a journey threatens to end with a broken strap, they step in. Their hands hold together the threads of resilience.