Karena Perronet-Miller

The Laundry Service

At the end of a blisteringly hot, sweaty day in the humid street of Mumbai, few things feel as rewarding as a cold shower, a beer and clean kit. The daily routine in my small hotel is to receive clean laundry at 5pm. A curious parcel is placed carefully on the edge of my bed, as if contagious. It’s wrapped in an old, wilted copy of the Times of India and knotted securely with a bright orange thread.

The laundry always looks exhausted, pressed with such severity that fabrics become stubbornly rigid, a nod to India’s imperial military past. Buttons are smashed and zips are jammed at half mast. White cottons are almost luminous, embalmed by a characteristic odour. Coloured fabrics look weary, their pigments seeped away from sheer fatigue.

This led me to wonder how my laundry was being processed and by who?

Located in the middle of the city is a washing village: row upon row of open-air troughs where some 5,000 men furiously beat, rinse, dry and press thousands of garments daily. There are also scores of auxiliary workers who pack, collect and deliver the garments, and even provide catering for the village. This method of cleaning is used all over India but the sheer scale in Mumbai is formidable. As I watched the staggering routine, a throbbing community revealed itself, not just of men cleaning garments but of washing families living, eating, praying and joking together.

Like many things in Mumbai, at first sight it can seem like chaos. But the whole operation moves to a choreographed rhythm, sending out bundles of laundry with military precision to every corner of this sprawling city.

Surely the most astonishing laundry service on earth. Respect!