‘Cutting edge’ business
Muhammed Iqbal and his heritage scissors
Here’s a riddle challenge: “I come in pairs, but I’m not socks. I have two handles, but I’m not an autorickshaw. I have blades, but I’m not a helicopter. What am I?”
Another hint.
“I can cut your shirt, and also your hair.”
If you are still clueless, ask Muhammed Iqbal in Old Delhi’s Pahari Rajaan. He will certainly give you the correct answer. The soft-spoken gent is a “kainchi walla”; his business is to make scissors. He is also the area’s go-to man each time a pair of scissors (or knife) needs sharpening.
While professional blade sharpeners are few in numbers in the city, they are still occasionally sighted on the streets.
They operate out of their bicycles, and move from one locality to another, sharpening scissors, or a knife, wherever they happen to find a customer. A stand-alone shop dedicated to scissors, however, is rare.
And this small place is almost like a museum of scissors. The walls are adorned with a wide variety, some are as tiny as the thumb, others as big as a cucumber. Some have plastic handles in black, others are in orange and maroon.
A laminated poster on the wall lists the sharpening rates of various scissors (₹30 per saloon scissors for hair stylists). Most of the workshop is taken over by two large appliances: ‘saan machine’ for sharpening, and ’grinder machine’ to “cut the metal,” informs the owner. The former is a new replacement; he got it in Meerut four months ago for ₹10,000.
As the alley is lined with aged mansions, the shop feels suitably ancient; its walls are smeared with the patina of many seasons. But it is actually quite recent. Iqbal started it years years back.
“Our family has a 40-year-old scissors shop in Azadpur (north Delhi) and is managed by my walid saheb Abdul Qayyum.”
In his late 30s, the man insists that the profession runs in his blood. “My dada-pardada and their dada-pardada spent their lives working with metals in some way or the other…my dada was a locksmith.”
Perhaps his young son—after whom the shop is named—will also come of age in this same world. “Zaid is in fourth standard... He might grow up to be somebody else,” Iqbal fondly mutters.
Soon afterwards, a hair stylist from Pahari Imli arrives to the shop for a pair of scissors. Moments later, the young customer starts exchanging local gossip in great detail with the scissors seller, his one hand holding the new purchase, and the other clutching a melting kulfi.
Zaid Saan House opens every day from afternoon till sunset.