The forgotten dhobi wallahs of Ipoh
The dhobi wallah tradition began in Malaysia during the British colonial era, specifically in the early 19th century. The careful practice of handwashing, drying, and pressing clothes was carried over by Indian immigrants who took up the profession of a dhobi, or washerman, in the country.
Although dhobi wallahs are now largely forgotten and replaced by modern laundromats, they still exist in certain parts of the country. In the city of Ipoh, a charming trio of dhobi continue to keep this tradition alive – two sisters and a delightful couple, who have been in the business for decades.
We met with them to find out more about the background and current practice of still-existing dhobi wallahs.
The last threads of Ipoh’s dhobi wallahs
Doing laundry is a chore we put off for the weekends, at home or at a nearby laundromat. This ordinary task is honoured by a few remaining dhobi maestros in the country, who continue to hang rows of clean clothes under the sun to dry after painstakingly hand-washing them with sheer elbow grease.
With fewer customers opting to patronise these businesses, favouring the speed and convenience of a washing machine and dryer instead, the struggle to keep the craft of a dhobi wallah alive has become a struggle. Even so, dhobis Packiam Nithiyanathan, Mani, and Elangovathi in Ipoh have mastered the art of hand-washing clothes, transforming laundry into a heartfelt ritual.
As custodians of a rich heritage, they tirelessly strive to ensure that every crease and fold tells a story of perseverance and timeless tradition. Yet, all is not as serene as it seems.
The dhobis who are upholding the tradition
Aunty Packiam always greets her customers with a warm smile, just as she did when we met her. However, the sparkle in her eyes belies the struggles she faces – what was once a bustling family-run tradition is now a one-woman show.
Located on Persiaran Bekor, her dhobi wallah has been a staple since the 1800s, when the tradition was thriving. Society today, however, demands a speed that hand-washing cannot provide. The service at a dhobi wallah typically takes about two hours of scrubbing, washing, and cleaning.
This explains the dwindling clientele over the years, further compounded by the passing of her husband.
When her late husband ran the dhobi wallah, a plethora of freshly washed sarees and veshtis used to sway in the breeze like colourful flags in the outdoors, while plastic bags filled with worn clothes from loyal customers were piled up inside.
The once-sprawling backyard, cluttered with soaking tubs and hanging lines, has since been reduced to an empty green patch of nostalgia. As the business’ sole operator, Aunty Packiam is cautious not to take on too many orders to overwork herself. Yet, the beauty of her work remains undiminished.
Ironing out the challenges to keep the tradition alive is indeed hard, but the personal touch this dhobi wallah offers makes it a unique service. Unlike dropping coins at a laundromat, each fabric under Aunty Packiam’s care is treated with reverence, going beyond just removing stubborn stains and wrinkles.
Sarees are the main fabrics that still come through the doors of the dhobi wallah. Made from a range of materials, including opulent Kanjivarams and Mysore silks, their rich colours and intricate patterns require an additional tender-loving care that only establishments like a dhobi wallah can provide.
According to Aunty Packiam, these delicate fabrics are often sent by brides-to-be. Her clientele, predominantly Indian families, trust her expertise with delicate sarees and her knowledge of the traditional methods. Each fabric under her care is transformed into a revitalised masterpiece.
The artistry of a dhobi wallah
The ordinary chore of doing laundry at a dhobi wallah is turned into something of an art form.
The careful process begins with fabrics soaked in basins and slapped against washstones to remove dirt and grime from them. They are then rinsed in clear water before being hung out to dry under the hot Malaysian sun. While it might look like just a bit of scrubbing and washing, slapping the fabric against washstones is a true test of strength and patience where grit meets grace.
For a modest RM15 per garment, Aunty Packiam’s ironing precision transforms every crease into a work of art. Her secret weapon is modest – starch water. This natural ingredient breathes new life into fabrics, giving them a vibrancy that modern detergents simply can’t match.
Let’s not forget her old iron, a relic that’s increasingly hard to find. Unlike today’s lightweight electric irons, this old iron delivers a deep, penetrating heat. Aunty Packiam affectionately calls it her “god”, as it fills her time with purpose and love. Each press from the iron is like a loving caress, ensuring that every piece emerges beautifully wrinkle-free.
“It’s hard work,” Aunty Packiam chuckles when we asked her about her experiences, knowing that she’s the last in her generation who still runs a dhobi wallah. With her children yet to share her passion for the family craft, she keeps this tradition alive, filling her heart with gratitude – a sentiment clearly reflected in her warm smile.
Ironing tradition through time
Right next door to Aunty Packiam, the second dhobi wallah is run by Uncle Mani, a bubbly chap who works alongside his wife. For him, this tradition is a nod of reverence to his ancestors. Though it involves long hours of standing and taming the old iron’s relentless heat, he approaches it with a respect that’s as old-school as the craft itself.
From men’s shirts to veshtis, his worn but steady hands tirelessly press the fabrics brought in by his loyal customers. Handling the heavy iron never seems to wear him down, as he pays reverence akin to a painter working on a canvas. To him, the dhobi wallah is an art form.
Just a 15-minute drive from the toll exit on Ipoh’s highway, the third dhobi wallah is steadily shrinking as a new car park development takes over. Operated by Aunty Elangovathi, the space still serves locals who frequently bring their fabrics in for special occasions or extra attention.
The car park development raises questions about Aunty Elangovathi being the last generation to carry on this time-honoured craft in this diminishing space. Only time will tell.
A tradition washed with a generational history
As the last torch-bearers of the dhobi wallah in Ipoh, these dhobis’ craftsmanship is a reminder of simpler life before technology took over.
Though the future may seem uncertain, the dedication of Ipoh’s last remaining dhobi wallahs ensure that their story remains vibrant and alive. The final chapters of this tradition bears the imprint of those who have lovingly continued to persevere over the years.
And though it may no longer be in sight, it will continue to linger in the fabric of our memories.
For more reads on unique historical gems in our country, check out the 100-year-old bar in Melaka and the story behind Petaling Street’s famed Asam Laksa.
Cover image adapted from: TheSmartLocal Malaysia
Some quotes have been edited for brevity and clarity.
Photography by Yusintha.