Surender knows that summer has truly arrived when his phone rings about 150 times a day. Short and agile, with hair trimmed straight on his forehead, the 35-year-old mechanic supplies recycled air conditioners and associated services to homes and offices in South Delhi.
One morning this week, outside his tiny and grimy workshop in Jangpura, scooters and bikes were revved up as work teams prepare to leave. Shooting instructions to his "boys" (he employs eight young men) and packing their tool kits – suitcases stuffed with screwdrivers of every possible size – Surender made what appeared like an astonishing claim: a scorching summer was not good for his trade.
"Once the temperature crosses 45 degrees, AC compressors stop working," he said. "We get lots of calls, but we have limited capacity. We can only manage 10-12 repair jobs a day. Inside, the client is hassled and angry, outside, the machine is hot. The [worker's] mind loses its cool, and that's when accidents happen."
Air-conditioning repair, he said, was all about managing gas. "Four kinds, to be specific." Starting with freon, a liquefying and cooling gas, which circulates through the coils of the AC. When it leaks, nitrogen is pumped to find holes in the pipes. To fix them, oxygen and liquified petroleum gas are fired through a welding torch, before freon is filled again. Over-pressurised nitrogen could cause the pipes to burst. Contact with LPG or oxygen could trigger an explosion.
Has he ever seen an accident take place?
"Haven't you noticed my hands?" he asked, with a smile.
Dark, discoloured skin stretched across the back of his fingers. A ball of fire had leapt at him in 2010, when he lit a match to an agarbatti placed in front of the Gods within minutes of opening the shutters of his workshop – a cubby hole in the basement of a shop. "Normally, I give sometime for any leaked gas to escape," he said, "but that morning, a customer from Jor Bagh was calling incessantly and asking me to rush. Some people can't stay without air-conditioning even for a minute."
Couldn't safety equipment prevent accidents? "You can cover your head with a helmet but what will you cover your body with?" he asked. In peak summer, even a helmet had to be discarded, he said. "The thermocol inside the helmet heats up the bheja."
With the advent of the split AC, the hot sun has become even more unavoidable. For the customer, the split AC is an elegant indoor contraption. But for the mechanic, it means more outdoor time. The window AC could be thrust out from inside a building, but the compressor unit of the split AC [which the workers call "outdoor"] has to be heaved up using ropes and ladders, and placed on window ledges. "Once, while installing six "outdoors" on the first floor in Nehru Place, the platform gave way. I fell, and so did the ACs. But luckily not on me."
As a child, on occasional bus trips across the Yamuna to the private export company where his father worked, Surender would ride past the air-conditioner studded 23-storey-high Vikas Minar building of the Delhi Development Authority. "I used to look up at the ACs, and wonder how they were propped up," he recalled. The day he failed his 10th class exams, he showed up at the shop of an AC mechanic. After three years as an apprentice, on a monthly salary of Rs 500, he found the confidence to branch out on his own.
Fifteen years later, he remains a worker even though he's grown the business big enough to employ eight workers at a monthly salary of Rs 6,000. On Thursday, he started early at 7 am, travelling to Rajendra Nagar in north Delhi to buy four old ACs. Back in Jangpura, after dispatching his work teams, he left for Noida, on the outskirts of Delhi, to fix a gas leak. In the afternoon, he repaired the AC of a salon in the chaotic Central Market of Lajpat Nagar. Early evening, he visited Sena Bhawan, the headquarters of the Defence Ministry, where he turned down a request for the repair of 30 ACs. "They owe me Rs 30,000 for previous repairs," he said. His last assignment of the day was at the home of a Supreme Court lawyer in posh Safdarjung Enclave.
Work ended at 11 pm. He went home to his wife and two children in Khanpur, a village in South Delhi. Until three years ago, the family did not have an AC. "After my son fell ill, to help him recover, we installed an AC," he said.
But once Surender gets home, the AC is switched off.
"It does not suit me," he said. "After spending the whole day in the heat, my body cannot handle the cold."
One morning this week, outside his tiny and grimy workshop in Jangpura, scooters and bikes were revved up as work teams prepare to leave. Shooting instructions to his "boys" (he employs eight young men) and packing their tool kits – suitcases stuffed with screwdrivers of every possible size – Surender made what appeared like an astonishing claim: a scorching summer was not good for his trade.
"Once the temperature crosses 45 degrees, AC compressors stop working," he said. "We get lots of calls, but we have limited capacity. We can only manage 10-12 repair jobs a day. Inside, the client is hassled and angry, outside, the machine is hot. The [worker's] mind loses its cool, and that's when accidents happen."
A tool kit and a gas cylinder have been kept ready for the day.
Air-conditioning repair, he said, was all about managing gas. "Four kinds, to be specific." Starting with freon, a liquefying and cooling gas, which circulates through the coils of the AC. When it leaks, nitrogen is pumped to find holes in the pipes. To fix them, oxygen and liquified petroleum gas are fired through a welding torch, before freon is filled again. Over-pressurised nitrogen could cause the pipes to burst. Contact with LPG or oxygen could trigger an explosion.
Has he ever seen an accident take place?
"Haven't you noticed my hands?" he asked, with a smile.
Dark, discoloured skin stretched across the back of his fingers. A ball of fire had leapt at him in 2010, when he lit a match to an agarbatti placed in front of the Gods within minutes of opening the shutters of his workshop – a cubby hole in the basement of a shop. "Normally, I give sometime for any leaked gas to escape," he said, "but that morning, a customer from Jor Bagh was calling incessantly and asking me to rush. Some people can't stay without air-conditioning even for a minute."
In peak summer, Surender's boys are always rushing to work.
Couldn't safety equipment prevent accidents? "You can cover your head with a helmet but what will you cover your body with?" he asked. In peak summer, even a helmet had to be discarded, he said. "The thermocol inside the helmet heats up the bheja."
With the advent of the split AC, the hot sun has become even more unavoidable. For the customer, the split AC is an elegant indoor contraption. But for the mechanic, it means more outdoor time. The window AC could be thrust out from inside a building, but the compressor unit of the split AC [which the workers call "outdoor"] has to be heaved up using ropes and ladders, and placed on window ledges. "Once, while installing six "outdoors" on the first floor in Nehru Place, the platform gave way. I fell, and so did the ACs. But luckily not on me."
Surender's team at a home in South Delhi. Window ACs are relatively easier to install.
As a child, on occasional bus trips across the Yamuna to the private export company where his father worked, Surender would ride past the air-conditioner studded 23-storey-high Vikas Minar building of the Delhi Development Authority. "I used to look up at the ACs, and wonder how they were propped up," he recalled. The day he failed his 10th class exams, he showed up at the shop of an AC mechanic. After three years as an apprentice, on a monthly salary of Rs 500, he found the confidence to branch out on his own.
Fifteen years later, he remains a worker even though he's grown the business big enough to employ eight workers at a monthly salary of Rs 6,000. On Thursday, he started early at 7 am, travelling to Rajendra Nagar in north Delhi to buy four old ACs. Back in Jangpura, after dispatching his work teams, he left for Noida, on the outskirts of Delhi, to fix a gas leak. In the afternoon, he repaired the AC of a salon in the chaotic Central Market of Lajpat Nagar. Early evening, he visited Sena Bhawan, the headquarters of the Defence Ministry, where he turned down a request for the repair of 30 ACs. "They owe me Rs 30,000 for previous repairs," he said. His last assignment of the day was at the home of a Supreme Court lawyer in posh Safdarjung Enclave.
Work ended at 11 pm. He went home to his wife and two children in Khanpur, a village in South Delhi. Until three years ago, the family did not have an AC. "After my son fell ill, to help him recover, we installed an AC," he said.
But once Surender gets home, the AC is switched off.
"It does not suit me," he said. "After spending the whole day in the heat, my body cannot handle the cold."
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