Today, dressed in Chaplin’s iconic black suit, oversized shoes, and painted-on smile, Khan performs skits that rely on exaggerated gestures, comic falls, and wordless storytelling. Children laugh the loudest. Adults linger, some filming him on their phones before moving on. Behind the greasepaint, however, lies a quieter story.
Khan’s young daughter is critically ill. Her treatment depends on the money he earns here — from street performances, small birthday parties, and occasional local events. There are days when the crowd is thin and the hat remains nearly empty. On better days, hope feels within reach.
Street performers like Khan exist in the margins of the city’s economy — visible yet invisible. They animate public spaces but remain excluded from formal recognition or steady income. Their art survives on generosity and chance.
As dusk settles over Dadar, Aman packs away his cane and hat. The painted smile fades, but tomorrow he will draw it again. Because in Mumbai, even silent comedy must speak loudly enough to survive.
Text and Photos: Dinesh Parab/Outlook
