The Story of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani

The Tale of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani

As far back as I can remember, around the tender age of four, our family tailor, affectionately known as Maula to everyone, began weaving his magic not only in our home but also for all the Sikh families in our neighbourhood. Back then, ready-to-wear clothes were a rarity, and the concept of tailor-made clothing was an absolute necessity. It offered the advantage of complete customization, allowing you to choose the fabric, design, and fit according to your personal preferences. This was a time when personalized fashion was the norm, and we crafted every piece of clothing to perfection, tailored to our unique measurements. Sharing The Tale of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani. I still have my mother-in-law’s Singer sewing machine.

A Personal Touch:

I took my fashion into my own hands, literally. I would design my dresses, and Maula, my trusted tailor, would bring them to life. These were not off-the-rack pieces; they expressed my personal style, a trend of my own. Maula had developed an intimate understanding of my style and measurements over time, ensuring that every piece he crafted was unique in itself to fit me perfectly. In contrast, ready-to-wear collections often followed fleeting fashion trends, whereas I could create timeless pieces.

Maula, a lanky young man with little initial expertise in cutting a proper salwar (trousers), had an interesting journey. The experienced older ladies in our neighborhood pitched in, sharing their tailoring skills and teaching him how to craft the loose, shapely salwars they preferred. Believe me, they measured 100 inches in width at the waist, held together with a nada or string. I would often pull my mama’s string if it was hanging out. The ankle cut, known as the “pauncha,” was a work of art, for him. He adorned it with intricate stitches in curves, loops, circles, and diamonds.

The Festival Mode:

The days when Maula would visit our home to stitch were nothing short of a festival. He would arrive at the unearthly hour of 7 a.m., exuding the scent of a sickly, overpowering attar (perfume) that he favoured. My mother would spring into action, having everything meticulously prepared for him: the fabric, spools of thread, tape, sewing chalk, and scissors. Remember the Merritt Singer or Usha sewing machines?

Then would ensue an intense confrontation, akin to two gladiators locked in combat. Maula had a reputation for occasionally sneaking extra fabric, and my mother’s eagle eye never missed a thing. He would expertly cut nearly five dresses daily, completing them all by evening. Throughout the day, the continuous hum of the sewing machine resonated throughout the house.

Maula’s Quirks:

Maula had specific preferences for his meals, which he expected in every house where he worked. His breakfast was the special ‘vall walle’ or laccha parathas, smeared with homemade ghee. He liked omelettes with onions and green chillies. If they didn’t meet his standards, he refused to eat. For lunch, he preferred rice, dal, sabzi, pickle, buttermilk, and tea, which he enjoyed three to four times daily at fixed times.

He was an avid movie buff, never missing a single release. The following day, he would discuss the film with anyone he encountered. Maula diligently read the Telugu newspaper daily, staying well-informed about global events.

The Tale of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani

Maula’s Secrets:

Maula was not your typical tailor. After working continuously for three to four days, he would sometimes disappear the following day, often on a drinking spree until his funds were depleting. Yet, he remained in high demand because of his magical tailoring skills, and no other tailor could match his artistry. An intriguing aspect of Maula’s work was that he never took measurements; he would simply cast a casual glance and begin cutting. He even crafted a dress for my future sister-in-law by merely glancing at her photograph. Present him with any pattern, and he would attempt to recreate it. My sister-in-law loved to wear broad and deep necklines, showing some cleavage. And if she requested the scissors to cut a little lower, he would look down and say, “kya accha lagta ji!!” (that won’t look good) — a touch of fashion policing that always made us chuckle.

From Frailty to Fortitude:

Maula’s physique was so frail and scrawny that I used to tease him, jokingly asking when he would pass away, to which he would respond, “Not until I’ve stitched your trousseau.” During my college years, I designed my dresses and I would spend hours explaining the patterns to him. He would grumble and complain but secretly he enjoyed the challenge of creating a new design and took immense pride in his creations. Although I had the privilege to have my clothes tailored at Delhi boutiques, after I was married, I often found myself dissatisfied with the fit and cut.

One exasperating habit he had was asking for payment, even when he wasn’t tailoring for you. If you didn’t settle his dues, he wouldn’t show up at your doorstep and take cash as an advance. He had “ATMs” in every home, where he could withdraw cash without the need for a card.

Legacy and Loss:

Once he had saved enough, he started tailoring from his home. We had to take our silks and satins to his house, and our worst fears came true. Maula was a habitual drinker and would end up selling all the materials from his house. After months of cursing and frustration, he returned to his usual routine of house-to-house tailoring. He stitched everything, from baby diapers to baby clothes, cushion covers to pillow covers, curtains to even doormats. Salwar-kameez was his favourite, although he consistently declined to sew blouses.

When it was time for my wedding, he was still fit and fine, and he tailored not only my trousseau but also the clothes for everyone else. Later, he crafted baby clothes for my son and daughter. He remained indefatigable and just kept going. Even when many people stopped seeking his services, I remained a loyal customer, and he agreed to work for me when I started a boutique at home, 20 years ago. His son also entered the tailoring business, and I roped him in, finding that he was a chip off the old block.

The Tale of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani

My Boutique

I designed the clothes, Maula did the cutting, and I employed three other tailors to complete them. I would come up with the latest patterns and cuts, some from famous magazines, sketching and showing them to him. He would grumble and mumble but ultimately he would take delight in the challenge of creating a new design: all while muttering under his breath.

Gradually, he grew frailer and couldn’t stitch with the same finesse as before. But he continued to do so sporadically, even as he battled with his persistent drinking habit and diminishing appetite.

Years ago, my mother had given him a 20-paise copper coin with a lotus engraved on it, which he considered exceptionally lucky. A few years later after my mom passed away, he handed it over to me, saying, “You keep it; it will bring you good fortune!” It was a deeply touching gesture.

A Tragic End:

Unfortunately, tragedy struck Maula’s life in quick succession. He lost his entire family within a few months — his wife to gangrene, his daughter during childbirth, and his son to tuberculosis. Homeless and destitute, he slept wherever he could find shelter. In the end, they found him gravely ill on the roadside, and an ambulance was called to take him to the hospital. This was The Tale of My Tailor – Mere Tailor Master ki Kahani

But he never returned. His memories live on forever. Bless his soul wherever he is.

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’
hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla.

If you would like to read about my life it is here- She Is Courage

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