Tailor Me Right

Gorgeous dress material of the perfect colour, texture and design is hard to come by. What a day of fortune when I held in one hand a blend of fuchsia and cerise pink cloth with subtly embossed miniature pink roses and golden beige embroidery, and in the other hand beautiful mint green cloth with restrainedly shimmery design and silvery white stone embroidery. 

A perfect tailor was all that was left to complete the joy of freshness-to-be in my wardrobe. My mind was a conflict of emotion between the joy of new clothes and the uncertainty of the wavelength between the tailor's ideas and my own. In the process of interpreting what the tailor could be thinking (and this is a habit I cultivated owing to numerous conservative and pushy ones I have come across), I could tell that she was trying to come to a conclusion about the family I come from, analysing my present outfit to judge how 'modern' I am, how much influence my mother has on how I  dress...her mind must have made as much effort as the unsteady yet loving hands of a grandmother trying to thread a needle with an eye the size of a mustard seed cell. 

I wanted my new clothes to be perfect and I could see that I would have to press my way through to make sure that they were stitched to my liking. She confirmed every little apprehension at the back of my mind. We began taking measurements. Since I wanted half sleeves on one and three-fourth on the other, I didn't have to face the "oh here's another one wanting to attract attention with bare arms" look. Both outfits were to be an inch below the knee, no problems there. As the measuring tape was deftly placed on my neck, she asked what length I wanted.

Me: "7 inches."

Tailor: "7? That will be too deep."

Me: Simply gazing at her, "7 is fine."

Tailor: "Are you sure? No I don't think that will be very nice. See, this looks better." 
She turned to my mother now.

After moments of awkward silence pass,

Me: "6.5."

One could tell that the tailor wasn't very happy but successful in lodging an air of annoyance that had no space in that little room. Why is it that tailors find the need to play the role of moral police teaching customers how to dress? Why bother having stacks of design cards with the most revealing patterns for women to choose from when your word is what you place on the table? Who are the clothes for at the end of the day? 

Quite the opposite happened at another tailor shop when I was about 10 years old. Back then, I was not very comfortable showing off my midriff, the sari being quite new to me. When the tailor heard my specifications of a design rather long for a blouse, much to my mother's amusement, he said, "Do you want a shirt or a sari blouse? You can't wear something that long. We don't stitch like that!" 


Readymade clothes? A better option any day. But over employment in most malls ensures that you have someone following you and trying to plan your wardrobe. Of course the intention is only to help and they are just doing their job. What I would give for a peaceful shopping spree!!!