----Submitted by Dilip Bhavsar
Mr. Dilip Bhavsar is a long-time volunteer for ISW. Among his many contributions, he was the first webmaster for ISW's original website. In this entertaining piece - he writes a story that many of us can relate to - the tailoring of his first suit.
Year was 1975. It was little over one year since graduating from Kharagpur and beginning work at Larsen and Toubro. Plans for the most significant event of my life were already in motion. Wedding date was settled, Wedding Hall was booked. Reverend Priest already appointed and committed. Parents, immediate uncles and aunts on both bride and groom sides had their hands full with myriads of pre-wedding activities. They all were having time of their life. Afterall it was the wedding of first new generation kids on both sides.
Unlike weddings of today where bride and groom play active role in planning and orchestrating own wedding event, both of us were largely uninvolved and life was good. Then one fine day I was told that my wedding suit will be coming from my in-laws, and it will be the choice of my would-be better half. And we must hurry. Wedding date in December was hardly a month away. Thus began the project “Dilip’s Wedding Suit” on priority.
Project was kicked off with the quest for suitable fabric for suit. The thought of ready-made suit did not even cross our minds. All my trousers and shirts to-date were custom-tailored. The ready-made garment industry was non-existent or in infancy. Raymonds ready-made dress pants perhaps may have just surfaced. However, ready-made suits were not heard of.
Crawford market was recommended for fabric shopping. We were not disappointed. We found a whole street full of shops selling fabric for suiting. All shops were popular as they were all bursting and overflowing with crowds of shoppers. It certainly confirmed that we were amid the high wedding-season.
We pushed our way into one of the shops. It was just a tad easier than pushing us on board the local train at Bandra station earlier on the way to shopping. Subtracting out the crowd, we could feel that we were surrounded by walls of nicely stacked bolts of suiting material. These so-called bolts are funny. They are neither round nor threaded. They are square frames around which fabric yarn is rolled for storage , transportation, and display before retail sale.
There were wools, terylenes, silks, cottons, their blends, and cross-blends, all in hundreds of colors, shades patterns and textures. We felt good that we may not have to go anywhere else.
Inching forward through layers of shoppers we eventually managed to wedge ourselves in front of the sales-display counter. At the counter we were greeted by a cheerful vista of fabric peeking from their overlapping partially opened bolts. All very inviting. All free to caress to heart’s content. All beautiful and desired. “But I can have only one! “
A familiar shiver pass through me. Have I not been in this situation before? Saint Shammi Kapur’s lines “Jawaniya Ye Must Must Bin Piye . . . Na Janu Inme Kiske Vaste Hu Mein Na Jaane Inme Haun Hai Mere Liye” sang in my ears again.
We were waiting for attention. There were many salespeople serving several customers simultaneously. Just then the magic happened. My would-be better half had eye contact with one of them. Magic of her eyes it was. He at once got drawn to us. He looked at us and seemed to calculate something in his mind. He reached out to the wall and pulled out the first bolt of fabric and spread it open for us. Then the second and then the third. Just as he pulled the fourth one and as the bolt made its flight to the counter our eyes glittered. It was “love at first sight.” Love turned into commitment as soon as we had a closer look at the fabric’s intricate pattern, and we felt the fabric. A greater excitement awaited us as Ranjana turned fabric inside out. She saw an exquisite display of deep brown, dark green and dull yellow colors in diffused clouds of patterns that appeared as if dancing in harmony in subdued store light.
“Dilip, you must use this side.”
Salesman estimated required material for 3-piece suit together with usual allowance for tailor’s comfort. . Then came the ultimate performance in fabric buying experience. Flap…flap...flap. He pulled the required length of fabric from the bolt. He placed scissors in big open “V” configuration at one end of the bolt. Within blink of an eye, Zzzzzz …he sailed scissors across the bolt. A perfect cut, without ruler, without T-square!
With fabric in hand, Phase two of “Wedding Suit” project began with search for a reputed tailor. My old tailor “Shasco” in Andheri Shopping Center had done my shirts and pants for many years. But he was disqualified unjustly as tailor for my wedding suit must be from “high fashion area.” Lord’s Tailor on SV Road in Santa Cruz was selected. It beats me today what made Santa Cruz more fashionable than Andheri.
A visit was paid to Lord’s. Mr. Lord, I no longer recall his real name, but his entire image is in my eyes. Rectangular face, short hair, dark brown frame eyeglasses, off white bush-shirt, an unfolded tailor’s measuring tape hanging almost symmetrically from around neck.
He measured me up variously. He measured me around my neck and shoulder, around chest, around waist, and around my butt too. He also measured me several places north to south. Then he asked ,
“Bottom ?”
This question may intrigue many today, including our children, and grandchildren. Bell Bottom pants were in fashion. I do not recall who set the trend and whether it was just Mumbai, just India or all over the world. If your pant did not have sharply creased enormous bottom, you felt old and out of place.
“32 inch.” My would be had already responded on my behalf.
With my vitals recorded and bottom specified, Mr. Lord turned to the fabric and measured it long and wide and remarked,
“Chalega.”
The word brought sigh of relief. It confirmed that Dilip would fit in the fabric.
As we were wrapping up, we made sure that Mr. Lord made a special note that suit is to be stitched using the reverse side of the fabric and reminded again about the bottom.
Those were the luxurious days when custom-tailoring was taken to perfection. We were asked to return for trial one week after on a Saturday.
Designated Saturday arrived.
We returned to Lord’s. Mr. Lord shouted something to a big hole in the corner of the ceiling. A few minutes later, like a divine descent from sky, a short man descended from the ceiling with a bundle in hand we assumed my custom-tailored suit.
Mr. Lord showed us the content ad asked, “Is this yours?”
It was indeed our fabric, just as we had left with him one week ago, in one piece!
“Very sorry, Sir. We got busy. Please come again on Tuesday. I will have it ready.”
Believe it or not. We were not at all surprised, nor we were mad. It was universal experience of those days - no matter which tailor, which area, which season. First promised date was to be taken as “Please come and remind,” or find your to be tailored material and move it to the front of the queue. Phone reminders would not work for this purpose.
Tuesday re-visit was fruitful. All three pieces were ready for trial. All seem to fit nicely, although I saw Mr. Lord busy with his sharp tailor’s chalk marking things here and there. A big relief was that the wrong side of fabric was used correctly as instructed. Trousers with its sprawling bottom Impressively hid my narrow-pointed shoes. However, my would be felt that the crease was slightly off center. Mr. Lord agreed to fix it and called us for another trial on the next day.
Trial was approved on second pass. My first custom-tailored suit was ready and picked up two days after, just in time for the wedding.
With perfect fit, elegant flare of bell bottom and the unique vibrant color concoction my suit set me apart as the man of the Day at the wedding. My suit travelled with me on my honeymoon in that chilly January. It made me look my very best everywhere by the side of my even better looking half, whether we were in front of royal Taj Mahal in its magnificent white marble, or we had completely different background of majestic Qutub Minar in its fluted red sandstone.
In Shimla, my suit and I were together in an unforgettable mad adventure of chasing a monkey. We were under a tree, and I was reloading the camera with new film roll. Just then one monkey suddenly appeared , grabbed the exposed roll by my side and started running away. We the dismayed newlyweds were running behind in despair. Good hearted monkey saw us and changed his mind. He dropped the film roll, ran away to nearby woods to hide and watch smiles return to the happy couple.
My suit was on me on my first flight to the USA and when I landed in New York. It went with me on AMTRACK to Syracuse. My suit and I were the only two to disembark on completely deserted Syracuse Rail Station on that January day amidst the Blizzard of 1978.
My suit silently played its role during my immigration interview in Buffalo. It was on me for my first ever conference presentation at an international conference in Sheraton, Washington, DC. At the evening social event , the hotel lobbies and the adjoining ball rooms were flooded with army of Democrats. They had gathered for celebration, expectantly awaiting election results and victory speech by President Carter. Things did not turn out that way. But on that day, on entire floor swarming with males in Black Tie, there was one person easy to spot. It was yours truly in his unique custom-tailored suit.
My suit fondly decorated me in many more conferences and on many more occasions until about late eighties when I could no longer fit into it.
My first custom-tailored suit was truly one in millions. All the years I wore it, all the years since last use, all the years since we bought the fabric in 1975, I have not seen my fabric on anybody. nor have I seen it on sale in any regular or high-end department stores. Neither the wrong side nor the right side!
Whereas I still remember the face of Mr. Lord, the tailor, I am not able to remember what eventually happened to my first custom-tailored suit.
