The Tailors of Chittoor Part 2
Continued from Part 1:
Diwali was on November 2nd. They were dismantling the huge shelter, at the entrance of our colony, they'd built for the Dasarra festivities. Strangely, the weather was cold. It was seven in the morning. I was walking down to the entrance where I had to catch a town-bus to school. The cold air caressed my legs. Balaji Tailors were open early that day. On an impulse, I walked into the shop and found Balaji and his assistant laboring away. Balaji was probably 27 or 28. A tall, lanky chap with soft hair and naughty eyes. I did not like his mooch though. That was probably because I was not able to grow one. There was a huge teak-wood table at the entrance and under its glasstop, Balaji's collection of all those newspaper cuttings and ads from magazines stared at me. I stared at those models wearing those trousers cut by angels. Oh those pleats and the baggy cut! I was not sure if Balaji could make a trouser like those in the ads. I have heard of guys complaining about crotch-smothering trousers and about how Balaji always defended "That's what you asked for! I followed your instructions." I thought of hiring the services of Hi-fashion Tailors or MegaStar Tailors in the town. But, they were expensive and they won't take my order in the first place: they were too busy during Diwali time. I sighed and looked at Raju, the assistant stitching buttons on a flouroscent orange shirt. Whoever the owner of that shirt was, he was definitely brave. Raju bit the loose ends of the thread and spat out.
"Ennadaa Madras, when are you giving your clothes for stitching? I am busy already. If you want yours by Diwali, hurry up. Tell your dad." Balaji said. The 'Takai' Tape Recorder was playing some shitty song. Any song on that thing would sound awful, that's another thing.
"Get yourself some Spun material. I will make a nice baggy trouser for you." He said and pointed to a model under the glass on the table. "That's the one I am talking about." 'Yeah. Yeah. Sure!' I thought.
He was a smooth operator all right. Rumor had it that he had moved to our colony because he was thrown out from the center of town: he was getting naughty with the girls . He was a good looker and definitely had the charm. I had seen so many girls spend hours standing outside, behind the glass-top table and laugh even when Balaji sneezed.
"How is your girl friend da?" Balaji asked. A big grin creased his otherwise flawless face. This was his favorite theme to tease me.
"Get lost!" I said. How the hell do these guys figure out these secrets I wondered. I had feelings for her but I hadn't told anyone. Not even to my close friends!
"She is not my girl friend okay anna? Don't say such things again." I said.
"Okay! But she asked about you. You are not in the same section I see? She is in 8th A? Yeah, she was asking me if you gave your clothes..."
I jumped on it. "When? When? When? What did she ask? Was she alone..." and he started laughing. The retard Raju was also laughing unmindful of the spittle spraying on that orange shirt.
"Get lost nnaa!" I said and ran from there.
"Give your clothes fast da!" He yelled out.
I reached the arch at the entrance of the colony and No. 4 'Vedam' arrived with it musical horn. 'Paapa-peen-peen-pa. PaBaaaan!' I jumped into the bus from the driver's end and waved at Qadir behind the wheel. He had a permanent smile creasing his awkward face and the pronounced, firm jaw added a steely aura to his demeanor. He nodded and winked. I settled down in one of the front seats and rummaged through my pockets for change to buy the ticket. I was wondering why Qadir had winked.
"Ah, rey-rey" the conductor gave his signal and banged that bell. I took the money out. The bus had not moved. Probably someone was coming. I turned towards the colony and found her running.
The sun caressed her golden face. She looked stunning even in that stupid Green and white uniform. I looked at Qadir and was surprised that he was looking at me with a knowing smile. Why was the world being so nice to me, I wondered.
She jumped in, saw me, and sat next to me. She was gasping for breath. The bus moved.
"Thank you da!" She said. She thought I'd stopped the bus. I did not tell her the truth. When the world was being nice to you, you enjoy the ride. Her arm was grazing against mine. Her hair was neatly combed back. Two really cute clips stood proud at the front. A dash of ash (Vibuthi) right beneath the black bindi, in some weird way made her look hot. The fragrance of Gokul Santol Talcum powder filled my lungs. Vasanthi a.k.a Vachi was a beautiful girl.
I knew her from sixth standard. We were family friends apparently. The moms met often. When my mom made a special dish, my mom would send a portion of it to them. Her mom too reciprocated but not as often. I hated the way her mom looted our Curry leaves tree. The tree was bald now, thanks to Vachi's mom. I was planning to give the first bloom from our new Rose plant to Vachi. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.
[...to be contd]
Diwali was on November 2nd. They were dismantling the huge shelter, at the entrance of our colony, they'd built for the Dasarra festivities. Strangely, the weather was cold. It was seven in the morning. I was walking down to the entrance where I had to catch a town-bus to school. The cold air caressed my legs. Balaji Tailors were open early that day. On an impulse, I walked into the shop and found Balaji and his assistant laboring away. Balaji was probably 27 or 28. A tall, lanky chap with soft hair and naughty eyes. I did not like his mooch though. That was probably because I was not able to grow one. There was a huge teak-wood table at the entrance and under its glasstop, Balaji's collection of all those newspaper cuttings and ads from magazines stared at me. I stared at those models wearing those trousers cut by angels. Oh those pleats and the baggy cut! I was not sure if Balaji could make a trouser like those in the ads. I have heard of guys complaining about crotch-smothering trousers and about how Balaji always defended "That's what you asked for! I followed your instructions." I thought of hiring the services of Hi-fashion Tailors or MegaStar Tailors in the town. But, they were expensive and they won't take my order in the first place: they were too busy during Diwali time. I sighed and looked at Raju, the assistant stitching buttons on a flouroscent orange shirt. Whoever the owner of that shirt was, he was definitely brave. Raju bit the loose ends of the thread and spat out.
"Ennadaa Madras, when are you giving your clothes for stitching? I am busy already. If you want yours by Diwali, hurry up. Tell your dad." Balaji said. The 'Takai' Tape Recorder was playing some shitty song. Any song on that thing would sound awful, that's another thing.
"Get yourself some Spun material. I will make a nice baggy trouser for you." He said and pointed to a model under the glass on the table. "That's the one I am talking about." 'Yeah. Yeah. Sure!' I thought.
He was a smooth operator all right. Rumor had it that he had moved to our colony because he was thrown out from the center of town: he was getting naughty with the girls . He was a good looker and definitely had the charm. I had seen so many girls spend hours standing outside, behind the glass-top table and laugh even when Balaji sneezed.
"How is your girl friend da?" Balaji asked. A big grin creased his otherwise flawless face. This was his favorite theme to tease me.
"Get lost!" I said. How the hell do these guys figure out these secrets I wondered. I had feelings for her but I hadn't told anyone. Not even to my close friends!
"She is not my girl friend okay anna? Don't say such things again." I said.
"Okay! But she asked about you. You are not in the same section I see? She is in 8th A? Yeah, she was asking me if you gave your clothes..."
I jumped on it. "When? When? When? What did she ask? Was she alone..." and he started laughing. The retard Raju was also laughing unmindful of the spittle spraying on that orange shirt.
"Get lost nnaa!" I said and ran from there.
"Give your clothes fast da!" He yelled out.
I reached the arch at the entrance of the colony and No. 4 'Vedam' arrived with it musical horn. 'Paapa-peen-peen-pa. PaBaaaan!' I jumped into the bus from the driver's end and waved at Qadir behind the wheel. He had a permanent smile creasing his awkward face and the pronounced, firm jaw added a steely aura to his demeanor. He nodded and winked. I settled down in one of the front seats and rummaged through my pockets for change to buy the ticket. I was wondering why Qadir had winked.
"Ah, rey-rey" the conductor gave his signal and banged that bell. I took the money out. The bus had not moved. Probably someone was coming. I turned towards the colony and found her running.
The sun caressed her golden face. She looked stunning even in that stupid Green and white uniform. I looked at Qadir and was surprised that he was looking at me with a knowing smile. Why was the world being so nice to me, I wondered.
She jumped in, saw me, and sat next to me. She was gasping for breath. The bus moved.
"Thank you da!" She said. She thought I'd stopped the bus. I did not tell her the truth. When the world was being nice to you, you enjoy the ride. Her arm was grazing against mine. Her hair was neatly combed back. Two really cute clips stood proud at the front. A dash of ash (Vibuthi) right beneath the black bindi, in some weird way made her look hot. The fragrance of Gokul Santol Talcum powder filled my lungs. Vasanthi a.k.a Vachi was a beautiful girl.
I knew her from sixth standard. We were family friends apparently. The moms met often. When my mom made a special dish, my mom would send a portion of it to them. Her mom too reciprocated but not as often. I hated the way her mom looted our Curry leaves tree. The tree was bald now, thanks to Vachi's mom. I was planning to give the first bloom from our new Rose plant to Vachi. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.
[...to be contd]
Labels: childhood, chittoor, stories
Add to:del.icio.us| Digg| Reddit| StumbleUpon| Technorati
3 Comments:
You need someone to edit this. The otherwise wonderful write-up is marred by thrusting meaningless sentences in-between.
Hmmmm. I know.
http://karunanidhi-aatchi.blogspot.com/
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home