GOOD MAN
Diwali festivities are over and I am now spending some time with my children at their workplace in Chennai. But one encounter from yesterday still lingers in my mind. Let me unfold the story.
It has been almost three years since I last purchased new clothes for myself. I have gained substantial weight over the last two years. In my case, weight gain is not a static affair. It fluctuates erratically, sometimes shooting up and at other times taking a steep plunge, much like the share market. The biggest sufferers are my clothes. As a result, most of my old trousers no longer fit around my waist and have been given breathing space on the shelves. I have only a few pairs of jeans that are still fit for use and they are being used rather vigorously these days.
Normally, I purchase one pair of clothing at a time. But, given the changed circumstances and pressure from the family, this practice has been broken for quite some time now.
In view of all this and with Diwali around the corner, my children brought me four pairs of trousers and shirts. As the trousers were a little too long and required alteration, I ventured out into the market in search of a tailor.
It was a rainy day in Chennai, with the northeast monsoon in full swing. The market is less than half a kilometre from my place, tucked away in a narrow alley branching off the main road. The road was broken in patches, creating puddles along the way. Though most of the shops were closed for Diwali, the few that remained open had a colourful and festive look.
I treaded carefully, as vehicular traffic was, as usual, quite heavy. There was every chance that some passing vehicle might splash muddy water from a puddle all over my clothes.
After making a few enquiries, somebody on the road suggested that I explore a shop in the gully which might still be open despite Diwali. I followed the directions and made my way through the muddy lane. After a few minutes’ walk, I found my destination.
Here it is!
A big board announcing ‘GOOD MAN Textiles & Readymades’, camouflaged behind a branch of a tree. The name itself intrigued me. GOOD MAN! Was it a textile shop, a readymade garment store or a declaration of the proprietor’s character? I was yet to find out.
A frail-looking man, with a short beard and unkempt hair, sat bent over his MERRITT sewing machine. He wore a black patterned shirt and a black lungi. So absorbed was he in his work that he did not even notice my arrival. I placed my carry bag containing the clothes on a small wooden platform beside him, leaned towards him and asked, “Can you alter four trousers that are slightly too long?”
Without raising his head, he replied, “I have a lot of work today and have promised several deliveries. Please try somewhere else. Sorry.”
I was a little disappointed with his response, but thought another attempt might change his mind. I tried again. “See, I am from another city and am a stranger to this place. I need the alterations done today so that I can wear them tonight.”
This time, he lifted his head, looked at me for a few moments and finally relented. “Okay. Wait for an hour. Let me finish the job I have in hand first. Then I will do yours.”
I don’t know what made him change his mind, but I was relieved that he had agreed.
I settled down on a plastic chair beside his sewing machine. My eyes began wandering around the place, almost like those of an investigative officer surveying a scene. The shop was tiny, barely four feet by four. Clothes lay scattered all around. A small board displaying the Google Pay and Paytm payment details was pasted on the back wall. A hanging LED bulb and a wall clock seemed to be the only other fixtures. That was about all the shop had to offer.
My attention soon returned to the man. Every now and then, he bent low, switched on the torch of his mobile phone and tried to guide the thread through the tiny eye of the sewing machine needle.
After a prolonged silence, I broke the ice. “How old are you? Don’t you use spectacles?”
Without lifting his face, he replied, “Saab ji, you guess. I completed 76 years last month and am now running 77.”
He paused briefly and added, “My eyesight has been deteriorating over the last two years. I can see everything, but I have difficulty with some finer tasks, like putting the thread through the needle.”
Get 'ARANYA' - Sisir Kumar Mohanty’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Meanwhile, two more customers arrived with their requests. He turned down both of them with the same excuse that he had several pending deliveries to complete.
After they had left, he turned to me and said, “Saab ji, do you know why I refused them? They won’t pay once the work is finished. I can recognise people by their faces. My hair hasn’t turned white overnight. It is the experience of seventy-seven years that speaks.”
He paused for a moment and added, “I took up your work because I felt you were a good person.”
Oh! Another certificate for my cupboard!
By then, he had finished his earlier job. He opened my carry bag and took out the trousers. Looking them over, he mumbled, “So, the length of these trousers has to be shortened.”
With a measuring tape draped around his neck, he came over to me and began taking measurements. After examining all four pairs, he announced, “Only three trousers need to be shortened by two inches. The fourth one is fine.”
I then asked him about the charges.
“Saab ji, it will cost sixty rupees each. So, you have to pay only 180 rupees. I could have charged you for the fourth pair as well, using unfair means, but I am not like other people.”
A self-certification of sorts!
He returned to his seat and began cutting the trousers with a pair of scissors. As he went about his work, he started asking me questions.
“Where are you from? What do you do? Why are you here? Have you been here before? Do you have any relatives staying here? How many children do you have?”
So many questions at one go! I answered them one by one.
“So, you are from Delhi? Saab ji, I have been there for a few years. Delhi people are nice. I had also been to Mumbai and worked there for a few years, but somehow I didn’t have a good experience there. Finally, I settled down in the place where I first arrived. I started this business a few years ago. Look at this tiny space. I pay five thousand rupees a month for it. Still, I earn enough to get by.”
He then began opening up. What followed was almost a monologue.
“Saab ji, I originally belong to Nepal. I am a Muslim and my name is Riyazuddin. I came here when I was just twelve years old. My mother was from Rangoon, now Yangon, in Burma (Myanmar). I had a difficult childhood. My father died when I was very young, and my mother struggled hard to bring up her three children. I learnt tailoring from her.
“I have three children, two sons and one daughter. I have married them all off. My wife passed away a few years ago and I now live with my daughter. I have a lovely granddaughter through her. I love her very much. I wish to live long enough to see her get married. She is now fifteen.
“Saab ji, God is great and has been kind to me. He has given me everything. I am truly indebted to Him. My only wish is that I should die peacefully and live long enough to see my granddaughter get married.”
Thereafter, the conversation wandered into religion and politics. I listened to his views and opinions, though I was not inclined to pursue any particular line of discussion.
The conversation was so lively that I almost lost track of time. By the time he had finished the alterations, I had quite forgotten that I had come there in the first place to get my trousers shortened!
Now came the time to settle the bill. Payment had to be made online and the account was in his daughter’s name. I asked him, “Kitne dena hai?” (How much should I pay?)
He replied, “Saab ji, poora do sau kar dijiye.” (Please make it a full two hundred.)
Without batting an eyelid, I transferred ₹200, thanked him and bade him goodbye.
That night, I wore the trousers. They fit perfectly. The certificate, I decided would keep in the cupboard.
