A Darzi came to our house every week. My ma had a stock of pattern books, Burda, Women and Home, Little Tots etc. These were the designs used to get  beautiful  dresses made by him. We tripped down to New Market and as I trailed behind her we shopped for laces, buttons, printed or plain fabric, thread for embroidery which she often did herself. We were easily very stylishly dressed girls. My Ma’s sense of colour and matching and an eye for quality was unique.

She was a hoarder and creatively reused outgrown dresses spiffily joined modified to make cushion covers, runners, coasters. We slept in regal splendour as sarees she had tired of were converted into Razaais. Needless to saris she liked were upcycled to be kept forever. Borders, embroidery motifs were salvaged and put on other sarees.

The Darzi visit was a moment of eager expectation and I observed and commented and learnt.  My Qissaa, the story, yarn, anecdote perhaps borrowed from her. I love all artisan and crafts and imperfections. I,   like my mother repatched saree borders. With Darzis fast disappearing it was not so easy to upcycle bigger to smaller. The love lingered and is a part of my DNA. Became a part of Qissaa.

I transferred old fraying jamdanis onto tangails to make relics a keepsake of memories, not so expensive. Not only were these collected from relatives to make new ones I created them for anyone who wanted the same.

The old Benarasi sarees with very fine workmanship are perhaps showcased in museums. I again transfeered some salvaged from discarded heaps to Tussars and  added Kantha. They were frail and went with a lifelong guarantee to darn, repair and return. But beautiful. Not many understood the reason why I did it with older saress. And the collection was bought by some, and some I wear with great relish and pride.

I did make razaais but again they remained on my shelves as people want comforters and lighter colours, not old Benarasis. Again old is not so gold. I am happy to see that old is catching up.  Patchwork and Kantha have endured as my passion. Patchwork, bits and pieces of lives stitched together, fireside stories, families sitting together, weaving, embroidering, knitting together are recurring motifs.

Of the Old I have retained Kantha. In an earlier avatar when I loved weaves and scoured melas I enetered a Bangladeshi stal and was mesmerised by the skill and artistry. The Nakshi kantha stayed with me and the  kantha done in Burdwan  was nowhere as close. I however have found some who use the 14 stitches and not just the running stitch.

Nobody understands  why I carry jhola bags made from leftover cloth made by some destitute women during COVID. Imperfect yes, but a symbol of resilience, empowerment, intent and out reach.