THE DARZEES OF CALCUTTA

“ You know what happened? “ asked Carolyn. “You know the fat tailor from Making Saloon?” 

“Yes?” said Tina.

“He died”

They're dying. That breed of  skilled Calcutta “darzees” are an endangered species.The painful  casualty of the inexorable march of Time in a city discovering and falling instantly in love with the sudden invasion of  multi level, designer conceived and executed giant glass extravaganzas housing the world's best known brands costing an arm and a leg— but who gives a damn! If I see it I want it and if I have plastic money in my purse I get it! That's  the new mantra of shopping and who's to be left out? 

So here's the thing- if any of you girls worked in Dunlop's or ITC or Reckitt n Coleman or Martin Burn or in one of those hot shot “remnant of the Raj” companies  way back in the 70's and 80's you've almost certainly bought floral terri-cotton material from Tiwari or Thakur on Wellesley  and taken it to one of the Cal tailors. 

Oh boy! The entire project was as sacred as a Japanese Tea ceremony from the moment you stepped into the tailor's “shop” and sat yourself down on his cracked 6 inches wide wooden bench which was sure to pinch your bum if you didn't watch out!

And the shop itself! Bundles and bundles of colorful fabric quickly rolled up and tied with a string made of that same fabric! How in heaven's name those unlettered gentlemen clad in their blue and black checkered lungees ever kept track of what was what is an unsolved mystery!
 
But they did it!  Out would come the “pattern books” – marvelous  bridges of style which kept the tradition of the English memsaab alive in downtown Calcutta. Colorful glossy page after page of tall auburn haired, fair girls exquisitely draped in flowing  printed dresses tightly clasped at the waist with the pretty faux leather white belt and the matching white ballerinas! Here are some of the most stunning wedding gowns and bridesmaids' dresses and office frocks and party dresses from all parts of the world. And the pose - the unmistakable stance of the English Rose right leg two steps back and left hand just touching the perpetual tree appealing to the viewer to choose her design!

"But ummm nooo! This blue  one…nooo! That one… umm okay: collar like the yellow polka dotted dress and umm, sleeves like this orange flower one. Okay wait! No! Make the sleeves “cut away” (by the way, cut away is an original AI term!) and keep the length just above the knee. Okay make it an inch shorter and put a good quality zip. Because what rubbish zip you're giving men—it gets all spoilt in two days only.”

And that amazing man in the blue lungee sitting on the floor of that little shop would deftly sketch out the collar from this, and flair from that, and sleeves from here, and pleats from there, and voila!  Your own personal creation appeared like magic before your very eyes!

When I think back on those days its amazing to imagine how those darzees who had no formal training, who wouldn't know a designer if he fell into their laps, who grew up in the streets of Calcutta without going to school—how in heaven's name did they get those patterns bang on and the measurements perfect! Perfect!! Bust this much; waist this much; hips, bum, sleeve and DONE! 

I think those darzees in Ripon Street and Elliot Road and Royd street deserve a standing ovation for having made Anglo Indian girls the toast of the town; for having made Anglo Indian girls synonymous with elegance and style, for having put them on the map of the world by dressing them up with so much passion, spinning their hand machines day in and day out, hand stitching those lace yokes and pipings and trimmings in poor fading light to get through the mountain of work to ensure every AI girl stepped out on true Hi Fashion Street on Christmas Day or on 31st night to jive the night away to the sounds of Pam Crain and Don Saigal on Park Street, or to the music of the juke box belting out Elvis and Cliff Richards, while somewhere in the Mullick bazaar bustee the darzee's wife served  her husband his curry and hand made rotis. 

The family sat on the floor on a multi-colored cotton dhurrie. The father of the house  with eyesight that failed many years ago—eyes tired from decades of threading needles, from making thiose fine tiny stitches to ensure the cloth held— wearing clean white kurta and trademark blue checked lungi and white cap on his head started the dinner ceremony by looking at his son and asking “ Aaj kitnay memsaab aaya?'  “How many memsaabs placed their dress orders today?”

The darzees of Cal. Take a bow.