The
most magnificent thing about Jacob Saheb was his moustache!
Thick and bushy, the
hairs stood out straight and bristled as he spoke and smiled, as he was wont to
do often. Not very tall, swarthy, twinkling eyes, of an indeterminate age, a
typical south Indian accent, and of course, the marvellous moustache….this is how
one would describe Jacob Saheb.
An Anglo Indian of
the old school, he was usually dressed in beautifully tailored trousers and a
bush shirt – to counter the humidity of Calcutta. It was only in winter that he
would be seen in Suits and conservative neck-ties – which he carried off with a
natural flair for he was a man whose business and passion was to ensure that
his clients were some of the best dressed people.
In today’s times, he
would be called a dress designer but in those days he was just a master tailor.
The suits that he produced for his clients were cut in a manner that made it
appear as if they had been designed for none other. He did not have a studio
where he would display his designs and the cut as well as the measurements were
defined by him.
He would not take
kindly to suggestions other than how many pockets one required or the width of
the loops for the belt. None of his clients minded. There was no option! One
would not remain a client if one meddled too much into his vision.
He only made house
calls. He had no shop nor did people really know specifics of his residence. He
stayed in Park Circus – that was about the most that people knew. One had to
have his phone number or a reference from one of his clients to be able to
engage him. Once he was given a tinkle that there were clothes to be stitched,
one had to have patience.
He only came on
weekends and there was no uncertainty about which weekend he would saunter in.
It could be the one immediately following the call or maybe a month later! The
delivery would follow the same pattern. But one thing was certain. The product
would be worth waiting for.
My earliest memories
of him are when I was about three or four years old. One Sunday morning, I
walked into the drawing room and was confronted with the awe-inspiring sight of
a dark man with a huge moustache who looked neither comforting nor threatening.
I could not take my eyes off the moustache.
Then he smiled and
beckoned to me. The smile lit up his entire face and transformed him into a friend
for life. After that, I would see him off and on and whenever he came, I would
take my place beside him. The main purpose of sitting there was to see how he
would sip his cup of tea without wetting his moustache. It was a fascinating
battle between the tea and his moustache. The tea would reach out to wet them
but the lips would curl upwards to prevent this from happening.
The usual visit would
start with Jacob Saheb sauntering in at about 9:30 AM on a Sunday. If he came
with a brown paper packet tied with a string – it meant he was there to deliver
an order. Else, he had to come to collect a new one. The first thing that he
asked was – “Is Saheb awake?” This may sound strange to some but in our
household, it was a perfectly pertinent question.
My Uncle, one of his
oldest clients, lived life not depending on the clock. He would often wake at
10:30 and had been known to set alarms for 11 in the morning.
Jacob Saheb did not
expect him to be awake when he arrived. He did not mind waiting. He usually made
only two visits and only on weekends. He probably liked having his leisurely
tea and the chat about both households – his own and his clients. The visits
could last for at least a couple of hours, if not more. There was no hurry for
he probably savored his time with people.
Soon after, my Uncle
would come in to see if tea had been served and would inform him that he would
be joining Jacob Saheb soon. Usually he would be there after about a half hour
or so freshly shaved and bathed. Then they would have another cup of tea that
my Uncle insisted on pouring himself from the beautiful china teapot into the
china cups. The business of the day was still some time away.
Jacob Saheb spent
this time in enquiring about each member of the family. He would take special
interest in my studies and about the results of the cricket matches that I had
participated in.
After many years he
would tell me about his grand children who were now in faraway Australia.
Probably he missed them and he used my presence to relive what it would be like
to have them around. He always called me Baba.
Once Uncle arrived,
they chit-chatted about other members of Jacob Saheb’s “club” – his clients who
were usually friends of each other. Remember the referral system! They would
talk about how the business of each member was doing, about new additions to
the family, new cars or homes that were acquired. They discussed politics,
literature, films – everything under the sun! I could see from their faces that
they rather enjoyed it – perhaps more than the actual business of having
clothes made.
When they finally got
down to the business at hand, it was well over an hour and a half at the least.
The cloth would be brought in. Jacob Saheb would look at it closely, feel it
with his fingers, hand it on his arm to see the fall and at times even smell
it!
If he nodded his
head, it meant that the selection had met his approval. He would then ask my
Uncle about the shirt that he planned to wear with it. They would often have a
long argument about the colour of the shirt and tie that would go with it. It
was not often that they agreed at the outset.
My Uncle was an
adventurous dresser while Jacob Saheb was more old-school. I never understood
how Jacob Saheb had any control over what shirt my Uncle would decide to wear
with it once the suit or the trouser was stitched.
Jacob Saheb would
then start taking measurements, which he never seemed to write down. While
measuring he would sometimes comment on how and where Uncle had lost or gained
weight. There would also be advice on what to do to achieve his ideal weight.
Some would take this sort of chatter as offensive, but with Jacob Saheb, it was
impossible to be offended. He owned the dress and the wearer was just a matter
of chance.
Once the job was
done, he would now ask for coffee. This was a ritual that never varied. Two
cups of tea and then the coffee! This would mark the nearing of the end of the
visit. No one asked him when the clothes would be delivered. It would be an
exercise in futility. It would be delivered when it was ready, and when that
would happen was anybody’s guess.
But I found out about
Jacob Saheb’s genius when I was about ten or eleven years old. He had taken a
cloth for one of my early trousers. The norm was shorts, so a trouser was
something we looked forward to with a lot of anticipation. I pleaded with Jacob
Saheb to deliver it within the month so that I could wear it during the ensuing
Durga Pujas.
But Jacob Saheb lived
up to form. The Pujas came and went, months passed by; his many visits
thereafter did not result in the delivery of my trousers. Initially, I would
ask him, plead, throw tantrums and generally try to force him to concede that
it would be delivered on his next visit.
All he would do was
nod, smile and ruffle my hair, but he did not make any commitment. The next
Pujas came and went. My parents tried to convince me that though he did not
admit it, Jacob Saheb had probably misplaced the cloth and the trousers were
unlikely to be ever delivered. I gradually reconciled myself to the fact that
it was probably so.
Then almost a year
and a half later, Jacob Saheb stood beaming at the door one Sunday and specifically
asked for me. Lo and behold, there were my trousers. I could not wait to try
them out. I must have grown about an inch or more and generally grown in the
intervening time. I put them on, and surprise, surprise – a perfect fit! Jacob
Saheb’s explanation for the delay was – if he had delivered it earlier, I would
have outgrown it very quickly!
Jacob Saheb was like
family. He would join us in our celebrations and the family was invited to his.
When his elder daughter got married I was too young to attend. However, I did
attend the party on the occasion of his younger daughter’s marriage.
I enjoyed the outing
but not the food. It was too alien for my tastes. All the people present were
beautifully dressed – all of them. The ladies from his family in long dresses
and the guest ladies in beautiful saris; all the men in perfect suits! I was
one of the few children in trousers, the rest in shorts.
Jacob Saheb and his
wife looked very happy and he received his guests with a big smile and
bristling moustache. He informed everyone that his daughter was moving to
Australia after marriage. One more place to go for him!
But shortly
afterwards, during his visits he inadvertently let out that he was not happy
and that his wife had become depressed on account of loneliness. He also looked
older! His daughters wanted them to move to Australia too, but he confessed
that he had been a Calcuttan too long to be able to move away to a new place.
All his friends were
here but a few of his relatives had decided to move to Australia and Canada. He
was torn between staying near to his children and leaving his friends. He just
could not decide. The attachments were too strong. He missed his children and
subsequently his grand children terribly.
As time passed, his
visits became more and more infrequent. The twinkle in his eyes was
diminishing. His smile seemed forced; the moustache was as bushy as ever, but
the appearance suggested a droop. Over time, I am not sure when, his visits
stopped.
I was engaged with
the changes in my life to bother to enquire. I can only conjecture that he
would have grown old, maybe become sick and gradually faded into the deep blue.
However, one thing I
am sure. He represented a time when business was more than earning money, skill
was something to take pride in but not carry it on your sleeve, relationship
with people, and attachment to places took priority and personal appearances
were something to cherish.
He is one of those
people who leave a lasting impression and become representatives of the time
that they live in. Wherever he is, I am sure he is turning out beautiful suits
and assessing his creations with a critical eye.
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