Mind you, this was an all-women’s territory. The men folk didn’t have to bother. They wore suits that lasted for decades, irrespective of weight gain or loss, or if it looked like something worn by the cast of Amar Akbar Anthony. The neighbourhood gents’ tailor would somehow “adjust” the coat or trousers, and they were set. The tie with a Christmas element was accepted as the ‘new’ factor to their wardrobe. But for the women, it was a case of meticulous research (and gossip) sourced from beneficiaries across the city, about tailors who helped them steal the show at family weddings or Easter service that year. 

We had heard of these magicians in far-off Malad, Bandra and Vikhroli. Shopping at the many fabric stores around Crawford Market was the first step in that direction. The Diwali holidays were used to crack the mission. The trickier the pattern in mind, the more back-end research and time was needed. Some would prefer to be their own fashion designers, and here, I recall friends chuckling over this debate in their own homes where well-meaning aunts would warn their nieces to tone it down. “Too deep the cut is, my girl! What will the priest say,” only to get an eye roll from the budding teen designer. 

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Others would leave it to the know-it-all tailor to pick the design and work his magic, heavily aided by glossy fashion magazines from the UK, Germany and Australia. The idea-to-execution would sometimes be a hoot. But we shall not go down that road. But they had time on hand, so these folks did not give up till the tailor got it right. It was project Christmas, after all; their Grammys or Oscars.

As kids, all we heard were these names: Malad Tailor, Bandra Tailor, and then for eastern suburbanites, Vikhroli Tailor came to the rescue for convenience. Interestingly, I never heard the name of these unseen masters; it was always location-specific. For some of us, we never had the opportunity to be part of these meet-the-tailor adventures; instead we would hear of their exploits, and of course, wait to see the end result worn by some friend or relative at midnight mass. It could be anything from downright awful to spot-on accurate.

For others, like yours truly, we had to “settle” for Lewis Tailor – the self-anointed saviour for Christmas and Easter outfits, the ‘Master of Mulund’. He was the go-to man who was expected to create unimaginable, almost chuckle-worthy outfits, now that I recall. Come mid-December and newspaper-like deadlines and emotional threats would reach their peak, courtesy hassled aunties and their nervous daughters in case he missed the mark, or if the pattern went haywire. “Tailor, mere ko angry mat karo,” we’d often hear from a disgruntled customer, while entering his shop. Repeated visits, stress-enduring return trips to Crawford for extra satin or netted material, and finally, the all-familiar truce by the week before the big day, was part of the build-up to have the outfit ready.

Today, Lewis Tailor isn’t around. Business dried up when mall mania hit Mulund, and by the time the online shopping revolution had arrived, we knew it would be curtains. As Christmas nears, we wonder how his ilk in the rest of the city are faring; we hope they continue to have a loyal band of clients of a certain vintage. They made it to our book of childhood memories as a community of unique helpers who added character, and made the charm and joy of a festival in Bombay even more special.

mid-day’s Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city’s sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana
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