Chapter 14
‘When things are difficult there will be people who need to keep their garments going for a while longer. I imagine that Threads of Arrow Street will have some good times ahead of it.’
Anjali’s uncle was pinning the cuff of a fine blouse to a measured position, and he broke off to make sure the pins were correctly in place.
‘I see myself in you, Anjali. There are those people who find the river and choose to follow it out of the valley.’
He nodded in the direction of the water that could just be heard rattling beyond the warehouse windows.
‘And then there are those who find the river and see it as a warning that they have gone far enough.’
He redirected his thick glass again on the job in hand. When he was satisfied that the cuff was fastened, just as he wanted it to be, he continued, ‘When I reached the river, I just knew.’
He looked down; the sound of the river filled the space again.
‘I have a very simple tailoring business here. I understand the repair and adjustment of garments well. I am of my time. Whilst you are of your time. There are changes and alterations that come with that.’
He searched for the right words in the same way that he searched for the right needle for each tailoring job.
‘There is something very basic to consider, Anjali. If you are a Tailor, you should be a Tailor. If you are a Designer, you should be a Designer. When you next walk along the river, look at your reflection in the water. Then tell me, when we next catch up with one another, what it is that you see there.’
He breathed in like a swimmer before a dive.
‘Change is the only thing that proves to us that time has moved forward. But I cannot advise you because of that. I am of my time. You will find a different way.’
He pushed the final pin back into the pincushion and looked straight at Anjali.
‘Panya is a good worker,’ he said through his thick glasses. ‘She will keep that business going. Panya has an appetite for making bad things good. This is a place - a whole valley - where the climate is the enemy of clothing and the friend of the tailor who profits from opposing its cold and damp.’
He adopted his most reassuring tone.
‘I could still find you some room in the warehouse - although I am not sure that this damp valley is the ideal home for your endeavours.
‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘This is a moment that demands fresh masala chai.’
He returned shortly, setting two larger-than-usual mugs down on the table.
Through the comforting steam rising from his own mug he said, ‘The needle must follow the seam that has been cut for it. It can add some appealing embellishment of its own, but it must always follow the basic design for which the thread was first drawn from the bobbin.
‘You are like the river, Anjali. I never know what it might do next. It can gently follow its path to the sea without offering the slightest resistance. Then suddenly it rises from its bed, and I am rushing to get the expensive fabrics to the top floor, lest it decide to throw itself into my workshop.
He took a long sip from his mug, whilst he tried to untangle himself.
‘Our family has made our garments out of richer materials with each generation. I am sure that the needle you are holding carries a thread that will take you to even finer fabrics.’
He took another sip from his mug, and this time it seemed to bring him new inspiration.
‘Did you know that most stars in the universe just turn out iron towards the end of their lives. It is only the greatest stars that make more precious materials than iron. And only the very largest and brightest of the stars will come to weave gold at the end. I know you will weave gold, Anjali. But such a bright star should burn in a larger valley than this.’