Nawab

Most people who have a day-to-day kind of association with me know of Nawab. Nawab is a tailor. I almost said my tailor but wasn’t sure of a right to the possessive pronoun. Nawab is capricious, taciturn and entirely unreliable, but he is a damn good tailor. I have sworn off him a dozen times but I always seem to return to him when everybody else frustrates me even more. The thing is that on the rare occasions that he bothers to work, Nawab works magic. He has a better understanding of the relationship between the fabric, the cut and the body than a lot of fashion designers I have known. He is not what you would call industrious but if an idea takes him, no effort is too great. We always thought that it was pity that a man of his talent could not be a bit more diligent and a tad shrewder, especially given the fact that he has a family of six to feed.

Recently, after a longish gap we managed to interest him in some work. After about a week of promises he came home and looked at what was wanted. I think he was feeling particularly inspired because he sat at ten that night to cut up three patterns. I was satisfied and I prepared to wait for him to turn up next. Thinking it was perhaps strategic to put in an occasional reminder, I called him today. His wife answered his phone and it turned out that he was in hospital. From what she said I gather that he has had some sort of retinal detachment; he had gone in for a check up because his vision had blurred and they admitted him immediately. She said that that the doctors had advised him not to sew because that was what had had caused the strain in the first place. I am not sure how much of that holds water but it was not the time to advance theories. I had noticed when he came home that he was wearing glasses with pretty powerful lenses and I thought he was having more than normal trouble threading the sewing needle. I had put it down to him not being used to his new glasses and that perhaps that he had also developed long-sight.

My mother called his wife again and asked if she needed anything. She said she had everything under control. I hope to god she is right. And I hope to god he is completely healthy soon. And I hope he does not have to give up tailoring either out of necessity or out of fear.

I had earlier written this, mostly to amuse Footloose, who had heard many tales of woe of my relationship with Nawab.

Today I write this for Nawab, in prayer.

लिए एक झोली आस फिर उसी दर पे

दुआ कर के निकले थे जहाँ से कल को

विश्वास के कतरों का बाँध के सेहरा

चाक-ए-नाला का बुनकर अधना सा मंतर

होटों पे सजाकर ज़िक्र की लाली

पोहुन्चें हैं फ़िर उसी दर्ज़ी के दर पर

जहाँ सिले हैं सब संसार के सपने

गिरेबान-ओ-कफ़न-ए-गरीब सिलतें हैं

अपनी भी एक अर्ज़ी दर्ज कराने

पोहुंचे हैं फिर उसी दर्ज़ी के दर पर

देखो तो और चारा भी क्या है?

बस इस एक दर पे रहम मिलतें हैं

उधार पे लायें हैं जो झीनी सी चादर

उसके रफू के सामान भी यहीं मिलतें है

उम्मीद को बनाके दामन का गांठ

पोहुंचे हैं फिर उसी दर्ज़ी के दर पर