Mending a torn relationship

One of the most precious things I inherited from my mother-in-law 34 years ago was her sewing box. It is made of kansha alloy and inscribed with her pet-name in Bengali: Muna. And it still contains the tiny scissors and thimble she had put in there. The stash of spools of thread, buttons, hooks, pins and needles, of course, have been used up and added to over the past three decades. I have my mother's sewing kit too, containing the very same supplies, but in an old red toffee tin.

Many people of my generation and older would recall or even possess that tiny symbol of thrift, which these days is being hailed once again - as environmental consciousness. Growing up, it was unthinkable to throw away clothes just because a button fell off, a seam tore or a sock got a hole. All it required was a swift repair job by a family member and it was good as new. Even after multiple repairs, clothes were never discarded, they were just handed down to someone.

Some women were so adept at repair that even complicated darning was done inhouse, although a particular type of darning was exclusively male and remains so even today. These rafoogars usually hail from Kashmir or UP and their fingers are so skilled that it is often impossible to identify where the hole or tear had been. Such intricate needle work is still affordable in India but has become too expensive in the West, as no repair ethic or actual skill exists there anymore.


Mending has become a forgotten domestic accomplishment in India too as both schools and households have stopped teaching younger generations this basic life skill. I hated needlework classes at school, but they stood me in good stead. I have been the family mender and darner for years. Often sewing is also a therapeutic exercise, the repetitive movements of hemming or putting a fall on a saree always inducing a meditative calmness. Maybe the women of yore thought so too.

Needlework was thoughtlessly cut out of most school curricula around the world (including India) by the turn of the century, perhaps because it was perceived as sexist. But the outsourcing option to local tailor 'masterjis' is still available here, so the 'crisis' of fast fashion gripping the West now has not impacted India as such. More so as we generally still prefer to mix and match rather than chuck clothes away. What little does get discarded is mostly recycled or repurposed.

However, it is hard to believe fast fashion brands that have opened repair units recently for customers in the West to get items mended are altruistic. When people enter a store to get garments repaired, what are the chances they will buy some more too? Also, devising workshops to teach people how to sew buttons or fix tears are too few to make a dent in the mountains of clothes dumped in landfills or sent off to poor nations in the guise of "charity". Wasteful mindsets remain.

The way to truly save the planet is by restarting the inculcation of frugality, thrift and a respect for sustainable living, that too by teaching skills, not just mouthing platitudes. Any 'sexist' tags can be offset by ensuring all children, regardless of gender, learn to sew and darn - and iron and cook too - besides learning how to fix loose wires, tyres and hinges for that matter. And when the little kansha and tin sewing boxes pass on to the next generations, hopefully their ethos will too.