Keya Sarkar: A hitch every time

Most people who visit my little shop in Santiniketan have a common complaint: “There aren’t enough things on offer.” Those who know me badger me for this shortcoming and I guess those who don’t probably curse me. Though I am quite happy with what I manage to produce with my colleagues and 40 artisans – and more importantly with what we earn – I dare not show my smugness to those who complain. I thank them for their patronage, apologise for our inadequacy and promise to do better till the next time they visit Santiniketan. Even as I am able to handle most criticism, I had to hide when a particular customer walked into our shop recently. It was before summer last year when I was getting double bedcovers woven that he had suggested it would be nice to have them in cream.

I liked the gentleman’s idea. So I ordered 30 cream bedcovers in the very next meeting with my weaver, who said he’d finish the warp that was already on the loom and then start with the cream warp. This was sometime in May when it’s too hot to work. So I would ask him occasionally whether he had started with the cream bedcovers to which he’d reply that he is waiting for the first spell of rain for the temperature to become bearable enough to work.

The first rain of the season fell and he started work. But soon his loom broke down and needed to be taken to the next district to be fixed. By then monsoon had arrived and rural roads had become daunting. I had no choice but to tell him to work on the other looms till the weather improved. By the time the weather improved, it was time to sow fields. Since most weavers are also landowners, sowing takes priority. And then, of course, came the pujas — that time of the year when no self-respecting Bengali can even be asked about work. Nevertheless, my weaver assured me that the bedcovers would definitely be ready before the Paus Mela (the big fair held in Santiniketan in December when millions descend on this small town). I was, by then, past caring and didn’t wish to explain to him that I had wanted the cream bedcovers for summer and that they would look inappropriate in my shop in winter.

I had forgotten about the whole affair when towards the end of November I got a call from my weaver. “Didi,” he said to me sounding distressed, “there has been a disaster, last night my calf fell into the pit of the loom and ate all the warp thread.” Most looms in village homes are at the floor level with a pit for weavers to put their feet in as they sit on it to work. “I won’t be able to deliver the bedcovers,” he added. “How did the calf get in; why didn’t you bolt the door?” I asked irritably. “I did,” he said, “but the calf and the mother stay in that room at night,” he explained meekly. After this incident, I had pretty much given up on those cream bedcovers. But when I saw the same customer who had started it all come into my shop a few days ago, I knew there was no way I could explain this entire saga to someone from the city who is used to surpluses and discounts. So, I chose the easier way out and hid.