Keya Sarkar: A poor work schedule

Now that many people visiting Santiniketan know of the craft shop that I run, and, therefore, know of my access to "village girls" who can embroider, I am often asked whether I would do work on order. People sometimes want something done for personal use, or many a time for resale in their boutiques.

The ones for personal use often want near disintegrating heirlooms restored by some random embroidery. And boutique owners are normally long on ideas but short on perseverance required for implementation. I have a policy of avoiding both. First because of my extreme discomfort with other peoples' creative ideas but more importantly because it is an extremely tricky business. Embroidery, that is. And taking on that risk for oneself is one story but doing it with others people's emotions or money is quite another.

More often than not when I refuse people who make such requests they feel it is because I can't promise them a date of delivery. "We are not in a hurry," they say in order to change my mind. It is not easy to explain that for poor Muslim housewives who typically take these jobs, time is not in the reckoning. It will be done when it will be done. The risk is more in the things that may go awry from the time the design is conceived till the time the embroidered fabric is back from the laundry, cleaned and ironed, ready to be sold. But it is in each such risk that there lies a story that makes handwork weave the magic that it does.

When I give a piece of fabric to be embroidered by girls who do not work for us but prefer to freelance, so to say, I know it will get prioritised after work at home, children's health, relatives visiting and festivities. With years of experience, I know when it is time to enquire after a particular piece. The answer is almost always "a lot has been done, but a little still remains."

It is only when you dig deeper that the story unfolds. Many of those who freelance opt to work on two pieces simultaneously. One to be done during free time in the day, and the other to be done when the rest of the household is in bed. I don't know whether this is to relieve them of the boredom or because they wish to take on lighter work for the night. So, the speed of work will depend on when the lady has more time

There are times when a saree is done by two women in the family simultaneously, typically by sisters or sisters-in-law. The understanding is they will share the remuneration. God forbid if there is a tiff. Then that fabric will be put away and forgotten.

There are occasions when rats have made holes in the fabric they are embroidering or water has fallen on the fabric which leaves a rust-like mark, difficult to remove. The poor illiterate women are too scared to tell the truth and just lie, hoping the problem will go away.

And then, on the other hand, there are those who are conscientious and strive to keep their word despite the odds. They will brave the weather, health and often, as is the case in rural Bengal, breakdown in transport connections to deliver in time. I have even had experiences of many calling me up to apologise for lack of progress on their work because they have lost a parent!

So when I am refusing to take orders I can almost hear them mutter "unprofessional" under their breath. I don't bother to give them explanations. Because those who live in metros have expectations of instant gratification and such stories which can't be captured in Excel spreadsheets make for poor business planning. I just thank all my colleagues working from their homes for giving me the pleasure of saying no.