The fairy lights

Sumathi was a neighborhood tailor. The kind you would find virtually in every street corner in India. Not the fancy boutique variety, but someone who would stitch your sari falls, alter your kurtis, hem the edges of your dupattas, stitch an emergency blouse or two – kind of tailor. It would be an understatement to say that life had not been kind to her. She had an alcoholic husband and three children in quick succession. However, the husband was a tailor and he did give her money to run their home. He was also the one who taught her tailoring.

Things took a turn for the worse during COVID. Her husband contracted the illness and died. Sumathi and her children barely made it alive. The only thing going for Sumathi was that they had a home of their own. It was dark and dingy, but it was hers. With literally no work available during COVID, she and her children lived on the charity of kind souls. In the post-pandemic era, she tried her best to continue her husband’s tailoring business. But most of his regular clients had moved on to others. A few orders trickled in and Sumathi somehow had to make ends meet with those. She was completely at a loss as to how she could get more orders in.

To make matters worse, a new tailor had set up shop, just opposite hers. His store was brightly lit and he blared popular Tamil movie songs, a tactic which seemed to attract many customers to his store. His little shack was buzzing with business. And he even, rather condescendingly offered her a job. But Sumathi was not comfortable with the idea when she had her sewing machine as well as the complete setup to run the business on her own. She was not ready to give up her newfound independence. Though her work did not fetch her much income, she had earned a good name among the few clients who did come to her. And they did keep coming back to her. It was enough to keep her hopes alive.

One such happy customer was Agnes.

A frail and lonely Anglo Indian, who lived in a pretty house a few doors away. She got her loose, flowy gowns stitched by Sumathi. Agnes was well into her 70s, and lived by herself, as her sons had settled in Australia. Often, she sat on a rickety stool in Sumathi’s dingy home and watched as she ran her machine and earnestly did the little work that came her way. Their conversation was mostly one-sided as Agnes spoke only in English – a language Sumathi did not understand. But she listened and just allowed Agnes to be. Some days Agnes would be quiet and simply watch her with rheumy eyes. Then Sumathi filled the companionable silence with her own life stories. Agnes listened with rapt attention – though she understood nothing because Sumathi could only speak in the local Tamil language. Their friendship defied logic. It broke barriers of caste, social standing, language and age. It was incomprehensible to others around. The men in the opposite tailor shop smirked and cracked mean jokes every time Agnes tottered her way into Sumathi’s home.

Here comes Sumathi’s only customer, they booed.

This one has one foot in the grave, when she dies, Sumathi’s business will die too. They taunted.

All of Australia going to copy her fashion, they laughed.

None of it, however, deterred their friendship. One day, close to Christmas, Agnes walked in with a lovely silk material. She wanted Sumathi to stitch her the most beautiful gown. She had cut out patterns from Vogue magazine and shared them – giving Sumathi detailed instructions on how she wanted the gown to be.

Sumathi was nervous. She had never worked with such expensive material. She did not want to mess it up. But she did as she was told and got the gown ready.

When Agnes tried out the new gown, her joy knew no bounds. She looked angelic! Both the women were so ecstatic they danced and pranced and giggled all afternoon. Later, Agnes left for her home with a big, contented smile.

The next day Agnes did not turn up at her usual hour.

Sumathi was filled with a sense of foreboding. She locked up her home and went looking for Agnes. Her door was locked from inside and Sumathi’s insistent knocks got no response. In the end, fearing the worst, she called the police. They had to break open her door. They found her lying in her bed wearing her new gown and an angelic smile. Her frail body barely took up any space in the large four-poster bed. An Ambulance was called and the medics declared her dead.

Sumathi broke down and cried inconsolably.

Her sons turned up from Australia to perform the final rites. Sumathi sat limply at home, unable to do any work. Missing her friend dearly and wondering how she could go on without Agnes’ comforting presence.

One evening, a week later, a young man turned up at Sumathi’s door. He introduced himself as David - Agnes’ youngest son. Sumathi was startled to see how much like Agnes he looked! He had the same smile and the same kind voice. She teared up as he thanked her for giving his mother the companionship that she had yearned for all her life. He shared that during his phone conversations with his mother, she often told him about her friendship with Sumathi. For a while, they both reminisced about the woman they loved.

When David got up to go, he pulled out a small bag that he had been holding and handed it to Sumathi. Mother wanted you to have this, he told her. When Sumathi opened the bag she saw a string of fairy lights inside and a tiny effigy of an Angel. David explained that his mother thought of her as an angel friend. And she always worried that Sumathi would ruin her eyes stitching in the dark. This is her love and good wishes for you, said David as he left her home.

Sumathi was really touched by the gesture. She immediately set up the fairy lights around her workspace. And placed the Angel figurine carefully alongside her other Hindu God images. She was happy to have something that would remind her constantly of Agnes.

The next morning, Sumathi sent her children to school as usual. Then she prayed to her Gods and bowed before the angel figurine. She switched on the fairy lights. And to her utter amazement, it brightened up her whole workspace. It was like a zillion-watt bulb!

That day and in the days that followed, a steady stream of customers walked in on their own accord. The tailor opposite had too many orders and could not accommodate theirs – owing to the festive season rush. And when they turned to go, the lights in Sumathi’s home drew them in.

Work poured in for Sumathi. The new customers stayed on. The angel figurine looked upon her with a beatific smile. And the fairy lights shined on upon her.