LYDIA'S STORY: ONE STITCH AT A TIME
A tribute to a much-sort-after dressmaker from Bandra
By Brenda Rodrigues
brendarodr...@gmail.com
It was the dream of every Bandra girl to have her wedding
gown sewn by Lydia, and I was no exception. But I was the
only lucky girl -- who both had Lydia do my wedding gown and
also got her for my mother-in-law!
Lydia was one of the most-sought-after dressmakers in Bombay,
and at the height of her fame, clients would come from abroad
to have their entire trousseaus designed by her. It was
renown earned at the cost of much personal sacrifice.
Few knew of the poignant details, many of which
were a revelation even for me. Lydia's story,
which I reconstructed from personal discussions,
letters and newspaper articles, was carried in
*Lydia Brides*, a commemorative coffee table book
we brought out as a tribute to her on her 92nd
birthday. Many who read this chapter told us that
it brought tears to their eyes. Here is an
abridged version, in Lydia's own words:
As a young girl I had always been scissors-happy, and nothing
pleased me more than concocting something dainty from wisps
of material. I got married at an early age, and was content
to be a housewife and a lady of leisure and never ever
thought of making dressmaking a profession, and never had
need to.
It was when my husband, Anthony, got very ill and had to give
up his job and stay home that I found myself at the
crossroads of life. I realized that I would have to fend for
myself to support my husband and four children. I had worked
as a teacher in St. Sebastian's Goan High School in Dabul,
but could not think of going back to teaching.
My sister-in-law who had a well-known dress salon in town
consented to engage me, and so I landed up doing what I loved
-- dressmaking. My salary was small but somehow I managed to
run my home on this. I had to leave early every morning and
it broke my heart to leave my sick husband and four children
in the care of servants but I had no other alternative. My
youngest was less than two years old.
Although a novice in dressmaking, I learnt fast. My
sis-in-law was an exacting taskmistress and did not fail to
pull me up sharply or reprimand me for the smallest thing.
Once I was even accused of taking Rs. 150, and despite
proclaiming my innocence, this was cut out of my salary. I
bore this humiliation quietly. Later it was discovered that
the boy who worked in the shop had stolen the money. I
continued to work with such dedication that I was soon put in
complete charge of the whole establishment, even dealing with
foreigners who were extremely demanding.
I would return home very late when the children
were fast asleep, and I could talk to them only the
next morning. What anguish I went through every
day and night and my fears never subsided. I was
at work in February 1952 when I got terrible news:
our darling baby (it was just five days to her
second birthday) had drowned in a pond in a
neighbouring garden. Added to this trauma, and
because of this, my husband's health further
deteriorated and he had a nervous breakdown. I was
also seven months pregnant. Only the Lord knew why
he was testing me so much.
I felt it was now my duty to be by my husband's side as much
as possible. I took a make-or-break decision to start out on
my own. I felt I could rely on my natural talent and
instinct, backed by the work experience I had gained.
At first my sisters came in with some capital on the
understanding that all the actual work had to be done solely
by me. I started at home with one Singer hand-sewing machine
loaned to me by my mother, and I shifted two cupboards
together to form a makeshift dressing room. Now that I was
all set, I just had to wait for customers... and I had to wait
in frustration because, believe it or not, there were no
customers to be found in Bandra those days. Gradually, the
financial backing extended to me was withdrawn and I was left
on my own to sink or swim.
My only option was to trace people in town and so I would
travel by train and bus, in rain and shine -- literally with
tears in my eyes -- going as far as Cuffe Parade to take an
order. I would call tailors during their off-hours or off
days to do piece work for me. Then I would go back again to
make delivery of the dress.
I would get down on my knees daily and pray hard for
customers, and wondered where and when the next order would
come from. There were days when there was no money for the
next meal. Somewhere God must have heard my prayers and
silent weeping because some of my relatives began to place
their orders with me, simply to help ease my financial
problems. When they saw my work was good they gave me more
orders, and as the number of satisfied customers grew, the
word spread and more people sought my services on their own.
During those early days, some customers would
linger and chat, sometimes for hours, sharing
confidences, seeking advice, maybe needing a
shoulder to cry on. I was glad to be of help.
Many grew to be dear lifelong friends.
Business increased but I still did not have money to buy
another machine. Then a Gujarati gentleman, Vinod Parekh,
who was impressed with my work and seeing my struggle, held
out a helping hand. He got me a second-hand German machine
for Rs.240 on condition that I repay him as and when I could.
He also advanced me small amounts to purchase materials like
reels, lace, buckram etc., with the strict undertaking that I
repay every paisa, which I scrupulously did. Vinod turned
out to be a good family friend to whom my family and I owe a
great debt of gratitude for the many times he came to our
aid, not the least, when we all but lost our property.
Yes, there was another burden: the mortgage on the property.
Since we were unable to pay the instalments in time, the
mortgagers tried to foreclose and take over the property. My
terrible mental, emotional and financial distress can only be
imagined. Here again it was Vinod, who came to the rescue.
(Note: I'm omitting the details, though dramatic, for lack of
space.)
With those humble beginnings, my business began to expand;
but just as it was picking up, I was struck another blow. In
June 1968 my husband had a fall and was rushed to hospital
but he kept insisting I take him home. Seeing him so
restless, the doctors too recommended that we take him home.
He was stable for some time but then as his
condition deteriorated (he had cancer) we decided
to admit him to hospital; he was barely conscious,
but as he was being taken out of the house to a
waiting ambulance, he begged not to be sent to a
hospital and so we brought him back in.
Throughout the following days and months, I would check in on
him even in the midst of attending to my work, and at the end
of the day, I would bathe him. As he got worse and became
immobilised, it was more difficult for me to cope. After six
months of suffering, he finally passed away on 20 November
1968.
Somehow, despite all the problems, Lydia Dressmakers grew
phenomenally. By this time, my daughter, Marie-Celine, had
come into the business. (Much later, her daughter, Carioca
also did a stint with us, making it a three-generation
set-up). My customers were not confined only to Bandra or
Mumbai, or India, but my clothes were also transported
overseas to Dubai, Germany, Belgium, Holland, London, Canada
and the States. I specialized in wedding gowns, also doing
outfits for bridesmaids, flower girls and other members of
the brides' families.
Over the years, I have outfitted over 3,000 brides.
Once I even had 12 bridal gowns on a one day. I
managed to go and personally dress only eight of my
brides that day. I started at 5.00 a.m. near
Santa Cruz and ended up in Colaba. I maintained
good and friendly relations with all my customers
and continued making outfits for their children and
grand children.
It has been a long road that I have travelled. I started out
with just one sewing machine, and a make-shift fitting room.
I grew to a stage where I had my own boutique with a show
window in the hub of Bandra's shopping paradise and 14
tailors working full time. When I set out, my only aim was
to provide enough for my husband and children. By God's
grace, I did that and much more.
Because of my age and failing eyesight I finally hung up my
tape measure and closed shop in 1997. Yet that did not
deprive me of the many happy memories I cherish of
interacting with my brides and customers and dwelling on
memories of the wide circle of loving friends I gained for
life.
--
Lydia passed away on 5 May 2015, at the ripe old
age of 97. It marked the end of an era. Though
gone, her memory will continue to live on in the
hearts of all who knew her and loved her. In death
as in life, she looked regal. And even as she lay
in her coffin, there was a distinct smile on her
face. It was the seal on a life of extraordinary
achievement. --Brenda.
