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 s
