In our childhood, in the ‘60s, there were no readymade cloth houses or boutique shops etc, in Bangladesh, so we were totally dependent on parar dorjir dokan (Neiborhood taylor shop) to have shirts or pajama-kurtas made from there. As Eid time used to be a rush time in dorjir dokan, flocked by womenfolk to have their clothes made before Eid, it used to be a mighty challenge to get their schedule. Invariably, they had to oblige the womenfolk first, so our turn used to come at the fag-end.
The tension of getting delivery of our desired shirt or pajama-kurta at least a day before the Eid day used to eat into us. I remember going to the dorjir dokan two three times in the morning and then again once or twice in the afternoon. Every time we would come back disappointed hearing that it was not done yet. Complaining to mother yielded no result as she used to be equally frustrated with the ‘perennially slow taylors’. ‘Good for nothing people’ – she would murmur to console herself.
If we were lucky, we would get the ‘dream’ shirt made and delivered on the morning day before Eid. We would run home and wash it with soap and hang it on the rope in the sun. Within an hour we would be running with the dried shirt to the local laundrywalla to have it ironed. He is another person under tremendous pressure, as almost the entire moholla people were breathing down his neck. He would yell and curse and finally tell us to leave it on the table and return around 8pm that night. It was too much. No amount of begging would make him agree to deliver it at 7pm. Around 8pm, I would come home gently holding the most coveted shirt and put it on the study table.
Next morning, we would all get up early in the morning, take our shower and wear the shirt and trousers. It was a moment of extreme joy and satisfaction. We would run out and show our clothes to other friends. I still remember my childhood Eid days spent in Wari, House #6, Larmini Street.
