The Man with the Broken Pants

My fortnightly trips into town are full of “the stuff of life” and entertaining as well. Often they also beggar belief - like the conversation that transpired below! 

A couple of weeks ago I was at a tailoring shop - not the one that I wrote about last month, but a much smaller establishment located near the Dubai Creek. A two level shop, with a tailor (sitting with a sewing machine) and the Master who owns the shop at the ground level. Over time I have realized that they do not share the most cordial of relationships, though there seems to exist an uneasy truce between the two. The Master is stern of demeanor and looks quite the taskmaster! I frequent it for alterations which are done on the spot - I handover the clothes, run my errands and return to pick them up within the hour.

Anyway that particular day this routine failed, as on returning to pick up trousers I had given for length alteration, I was informed that work had not even commenced on them. I was quite miffed with this unanticipated occurrence, but the tailor aware that the Master was listening placated me and told me to wait. He assured me that my work would be done in fifteen minutes and having no option, I sat down to wait on a small bench near the entrance.

A few minutes later a bedraggled man walks in (actually saunters in), brushes by me and starts looking around. He goes to a rack of clothes and ruffles through them. The Master and the tailor continued working, both assiduously pretending to ignore him while keeping a wary eye on this intruder. From the expression on their faces it was evident that this was not entirely usual.

The man then walks across to the tailor, who by then is in the midst of altering my pants and starts feeling my trousers - as if to check the quality. The tailor gives him a stern look, tells him to stop touching the clothes and asks him what he wants in Hindi.

The following conversation takes place in Hindi, which was obviously not the man’s mother tongue. I later find out that he is Bangladeshi.

TAILOR: What do you want?

MAN: My pants are broken.

TAILOR: What?

MAN: My pants are broken.

TAILOR: Pants cannot break - they tear.

MAN: You know what I mean.

TAILOR: Ok - so what do you want from me?

MAN: Do you have a spare pair of pants for me?

Then casually picking up a leg of my trousers that are being altered.

MAN: These should fit me.

TAILOR: These belong to someone else.

MAN: OK do you have any others like this that have been left behind.

TAILOR: No

MAN: Can you repair my broken pants?

TAILOR: Yes - where are they?

MAN: I am wearing them.

TAILOR: OK - get them tomorrow and I will stitch them for you.

MAN: I need them today - I cannot work with broken pants.

TAILOR: Do you have another pair of trousers which you can wear while I work on them?

MAN: No

TAILOR: Then how do you expect me to work on yours?

MAN: I will take them out and you can do the job.

TAILOR: And what will ‘you’ be wearing while I work on them?

MAN: Nothing

TAILOR: What are you wearing beneath your pants?

MAN: Nothing

TAILOR: We do not have a changing room, so where will you wait while I work on your trousers?

MAN: Here

TAILOR: You cannot wait here with nothing on.

MAN: Why?

TAILOR: Are you mad - what if ladies come in or the police? We will be jailed!

MAN: Ok then (again, picking up a leg of 'my' trousers) - I will wear these. 

TAILOR: Stop disturbing me and go to the Master (pointing him out) and ask him.

The man is not phased at all and saunters over to the Master - all the while inspecting the various trousers hung on the racks.

MAN: My pants are broken.

MASTER: I know - I heard the conversation. What do you want?

MAN: I need a pair of pants

MASTER: Come tomorrow and I will see if I can find a discarded pair that will fit you.

MAN: My pants are broken and if people see something that they should not, I will blame you.

MASTER: I told you - come tomorrow and I will see what I can do.

MAN: Mutters something and leaves.

The Master then looks at me and shakes his head. As the man is leaving I notice an RTA logo on his shirt, so I ask the Master who the man was. It seems that he is an ABRA (small passenger boats on the Dubai creek) operator of vague acquaintance to the tailors.

On my asking what he will do if the man returns, the Master tells me that he 'will' come again and that later he will look for some old or discarded trousers to give the man. Shrugging his shoulders he declares that life is, after all, about giving and helping in any small way one can.

Coming from a guy who looked as if he would not help his own ailing mother, this statement resonated deeply with me. It reminded me of the old adage - never judge a book by its cover!    

As I left the shop with my trousers I kept picturing the man touching and feeling them and wanting to wear them, and could not help thinking that they would definitely have served a better purpose with him. As is often the case I was so enraptured by the events as they unfolded, that I did not act until it was too late. 

 So now, every time I will put those trousers on I will think of the man with the Broken Pants.