Lydia, Wedding Dressmaker from BandraOne Stitch at a Time
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.
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
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.
By Brenda Rodrigues
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