Knowing you have the power to create. How does that feel? Hmmm....dam good I bet.
I wonder at the smooth strokes of the pencil in my hand as it moves over the canvas. Just listen to the subtle crunch of the scratches. The way the lead crumbles over paper...a delicious way of marking territory. Or maybe take notice of the cracking of scissors against fabric. Crumb. Crumb. Crumb.
Reassemble your thought. Bring it to focus. Adjust your eyes to a new world. I am a student of second year, fashion design, at 'The' National Institute of Fashion Technology, Delhi.
And today I look at fabric like never before. I see how it drapes itself seductively over a woman's bust. I see it enhancing every curve...every move...centering closer and closer to one thing; Not an everyday necessity...but this wild, aching, itching need to be downright irresistable.
Clothes don't cover you...they just uncover you at the right places. I close my fists around the fabric and let it loose again. It slips down my skin and falls obediently. It lingers before it falls. Registering the smooth, silken texture on my senses. And I'm taken. I pick it up again and I know I've found my best friend.
Tailoring can, to an outsider, seem painfully vile. You bet I thought so too some few months ago, when I dreaded sitting in front of a sewing machine and dreamt countlessly of getting my nails sewed to the fabric. Ouch.
But when those stitches popping up on the fabric, glueing it together...to finally. finally become a garment. A garment of your own. Your creation. Yours alone. I won't take a million dollars to let go of that feeling. Or maybe... *wink*
However, a month or so ago, I dare say I would've also given anything to never feel it too. It hasn't exactly been a rosy ride. In NIFT, it never is. Like I say, aspirers be warned. You are entering one of the best and the toughest years of your student life. In this college, the professors have this amazing knack of throwing you into something entirely alien with the ease of a perfectly cruel sadist. They watch you writhe and struggle before suddenly interrupting and squishing you all over again.
Scary? Believe me, it is. I have struggled with 11 redos for basic bodices and literally walked the Nift Corridors, jumpy and agitated, almost on the peak of a panic attack. Every class began with a small prayer and ended with a mighty curse. Or maybe a cruel smack on the back of a friend in excuse for a hi. They stomp all over you, don't give attendance if you're a painful 2 minutes late, and make sure they remind you what a pathetic batch of kids you are. They will ridicule you, never acknowledge the fact that you work, and call you dull and unmotivated. In short, your self belief plummets down to the depths of non recovery. Mine did. All I did was work like a donkey, praying for a perfect fit, even in my dreams(literally).
I would spend countless minutes everyday wondering if I made the wrong choice. If this was the field for me? If fabric would ever behave when I was around? Or if my sewing machine was jinxed.
I watch "the Devil Wears Prada" and sympathise with Anne Hathaway as Meryl Streep walks all over her in her Prada pumps, making sure they pierce hard enough.
But then I also hear Nigel reminding Anne wear she is.
And then I wonder. If this is all part of the game? If it was never meant to be easy after all? This is after all "The" National Institute Of Fashion technology. They're not here to make it easier for you. NIFT is something you have to survive. Something you have to worship. It is your worst enemy and your best friend. Something you have to learn to admire. The sadist professors you have to learn to see with different eyes. Because, in the end it makes you want to love fabric too. Tailoring seems like a perfectly admirable skill and draping cloth on a body seems like the best feeling in the world.
It gives you the power to create. What could be better than that? Nothing, I bet.
