Me and Mr. Shiv

Mr. Shiv, Mr. Shiv, Mr. Shi-iv. We got a thing going on…

I have a crush on Mr. Shiv. (I also have a crush on the god Vishnu, but he’s immortal and has LOTS of girlfriends, so he’s probably not the man for me.) I took a big chance. I knew I was going to be in India for almost three months, that the weather would go from seriously hot to almost freezing, and that I had only one suitcase to accommodate my needs for this three month period. Yet, I did it anyway. I brought with me a) my faded blue and white flowered dress (that many of you know), b) my (formerly) white eyelet blouse, and c) a shredding pair of brown trousers no longer suitable for use in public settings. I did it in the hopes of finding a tailor who could recreate these beloved items in the fabrics of India. Mr. Shiv did not disappoint.

Not only is Mr. Shiv a tailor extraordinaire, he also comes to my office to pick up and deliver my new wardrobe. Often on a Monday morning, I can be found twirling around in my new clothes, to the great amusement of my fellow office mates. Everyone waits breathlessly for the arrival of Mr. Shiv. Not to say that Mr. Shiv is without his faults. Mr. Shiv speaks almost no English, but he speaks the language of cloth and clothing. Mr. Shiv speaks an almost incomprehensible version of Hindi, according to my fellow epidemiologist, Raman, who serves as interpreter, to my undying appreciation. No one is quite sure where Mr. Shiv comes from, but everyone is sure of his talent.

I love it when risks pay off.