There’s a pair of jeans that I love. It is almost 6 or 7 years old and it has seen many different days. I wore it to such an extent that the threads started baring at the knees and the thigh. Even that looked good and in vogue, so I kept wearing it. A day came when the threads started breaking. Although the torn patch isn’t the concern, the weakness of the fabric had started building around that hole and the hole started magnifying. As a corroded vessel, the strain started testing the nearby threads and multiple holes started appearing in no time. However, I was still hell bent on not losing my beloved jeans and I went to a tailor, got it patched up and there I was wearing it again.
I can’t help feeling how similar the threads of relationship are. You nurture a relationship with great love and care when its new. But however good the bond be, signs of stress start showing up at edges and weakest points. The people who value the relationship know that one can enjoy even the existence of holes. As the holes grow bigger and if I still treasure it so much and am not willing to let it go at any cost, I will mend it. It boils down to how important the jeans are to me.
– Has it become like new again? No, but I like it vintage now. I like the faded shades and hanging threads, it has its own charms.
– Does it mean that no new holes will appear? Again, no. It is getting old and it will strain out. Everything does, it will need maintenance and care.
– Also, shall I do this for all the pairs of jeans I own? Probably not, I don’t cherish them all this much.
– The more important point is to remember that some dresses you might like won’t even be made of denim. I have a lovely silk kurti that got ripped once. I can’t mend and wear it even if I want. The fabric doesn’t lend itself to repairs without showing the damage done. Not everything is redeemable. I hope you don’t get too attached to your silk kurtis.
I love this story of the tattered denim and wish I could convert it to a poem but I am no Frost. He could write about the ‘Mending Walls‘; I am merely a mortal, a girl with tattered jeans. All I would say is ‘Something there is that does love a worn out denim’.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”Robert Frost