of craftspersons

a couple of days back my computer's power cable died in a mini-explosion of sparks and smoke. i went to my friendly neighbourhood electrical goods shop, but he did not have the cable i was looking for. so he picked up half a topaz shaving blade, a bit of duct tape, and a one-inch long piece of insulating sleeve and spliced the thing together for me. And you know what? not only does it work ,but i know it will work for longer than it did originally. That is because he taped it in such a way that the weak point-where i would always twist the cable- is now protected. I also feel safe with this because he took a lot of pains to make sure the insulation was ok.

and this brings me to the story of my cobbler. He has a little concrete platform, an umbrella and a locked wooden box of tools and materials. I have been to him a couple of times, and each time, I was amazed by the amount of care he took over his work. He would go on reinforcing tears long after i would have thought 'Done!' and then paint the thread over, and then polish it all up.

You will notice that the paragraph above is a horror of mixed tenses. I do tend to do that, but in this case I am confused too. A few weeks ago, we had a massive storm. The next day, the cobbler was not at his stall, and he hasn't been there since. First M and I joked about his flying away, Mary Poppins- like, to a place where he was needed more.

but i am worrying now. he was an old man. he worked painstakingly to scratch out a meagre living, and still took pride in his craft.