HE had the thickest pair of glasses I’d ever seen: During my childhood they called it soda bottle spectacles, because those days the soda came in a thick glass bottle, with a marble on top which you pressed down to let the soda out. These glasses of my tailor looked exactly like those one inch thick glasses.
He held the needle up to the sun, and got the thread ready. “He’s going to take a long, long time,” I thought, “With those thick glasses, he won’t know where the needle is and where the thread is going!” I prepared myself for some sadistic entertainment. And then I stared dumbfounded; with one swift move he had identified the eye of the needle and got the thread in.
“How did you do that?” I asked, “You’ve got an eyesight problem?” “Ah sahib,” he chuckled, “But my mind is free!” “What has your mind got to do with threading a needle?” I asked feebly. “Everything,” said the tailor as he fixed those soda bottle glasses on me, “Everything!”
I watched as he expertly sewed the tear that had appeared on my kurta and waited patiently for him to explain some strange philosophy which I was sure was behind that deft movement. “You see sir,” he said, “God has given us all very powerful minds! Minds that can with one single idea untie ourselves from any major problem! But what do we do with that powerful mind? We tie it up with all sorts of issues, so much so that when we want it to do anything, it can’t!”
“You mean you threaded your needle with your mind not your eyes?” I asked. “You can have the best pair of eyes,” said the tailor, “but if your mind is bogged down elsewhere you could spend a whole day doing what I did in a second!” “I’ve got a good pair of eyes,” I said. “So lets see how quick you are!” he said and handed over the needle and thread to me.
The thread in my hand zoomed to needle like a rocket, but missed. I tried again, but suddenly the eye of the needle looked like a pinpoint in outer space. I just couldn’t thread it. “Sir,” he said, “Now sit over there and empty yourself. There is a lot troubling you; anger, hate, get rid of it, while I do your shirt, then give it a try! And sir…” “Yes?” I asked. “If I may suggest, let God do the healing!”
I emptied my mind of much of the emotions that were inside. I had not known there was so much anger I felt, nor the near violence just beneath my surface. His missus made me a cup of tea. I sipped it and emptied myself, prayed and as I felt God’s power, slowly forgave people, thought out problems, cried a little. The tailor waited. “Okay,” I said, “Let me try now!” It went through the second time. I grinned at the tailor, and he smiled back at me, “It’s not just threading a needle sir,” he said, “Everything in life works better with a healed mind..!”
