Made In India

Having My Shirts Made today in Madurai at Pudhumandapam

The Economist magazine has a series of commercials that run here in India on the English-speaking television channels that expose various inequities in life, usually dealing with children. One of them, for example, shows two young African boys playing soccer on a dusty plain with Ashutosh Pathak’s Cannonball blasting in the background on a very old boom box. When the two boys are done, they pull up their make-shift goal posts, which are two assault machine-gun rifles, sling them over their shoulders and run off to duty. Fade to black with white lettering that reads, “African children lose their childhood because of the global demand for diamonds.” Another one has a very happy, rural looking schoolhouse with Chinese children repeating vowel sounds. However, it quickly becomes apparent that these are Hindi vowels, not Chinese. Then, the camera pans to the chalkboard, which has on it the Hindi vowels written in Devanagari script. Fade to black, and the message is, “China is importing its workers to its factories in India.” Both are followed by The Economist’s logo and the phrase, “Interpret the World” beneath.

Something that I have been doing for pretty much the entire portion of my conscious life has been more or less that, “interpreting the world around me,” whether it be with images, languages, travels, or just plain sitting there and thinking about it. Sometimes I have been able to do this with limited success, sometimes outright failed with over-interpretation, and perhaps sometimes spot on. Can I just sit and enjoy the flowers? Absolutely. My self-appointed and oft-confirmed nickname is Ferdinand, from Munro Leaf’s story “Ferdinand the Bull” in which the pacific bovine would rather be sitting around sniffing the flowers than much else. However, when pricked by a bee, watch out, for Ferdinand can spring into action like the best of them, though ultimately, a soft path of sweet-smelling flowers is all he really wants.

So, when not zoning out with flowers, I am usually observing my surroundings, taking it all in, making connections, finding similarities and noting differences. Being in India has taken that to a new level for me for as I have written, if you try to take in the whole picture, it is too overwhelming. Focus on the details, and piece by piece, day by day, patterns emerge and life begins to take on a new dimension.

One of those dimensions is comparing my life to being an American and interpreting my life here as such. When living in America and/or Europe, it is hard not to see the labels: “Made in China,” “Made in India,” “Made in Mexico,” “Made in Taiwan,” and less and less, “Made in Japan.” And, nearly non-existent is the once-proud “Made in America.” Now, I am no fool, this is not the first time someone has pointed this out. However, being here in India, seeing the children on the streets, and then to see that now China is exporting child labor to India, it is yet another step on the ladder down to humility of not really having seen the world for what it is in focus.

I believe that America, if it does not go back to “Made in America,” will be in serious, serious trouble, and quite soon. Because, what I am seeing more and more on a daily basis is that the world is learning to live without America in the picture, something that was not even thinkable between our Battle of Independence and World War II, when the world desperately needed the United States of America to be a “beacon on the hill.” As I mentioned elsewhere, I was quite proud to hear that Lincoln, MLK, and Bill Gates (one of the greatest philanthropists alive) were the three most recognized Americans by the kids that I am teaching, after President Obama that is. But, aside from ideology, what are we really exporting besides entertainment at this point?

One of Gandhi’s missions in his movement to have Britain leave India was the insistence that Indians use their own textiles, most notably the India khoti, or cotton fabrics which dhoti loin-clothes and saris are made of, for the most part. His statement was why are we using imported fabric or exporting all of our own work? A good question, when you have the resources and labor force that India has, it is absurd to think that they need anything from any other country. Because, in truth, they don’t. All of the produce that I have eaten or seen here is from India. Most of the cars are Indian, and the Indian IT market is rivaling the rest of the world at a blinding pace. And, as I experienced today, if you want the best clothing, go to the tailor’s market in Madurai.

One of the Many Sewers at the Market

Selecting the Fabric

One of my friends, Charles, used to work with Ralph Lauren and he told me that one of the favorite parts of his job was to go research the fabrics in Manhattan. I can completely relate to that. To be able to hand-pick the fabric for your clothes has been part of human culture since we started making clothes. On my mother’s side, there are Snyders, which is an anglicized Schneider, or literally, a cutter, meaning a tailor. Tailors, and hence Taylors, have been part of our society on a personal level since we began having cities. That, however, is nearly a thing of the past in America. I am stunned about how many clothes there are when I have gone shopping for my daughter in the States. I often wonder, “what happens to all of these clothes if not sold?” Many end up in developing countries to be sold wholesale, but the majority first come from those countries, and not “Made in America.”

It was quite a good feeling to go to the market and know where my shirt was coming from, I must admit. I met the man who buys the fabric, owns the stall, and as you can see, also the man who made my shirt as I waited. If you bring in your favorite shirt, they will measure it and with a team of men at the sewing machines in the Pudhumandapam (great hall, which is part of the old temple complex), then Kanan and his team (or one of the many other tailor stalls) will make your garments on the spot, or at least within the next day. I paid about $25 dollars total for three high-quality cotton, rayon, and silk shirts, custom fit. This is probably still an incredible profit margin, but I knew at least to whom I was giving my money. I don’t know where the fabric actually came from in India, nor the source of the labor force, as it could very well be Chinese children, I don’t know. I just know that perhaps I got at least one step closer to the source and knowing where something came from in this world of pre-packaged, outsourced, and impersonal commodities.

Adding the final Details

I don’t have a tag in my shirts, but, I do know for sure that they were “Made in India” as I sat there and watched

The Three Shirts