The Lost Art of Repair and Reuse

 

Photo by Ricardo Santanna: Link

For three weeks, I drove around with a pair of favorite shoes in the car. The mission was simple — to replace their worn-out soles. The upper leather was still perfect, sturdy, and familiar. Poetically speaking, the sole was giving up while the soul was still full of spirit.

In Kolkata, there used to be plenty of shoemakers, many from the Chinese community. But for three weeks, I couldn’t find one. The shoes still rest quietly in the back of the car — waiting for a craftsman who can bring them back to life.

As I sat on the couch one afternoon, the smell of shoe polish from my school days drifted back, carrying with it a flood of memories.

Those leather shoes we wore as children were worn out by the end of each day — from kicking stones, chasing balls, and splashing through muddy puddles. Each morning, we had to restore some level of decency before school. It was less about polishing and more about covering the grey with black Cherry Blossom. When the leather finally gave way, the shoemaker stitched it back to life. Back then, like cats — shoes too had nine lives.

They were the shoe doctors — the cobblers. Some had fixed spots at street corners; others went house to house on Sundays offering their craft.

Then the sneakers arrived — fabric, plastic, bright, and carefree. They needed no polish, no shiner, no cobbler, and were beyond repair. The little tin of Kiwi sat forgotten, until even Kiwi itself disappeared from the shelves.

With affluence, we began losing the art of repair — that quiet craftsmanship which challenged us to spot the patch. It wasn’t just the cobblers. Expert seamstresses once repaired torn clothes so skillfully that the mending would vanish into the fabric — an art called rafoo in Indian languages.

Shoemakers weren’t the only ones who took the hit. So did the tailors. Once ubiquitous, the neighborhood tailor who stitched men’s clothes has almost disappeared. One by one, many professions quietly folded into memory, swept aside by innovation and convenience.

Yet Indian philosophy has always seen life as cyclical, not linear — and perhaps that’s why change doesn’t only erase; it often circles back. The turntable spins again. Vinyl records return, now as luxury. Fountain pens glisten once more in lacquer and gold. Winding watches tick with Swiss precision. You have bespoke shoemakers at a premium, and tailors who craft suits for those who choose individuality over mass production. Cars with manual gearshifts roar again — toys for those who can afford nostalgia.

When the common man moves on, the old ways sometimes make a comeback — polished into object de désir.

Shoes, pens, suits, records — it was never just about the objects. It was about the rituals, the hands that kept them alive, and the rhythm they brought to our everyday life.

Winds of change sweep through, taking much with them. But sometimes, the wind circles back — and what was once ordinary returns, perfected by technology yet dressed in memory.

If you enjoyed this reflection, share it to keep the art of repair and reuse alive at least in our memories — and explore other stories that celebrate the beauty of everyday life.