<p>A little distance from where I live, there is a little tailor shop. Owned by a Muslim, it has two sewing machines, one embroidery table and a cutting table shared by the three Muslim tailors and the embroiderer. The shop is managed by a diminutive young Hindu girl with the proverbial iron hand. She decides stitching charges and delivery dates for finished clothes and takes care of special customer requirements be it fancy necklines, buttons, trimmings or any other. She has the owner’s approval and seems to wield a considerable authority in the shop -- she holds the keys to the shop and even gives discounts to customers. The tailors obey her without question. </p>.<p>The girl herself is ordinary in every way - looks, gait, speech and demeanour. But there is one thing about her that screams for attention – her crimson-painted lips. A ribbon of colour she calls ‘lifftik’ is drawn across her lips, forcing your eyes to stay on them. A slash of red on an otherwise nondescript canvas. </p>.<p>She has the owner’s number stored on her phone as 'Boss.' He enters the shop with an airs that seems to get the chemistry crackling. For a long time, all is well in Paradise. Through the pandemic, and after, she ran tehe show. She's the mini boss and everybody acknowledged her superior status. Employees are happy; clients are happy and above all, the girl with the lifftik is happy.</p>.<p>We soon become friends and I find excuses to go and visit her even if I don’t have clothes I want stitched. Then, one day, suddenly there’s something amiss in the Paradise. My friend is very much there but the lifftik is missing and the crimson red doesn't scream out anymore. Her eyes seem bleak and the shop just<br />doesn’t seem as lively as it did earlier.</p>.<p>Miss Lifftik doesn’t speak much either; she’s often absent from the shop and the tailors work with their heads down. The boss is also conspicuous in his absence. I’m not enthused to visit the shop often. </p>.<p>A few weeks later, I find another young girl managing the shop and Miss Lifftik is relegated to the position of just another employee. I'm told the other young woman is the boss' wife. The lifftik is still missing from my friend's lips. I tease her about it. She looks down mumbling she doesn't use it anymore and this time, the colour shows on her cheeks as she blushes.</p>.<p>A few days later, she stops coming to work altogether. The nail polish I had left for her as a Women's Day gift is lonely and unclaimed. The boss’ wife, who rules the place now, returns the nail polish to me saying the girl with the lifftik will not be returning to work. Boss is still not visible.</p>.<p>Wonder what transpired? And the reasons for this sudden turn of events? Did the crimson slash have anything to do with it? Your guess is as good as mine. </p>.<p>But I miss the little Miss Lifftik.</p>
<p>A little distance from where I live, there is a little tailor shop. Owned by a Muslim, it has two sewing machines, one embroidery table and a cutting table shared by the three Muslim tailors and the embroiderer. The shop is managed by a diminutive young Hindu girl with the proverbial iron hand. She decides stitching charges and delivery dates for finished clothes and takes care of special customer requirements be it fancy necklines, buttons, trimmings or any other. She has the owner’s approval and seems to wield a considerable authority in the shop -- she holds the keys to the shop and even gives discounts to customers. The tailors obey her without question. </p>.<p>The girl herself is ordinary in every way - looks, gait, speech and demeanour. But there is one thing about her that screams for attention – her crimson-painted lips. A ribbon of colour she calls ‘lifftik’ is drawn across her lips, forcing your eyes to stay on them. A slash of red on an otherwise nondescript canvas. </p>.<p>She has the owner’s number stored on her phone as 'Boss.' He enters the shop with an airs that seems to get the chemistry crackling. For a long time, all is well in Paradise. Through the pandemic, and after, she ran tehe show. She's the mini boss and everybody acknowledged her superior status. Employees are happy; clients are happy and above all, the girl with the lifftik is happy.</p>.<p>We soon become friends and I find excuses to go and visit her even if I don’t have clothes I want stitched. Then, one day, suddenly there’s something amiss in the Paradise. My friend is very much there but the lifftik is missing and the crimson red doesn't scream out anymore. Her eyes seem bleak and the shop just<br />doesn’t seem as lively as it did earlier.</p>.<p>Miss Lifftik doesn’t speak much either; she’s often absent from the shop and the tailors work with their heads down. The boss is also conspicuous in his absence. I’m not enthused to visit the shop often. </p>.<p>A few weeks later, I find another young girl managing the shop and Miss Lifftik is relegated to the position of just another employee. I'm told the other young woman is the boss' wife. The lifftik is still missing from my friend's lips. I tease her about it. She looks down mumbling she doesn't use it anymore and this time, the colour shows on her cheeks as she blushes.</p>.<p>A few days later, she stops coming to work altogether. The nail polish I had left for her as a Women's Day gift is lonely and unclaimed. The boss’ wife, who rules the place now, returns the nail polish to me saying the girl with the lifftik will not be returning to work. Boss is still not visible.</p>.<p>Wonder what transpired? And the reasons for this sudden turn of events? Did the crimson slash have anything to do with it? Your guess is as good as mine. </p>.<p>But I miss the little Miss Lifftik.</p>