 When promoted to executive status, my style needed an upgrade, my boss decided. He introduced me to his shoemaker, Jin Cheung. I had survived on off-the-shelf shoes all my life and had no idea of custom-made shoes. Jin was to change all of that. Jin’s grandfather had moved from the depressed Fujian province of China to Rangoon, capital city of Burma, now Myanmar. He was a master shoemaker, whose handiwork adorned the feet of the Burmese elite. When the Japanese 15th Army invaded Burma in January 1941 after taking China and the Philippines, he advised his son, who had just completed his apprenticeship in the trade, to move to the bustling Chinatown in Kolkata, India. It was an easy move, since Burma was a part of British India, and the son established and grew in time a successful shoe repair business in Calcutta. Jin, the grandson had a different idea. He cared little for his father’s lucrative repair business, and focused on the small number of clients who wanted handcrafted customized shoes. He was determined to put to use the extraordinary skills he had learned from his grandfather as a hobby, and pressed his father to teach him the subtleties of fine shoe making that business imperatives had led the old man to put aside. Among the nouveaux riches in post-war India, the extraordinary quality of Cheung upscale footwear became the talk of cognoscenti. When I met Jin, he was 47, a small, humble, modestly dressed man, who gave no clue to his encyclopedic knowledge of shoes. He asked, in his limited vocabulary, if I “liked” shoes. Confused, I told him that I did not have any strong feelings, but could see that some shoes were designed beautifully while others weren’t. He seemed to approve of my sense of discrimination and went on to ask if I knew much about leather. When I confessed I didn’t, he gently reassured me that he could correct the situation shortly. He spread out on my desk a large number of samples, and proceeded to describe their origin, features, processing and characteristics. Next was the design. He just focused on dress shoes, and showed me a bewildering variety of styles from four catalogs. As with the leather, he expertly narrowed the display to my preferences, but steered me gently with succinct explanation of the merits and disadvantages of a choice. It was an extraordinary guided tour with a mild-mannered master who seemed intent on helping me make the most knowledgeable decision. I felt so educated and entertained at the same time that, when it came time to place an order, I unhesitatingly ordered two pairs and did not even ask his price.  When Jin took my measurements, I was astonished that he not only measured the length and width of my feet, but also checked out the individual toes, heel and instep. He then requested me to walk a few steps, and carefully studied my stride and style. He even made me remove my socks and examined my feet for corns and bunions, to better understand, he said, how my feet reacted to shoes. He returned three weeks later with the half-made shoes for a trial. They seemed to fit perfectly, but Jin thought otherwise and made punctilious notes of what needed to be improved. My interest provoked, I ordered another pair of shoes in casual style. When I got the three pairs of shoes a month later and tried them on, I told Jin in total sincerity that I had never worn shoes of such quality. They felt ‘natural’ from the first instant and, wearing them, one almost forgot their existence. Over the next several years I ordered more shoes from Jin and introduced some friends to his wizardry. Jin became more like an admired friend. He came for work to my office and I would typically take him later for lunch to a Chinese restaurant nearby. I remember him regretting that none of his two children was interested in shoes and wanted the more ‘prestigious’ occupation of a doctor and an engineer. |
In 1962 the Chinese Red Army marched into northern India and a war ensued. Many Indians saw it as an act of treachery, for there was mutual friendship earlier. Some demonstrated against the Chinese and there were a few cases of vandalism in Chinatown. Jin told me that his business had suffered greatly and several customers had deserted him. He seemed disconsolate, especially as he considered India his homeland.
The following year Jin reluctantly migrated to Hong Kong. He sent me a farewell note before he departed. He spoke of an uncertain future and the burden of starting in a new country at a late age. But the last sentence of his letter revealed his biggest concern: “I hope my children will change their mind and start taking some interest in shoes.”
The following year Jin reluctantly migrated to Hong Kong. He sent me a farewell note before he departed. He spoke of an uncertain future and the burden of starting in a new country at a late age. But the last sentence of his letter revealed his biggest concern: “I hope my children will change their mind and start taking some interest in shoes.”
RSS Feed