What We Choose to Repair
I visited the old town area of the city I live in, a place that feels distant from the so-called modern lifestyle yet never completely disconnected from the fact that the world and the people in it are changing. Narrow roads, chaotic streets, loud markets, and still there is a strange, warm nostalgia. A place where they say the customer is king, but the shopkeepers are wise enough to protect both their profits and their relationships. Conversations here don’t feel rushed. Prices are negotiated, jokes are exchanged, and familiarity sits comfortably between strangers. Like every time, this time too, the flâneur in me caught my attention, and it paused unexpectedly at the repair shops. Small spaces with old blue or green painted walls, lovertically sliding metal doors, wooden shutters with big, heavy latches that have been opened and closed for decades. Shops meant to repair sewing machines, mixer grinders, wristwatches, wall clocks, umbrellas, footwear and other things we don’t even thin...