My Mother - How I Love Her And The Moments We Had Together With Her Sewing Machine
India, Oct. 29 -- Now, my mother lives within me in fragments. The day she breathed her last, she left a large hole in my life. A hole that can't be sewed and covered up. That's one of the things we did together. Sewing. With little needles and threads. Black, white and colours.
I still remember her on a Sunday afternoon. Clad in a beetroot coloured saree. Squinting her eyes and threading a needle. I don't remember how old I was then. But I remember being a little girl because it was Sunday, a holiday for both of us. She was a teacher.
I was a little girl then
She asked me to hold one end of my father's lungi. She then held the other end and started sewing the torn chequered lungi. I always thought it was easy. Her hands were always qu...
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