Needle work and me — we have a very complicated history.
I wish it was a beautiful complication like Sleeping Beauty that culminated in a happily-ever-after.
Mine always wound up in a tangled disaster. The school deemed it compulsory to take up ‘Needle Art’ as part of the ‘Art’ curriculum. We girls did not take up this cause and wish to make a choice between ‘Innovation’ or ‘Robotics’ as my children can on this day as this was a time when a sewing machine, not a computer, held a pride of place in every household.
Grandmother had a flair for creating magic with a needle. Mother inherited grandmother’s culinary skills, but not her dainty fingers that worked its magic on pillowcases that still adorn some of the beds in our ancestral home.
It makes me wonder where I stand with respect to inheritance.
Mrs Sharma, our art teacher, had explained that needle work only required choosing the right needle from the kit and then developing an endearing friendship with it. Together, you and your needle, she had said, can sew wonders.
I became friends with the scissor. It was an easier friendship — one that did not require choosing from a box full of them and cutting was easier than stitching.
After weeks of creating absurd patterns, I once happened to embroider a single perfect red flower — so much so, that my handiwork brought tears to my eyes. After all a teeny-weeny part of grandmother’s gene had seeped in and had finally been rendered awake.
When I excitedly showed it off to the teacher, she turned it over and shook her head in dismay. Her eyes only saw the tangled mess on the behind. Needle art had to be perfect on both sides, she had said sighing. On that day I understood that it was impossible to make a grown-up happy as in their search for absolute perfection, the beauty of imperfection was lost.
I spent the rest of Mrs Sharma’s classes with my dear friend — the scissor.
When the Fifa World Cup fever gripped the world and our household, Sid pulled out his lucky Messi 10 jersey from the depths of his cupboard. That day, I noticed a single stitch by the shoulder that screamed red. ‘A stitch in time’, I heard Mrs Sharma’s warning, but chose not to take heed and did what I usually do — pretend that my eyes had not seen it.
Day after day, my eyes unintentionally caught sight of that single stitch, but I quickly averted my line of sight and continued the exercise in pretence even when one stitch ran into three.
On the day of Argentina vs Iceland match, the jersey ripped open at the shoulder. That evening, as I faltered with a needle and a thread, Lionel Messi missed a penalty kick and his team settled for a draw. By now, Mrs Sharma’s finger-wagging look had rented a permanent space in my head.
Even in sport, there are some aspects that can be logically or scientifically explained — like Pele’s famed banana kick (an off-centre kick that causes the ball to change direction midair before dropping to the ground) that works under the Bernoulli effect while there are others that have no logic at all — like a torn ‘lucky’ jersey, that could not be worn by a little Messi fan sitting half a world away, that is believed to have stood between Messi and his missed penalty.
As Sid sulked, I gingerly requested the tailor down the road if he would undertake the trivial task of sewing the jersey. The kind gentleman took less than a minute to complete the task and even refused to charge me. I stood there embarrassed coaxing him to accept something.
“It was a breather, a minute away from monotony,” he said smilingly.
I thanked him wondering if I could ever say that for myself.
Dear Friends, this has been published in the Gulf News. To read the article click here.
Wishing you a wonderful Sunday!
A stitch in time would have saved Sid a lot of sulking 😀 😀
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It sure would have saved a few stray tears too
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messy could sue you if he happens to read this. Did a stitch in time that was not to be, do him and his team in?
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Haha! A stitch in time or not, they surely were a disappointment to all his fans (especially one die-hard fan who was down in tears), but everything in life has its lows and highs, as much as it does in sport too.
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I hope you are not planning a trip to Argentina in the near future? Brilliant piece of writing, wish you all the best.
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Now that you say, maybe I must, Santhosh. I could get more insight from a die-hard fan.
Thank you very much, Santhosh. 🙂
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I was forced to do cookery and needlework at school and I was absolutely rubbish at both and yet my mum is a fabulous cook and a great seamstress – maybe it just skips a generation? Great post :O)
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It does, trust me, none of that has seeped into me. Thank you, very much, glad you agree.
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Excellent write Pranitha madam. I remember a red and white sweater knitted by my mother when I was just dropped on this earth. I was told that i used to chew away the sweater and the threading kept loosening and my mom had to sew it back with the long needle. I still remember the red, yellow and white ball of thread and the two big needles digging their teeth deep into the thread ball
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So sweet! Those are little treasures that will remain in our memories forever. Your memory holds the exact replica of one who loves to knit away every free moment in time, two big needles digging deep into the ball of yarn. So glad it took you down to that memory, Ravi. Thank you!
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I remember the joy of making a simple dress after picking out the lovely cotton pattern with my Mom for our Home Economics class at school…I happily wore that dress while riding my bike during summer vacation in the German village we lived in at the time…your words brought back this wonderful memory and to this day, I have never sewn again!
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Such a lovely memory, Kim. So glad my words took you down that beautiful time.
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It seems so long ago but no less bright…
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🙂 Absolutely, Kim!
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Ha!! Needles and me don’t go well too. But that man was kind enough, for him it might be a breather, but for the likes of us, it is a task!!
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Trust me, it is a task, a big big one. Glad I am not alone
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Very interesting and so well written. Your story reminded me of my school days when we used to do needle work and embroidery and I loved it and I carried knitting till quite late. Would love knitting and then I found a soft toy book and would knit toys too. A lovely read, Pranitha.
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Wow! That is wonderful, Kamal. I, on the other hand, was the helpless human in my class, who walked around with shawls that looked like mufflers and mufflers that looked like handkerchiefs all gone wrong.
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Hahaha happens sometimes with some children and that too is life when we are children and have to go thru a stage of school and all its paraphernalia.
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🙂
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Brilliant writing Pranita !! I am not sure about Mrs Sharma, but you have surely done proud to your English teacher !!
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Haha! I have failed Mrs. Sharma for sure. Thank you, Deepika. Glad you enjoyed it and so happy to see you here. Thank you for peeking in and leaving your feedback. Will check your space soon.
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