Perhaps at Pondicherry

Saturday, 12 May 2018



I once sat in a very cramped stall, and watched a young girl selling textiles. Quite naturally and embarrassingly, the shy eleven year old me looked at her intently. For she could have been in school, perhaps meddling with her last minute assignments, racing the pressing iron through her school pinafore or even tightening her braid. But today I watched her jaunty arms quickly fold textiles that soon became a mountain of riotous colors.  Her sinewy arms attuned to a brave composure, it painted a certain maturity. She was blessed with her mothers instincts, I suppose. Here I was sulking with how much my mom made me walk through the aisles of Dugbe* market. The aftermath of that was cornering myself in the matchbox shop with this young talent. I think moms sole intention was to teach me a lesson of hard work. But, I picked on something entirely different.