At Leisure, with Threads and Stories

Her daughter and my daughter go to the same school, and that is where we met. Our mutual love for embroidery got us talking, and soon our conversations extended beyond school. We talked about music, embroidery, fabrics (mainly khadi), living simply, and raising children. I was deeply touched when she came to visit and support our stall at a Rakhi pop-up in Ahmedabad. Whenever she visits a market where she finds embroidered goods, she sends me pictures and details about the market. She does everything she can to support our work.

One day, she told me she was going to buy some khadi fabric, and I asked her to get some for me too. She asked what I was planning to make, and when I told her I wanted to prototype different ideas, she said she had a lot of scraps at home that would work for my projects and that I should come over. We made a plan.

I visit her home and meet her mother-in-law who spends time between taking care of her husband and household chores doing embroidery. My friend tells me that her mother-in-law has done all kinds of work. When her father-in-law lost his job at the mill, her mother-in-law had to take on all kinds of odd jobs to earn an income. One of those jobs was embroidery, which she continues to do to this day. She embroiders clothes for retail outlets that pay her very little.

In a slightly resigned manner, my friend said she did not understand why her mother-in-law continued to do so much work for the retail outlets for so little money. Her mother-in-law's answer was that she had to pass the time, and embroidery helped her do so. My friend told me that her mother-in-law is extremely supportive, which is why she is able to give time to her own music.

She pulled out bedsheets embroidered by her mother and aunts, which had been gifted to her as part of her wedding trousseau. One of the sheets, embroidered by her mother but left unfinished, was completed by her mother-in-law. Giving daughters hand-embroidered gifts as part of their wedding trousseau is a common practice.

She told me more about her family. Gandhian ideals, she said, had been a way of life for them. Her grandfather had been a freedom fighter and had his fair share of lathi beatings. Her father had the option of working alongside his own father, but instead chose to practise Gandhian philosophy in his own way. He and his wife decided to build their lives in a village that met three conditions: it had to be remote, have no electricity, and have no water. They eventually found such a village and have lived there ever since. While the first two conditions have changed today, the third remains as it was.

She then showed me a rust-coloured shawl with extremely neat, tiny designs. The shawl was heavy, and the fabric had a coarse texture. She said it had belonged to her father's sister. I had never seen anything like it before and could not take my eyes off it. The piece seemed to bring together, in perfect alignment, the best of fabric, colour and embroidery.

Oh, the joy when such moments occur. Serendipity?

My friend then showed me a handmade beaded (moti) toran, which was also part of her wedding trousseau. She explained that this kind of work is particular to the area of Saurashtra where her family lives. The basic building block of the toran is a unit of three beads, which are then arranged into beautiful patterns.

My friend then showed me pieces of Kutchi embroidery that she had collected over the years. I have seen and held pieces with Kutchi work before. Yet every time I hold one, I am mesmerised. It feels as though I am seeing this kind of embroidery for the first time. I take a close look at the back too, which is equally neat. I feel so happy! The colours, designs and embroidery get under my skin in a way that is not very easy to describe in words. There is something visceral and inexplicable about holding a beautiful piece of work.

In between looking, touching and feeling the pieces in my bones, the two little girls, her daughter and mine, came into the room asking for paper and colours. My friend found some paper and colours and gave them to the girls.

Among the blank sheets of paper, I noticed one with an illustration on it and asked to see it. It was a Warli-inspired drawing made with pencil shavings. Oh, how much I loved this colourful and joyful little artwork!

My friend tells me that she enjoys designing, and sometimes designs something on her daughter’s clothes, which her mother-in-law then embroiders. But thoughtful design takes time, she says, and so she is unable to do it as much as she would like to.

She shows me another piece of neat, detailed, and densely worked embroidery, using a different stitch. The back, once again, is equally neat. My mother always said that just because the back of an embroidery isn't visible doesn't mean it should be untidy or sloppy. In fact, she believed the work was all the better when the back was as neat as, if not neater than, the front. It is in the little things: tiny, almost invisible knots; no loose threads; and threads pulled with just the right amount of tension. These are the details that may never be seen, but they are what make the embroidery good.

As we wrap up, she shows me some of her own clothes, made precious by loved ones who spent thought, time and attention on them through their embroidery. As I look at all the pieces my friend has spent an entire afternoon showing me and telling me stories about, I realise that our love for embroidery is the reason we are sitting together.

If we didn't feel this love in our bones, if we didn't own and wear this love for embroidery, perhaps we wouldn't have spoken about much beyond how our daughters were doing at school.

And so, embroidery has essentially become a language. And the core purpose of language is to connect. And so, embroidery connects.