Her Labour of Love – Crochet

Hours, days..time lost its meaning

To her, it hardly seemed to matter,

Head bent, eyes riveted, glasses low

In another zone, like a Mad Hatter !

It reminded of the uncanny characters

Of classics I had read as awe-struck boy,

Madame Defarge first comes to my mind

Knitting, plotting endlessly, was her ploy,

Then were the old village dragon aunts

From earthy stories of great Sarat Babu,

Matriarchal outliers always in command

Stitching away, keeping all in their ‘kabu’,  

Then one day it dawned on my simple soul

Here was a determined lady with a needle,

It was a favoured weapon of mass creation

Tool that helped pacify many a life’s riddle,

Here was a true perfectionist in the house

In everything she sought beauty and order,

If  thing is worth doing, its worth doing well

As our dear Father had taught, I remember,  

Realise I only know Cricket and no ‘Crochet’

Here too in weaving an innings is devotion,

Determination, skill, flair & dogged patience   

All coming into play for a beautiful creation !  

Somnath Sinha