The Knitting Season

As told by-a woolen ball

A typical post lunch winter afternoon of the mid 1900’s north Indian extended family consisting elderly, stay at home moms and the children, was spent outdoors, leisurely soaking up the winter sun. This time was, perhaps, the best distressing and unwinding period for the whole household. Amidst shared jokes, gossip, recipes, family tales and traditions and the knitting patterns, the onerous chores like shelling peas or the green chickpea and cleaning the mustard greens, were accomplished. While elderly dozed on the chairs cuddled in their shawls, the children played around or did their homework encircled in the warmth of family togetherness. Thus, the afternoon passed lazily recharging the members for the flurry of evening activity.

Purja along with rest of his gang, loved this time the best what with stolen peas, long tales of the family escapades and the like, singing folk songs while being measured for a sleeve or the neck of the sweater being knitted for the school dress and all other so called mundane activities. These were the years before the ready to wear garments invaded the markets polluting the minds of hard working homemakers, robbing them of the skills they had acquired from generations before them. He knew the basics of sewing, knitting, cooking, gardening and thousands of such activities without having learnt them formally. It is another matter that the sewing machine was used for making holes in the paper and the cooking range for testing chemicals. But there was one activity he did whole heartedly- knotting pieces of woolen stings to make a ball for his sister’s knitting. He prided in being the best wool ball maker despite all the ungainly knots, winding thread after thread to achieve a wooly perfection. He begged, pleaded or simply bullied his aunts or cousins for a piece of string to add to his ball. Sometimes he scavenged around the chairs in the garden for a discarded or a forgotten length to add to his multicolored tightly wound collection. And as we all know- he was a pro as far as collecting anything was concerned.

“Having rolled a record breaking wool ball of sorts, Purja proudly sold the same to Sesa for a princely sum of one scented eraser. But there was a small catch- the ball was so tightly wound that she could not pierce her knitting needles through to secure them after knitting. She asked Purja for help. Enterprising chap that he was, he tried piercing the needle through the ball without much success. Sucker for weird challenges, he pushed the needles harder with all his might. Finally, he did pierce the ball but along with his hand that held it. Sesa was the first to realize what had happened as she saw the outer skin of his hand rise at a sharp angle. With horrified round eyes and failed vocal cords she tried warning Purja of the needle jutting into his hand but couldn’t squeak much sense. Meanwhile Purja’s brain cells so far solely occupied with piercing action registered a pierced status and sent pain signals. By now Sesa had found her voice and had started sending SOS signals at the highest decibel. The vacuum sucking action occurred once again as the household materialized around the victim at a magical speed. The needle was pulled out of the palm, the spurting blood flow plugged with cotton and the doctor sent for.”

“Brave boy! Did not cry at all?” Inquired the Mobile phone. Being gossipy in nature, it was rather finicky about the details.

“Cry? For a while, his attention was diverted by the activity around him till he saw the blood and then he fainted, so where was the time to feel scared or cry? For a week after that his hand was in bandage that he took full advantage by avoiding bath and making his sister and cousins do chores for him. Proudly flaunting his bandaged hand around, he felt a hero. But there was a small matter of discontent though. He would have much preferred it to be his right hand.”