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Grandma's sewing machine

tak tak tak tak

The smell of the Sun sewing machine oil tickles my nostrils

tak tak tak

The sound of ripping cloth rises despite the din of a bustling household

tak tak tak

I play with colourful spools of thread, invariably tasting red, sometimes blue, always yellow.

It is Friday evening, the time when my grandmother sets out to conquer this beast of a machine. Victorious, she always gets it to do her bidding. Altering too long trousers, loosening snugly fitting blouses, stitching a ‘ fall’ onto a sari; she does it all!

I stand beside her as she works her way through the tasks with supreme efficiency. Despite our physical closeness, she seems to be in a different world. I observe her hands and feet move in a beautifully coordinated rhythm. I realise they have to work together to create and this realisation mesmerises me. I am afraid to speak or even move for I don’t want to break this magical moment. So, I stand here, transfixed, until the machine comes to a whirring halt.

Snehal is a freelance writer and poet. Her work primarily focuses on her motherhood journey, memories of her own childhood, and the essence of everyday moments. She has an infectious laugh and a very loud mind. She is also a Young Onset Parkinson’s Disease warrior and creates awareness of the condition through her writing.


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