A recent blog post written by a friend who is a new mum, about how pregnancy took her back to the days of sewing machine, wherein she insisted that her husband buy her one too..took me down memory lane.
We had one of these magnificent machines at home, they came with a lovely wooden cover and though not prone to sewing myself..this was one of those childhood images that somehow stuck, much like an old song on the radio. Ma was and still is an expert with the needle and thread and often the 'thakatak thakatak' sound from the machine was a part of the everyday sunshine, one can so easily feel on the back and luxuriate in.
One would marvel at the diligent way the thread was put through the bobbins and on occasions when the attachment was jammed or didn't work, often me or my sister were called to do the needful. There would be yarns of stitching material lying around, soft laces, scraps of clothing in blue, green and red that she never really got rid of. Which she would eventually turn into something fancy like a quirky door mat or a kitchen runner. There would be a monthly cleaning and oiling of the machine, where it was finely greased and care taken to take out the thread from the bobbins so that it didn't smudge with the oil. The old wooden cover was a favourite, often it would sit out in the sun after a swanky new polish. Fond memories are these, like the warmth of oranges from Darjeeling in the afternoon sun, somehow they never go out of fashion.
Mum gave away the machine to an old faithful when she left Assam. Today she has a fancy one, with many more attachments, but somehow its not quite the same thing & every time I go back home, my eyes invariably search for that little bit of sewing history that decked me and my sister so richly through the years.
( Picture from the Internet)
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