Written piece
THE CROSS AND THE STITCH
Meera Kurian
India
About this piece
I write about my aging mother, her indomitable spirit, and her will to continue pursuing her favourite hobby – cross stitching. I believe sewing was one of the giftsthat the British left behind.
Every year when the monsoon rumbles in,
My mother takes out her box of embroidery.
She sorts and separates each coloured skein
With such dexterity as if she were teapicking.
Trade winds carried the cross and Coptic stitch,
Through the sea silk route southward to Muziris,
Exchanged philosophy, literacy, art, and culture,
Also agriculture, cuisine, commerce, and numbers.
Born in the subcontinent’s western shores
She knew well how the backwaters arose,
Marriage brought her to the hills of Central Travancore
Her sewing beside her, she wonders what the future holds
Pepper is considered black gold no more
No price peaks like in the days of yore
The world’s changing so fast, her head spins
These are what she’s made for her next of kin
For grace and protection of her future generation,
Framed angels on mantles and over their cradles
Nametagged bags and blankets—personalized gifting
Also food spreads and banquets—typical Christmas feasting
All this effort to create guanxi within her family,
She hopes to bridge the va like it was her dharna
With so many variables—AI, geopolitics, and global warming
She reckons that this might be the second coming
She doesn’t notice lilies in water—the day’s offering
Or the candle dripping wax, but bher faith’s unwavering.
With hands folded together in salutation and in prayer,
She whispers to the wind—Namaste, spread peace everywhere.