One of the most integral parts of the wedding day is the card, and it became important and special at my parents’ wedding too. Both sides created their own wedding card. But what is fascinating is a short message, handwritten on the card in black ink by my mum, addressed to my father!
Thakuma making kaanthas, the cotton spreads on which babies are laid or swaddled, made from layers of the soft cloth of old sarees and dhotis, stitched together, then embroidered using the simple kaantha stitch, tiny lines of colourful threads running across the fabric. Like the life-lines drawn from far away Khulna and Mymensingh – the origin points of her life.
A squarish walnut wood box that has been in our family for more than 70 years. About 11 inches long, 10 inches wide, and a little more than 3 inches deep. Unknown date of purchase. Likely hand-carved by an unknown artisan in what used to be the riyasat of Jammu and Kashmir in colonial India.
An old album of photographs, likely taken between 1970 and 1985, is one of the few things I keep in my room from my grandmother’s working years as a Gram Sevika in Kakopothar. Somehow, it has become what I hold onto most.
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