'Simply Shawl from Simply Soft' is actually how the pattern is named. It is from Caron International Yarns. The pattern can be found here. I had found the pattern paper leaflet in a store, with a picture of one done in white, and instantly liked it. I decided to use a different color, but I am sure I will make one in pure white some day. The semi circle things for the edges using 'double treble' stitches were interesting.
I crocheted this a few years ago for my mother-in-law. She used it with much appreciation and happiness whenever she was here with us, but refused to bring it back with her to India since she thought it would be spoiled in no time because of the dirt and dust on Indian roads where she traveled often.
Last month I uploaded this picture and started to draft this post, thinking about all the interesting stories, especially the ones from her time spent here with us in Boston. But it seemed like everything came to a screeching halt and I needed time before I came back to a to a place where I could write again. On a Friday evening in Sept, after I went home from work, we got the call. Yes, that one, the one you never want to hear but that which is about a moment that is as guaranteed as the night that follows each day. A reminder that it is "when it happens", not "if it happens" that holds true for each and every one of us. My mother-in-law passed away due to cardiac arrest. We grieve and experience emotions that are indescribable in words, but learn again what it means when they say "time will heal". Time, the only thing that allows you to pass through moments and things that we took for granted which now make our hearts go heavy, like the time of the day when we used to call her, the speed dial on the phone that still says Parvati, my phone numbers list that says "Pune Amma", the sanDige dabbas whose bottoms peek at you when you open them now, the half filled masala powder container, the red sweater that she left here using the same reasoning as for leaving this shawl here, the rudrakshi japa mala that now lays inanimate, times that I shall make sabudana khichidi, gargi etc . . .
I got goosebumps when C pointed out the coincidence that it was the same day in Sept, the 29th, 39 years ago that my father in law had left them. I try to find comfort not only by thinking that she is in a happier place and at peace, but also in the good memories we have of her.
She was a woman of indomitable spirit who lived humbly and happily, loved fiercely, gave generously, expressed freely, cooked with reckless abandon and faced all her life's challenges courageously. She had a strong personality, the kind I have found typically in women who hail from north Karnataka. She made many friends where ever she was, and did have a few who disagreed with her as she lived life on her own terms, clutching faith till the end. She raised two fine sons. She was an extrovert who had the ability to carry on conversations with complete strangers, even if language stood like a huge brick wall in between.
Our daughters have many memories of grandma (Ajji). She was around for them during their childhood days. She even was the topic of M's "My Hero" essay in 7th grade. She never missed walking the long driveway to the bus-stop to see the girls off in the morning and receive them when they got home in the afternoon from school. She teamed up with the kids and picked crab-apples from the tree in our front yard which she made pickles out of, using authentic Indian ingredients (always innovative). Among other things, M and S remembered how she had once told them the story of Lord Ganesha. S said she felt guilty now because she got mad when Ajji would often ask to switch to Zee TV while S was watching her favorite TV show and Ajji would give in so easily and never complained. This would make for a very long read if I wrote about the million questions S asked me and the things that she shared that were going on in her head.
I loved it when my mother-in-law shared memories from her past. I feel that in this age of global living, she has had a remarkable journey. There are so many people who I have not met in person but have heard a great deal about from her. I was part of her life only in the last 18 years, but have had many opportunities to hear about the rest of the people who comprised her world. At social gatherings, she trusted only me to bring her plate with food, which I selfishly admit, made me feel very special. She had some self imposed dietary restrictions. She looked too cute when I or the girls would help her with socks and shoes and bundled her up with coat, scarf, gloves etc during the winters here in Boston. She held on tight to her way of living, but encouraged us to adopt new ways with changing times and places. I tried and was successful to a certain extent in getting her to crochet again. She remembered the basic stitches from when she had done it a very long time ago. She was too much of a free spirit to follow the pattern instructions and always did her own thing.
We have had a few profound conversations along with pregnant silences in our house in the past few weeks finding deep meaning in ordinary, everyday things. It has changed each of us in the family a little bit, in ways only death can. There are a few women who come to mind when I need an example of courage and "Pune-Amma" is definitely one of them.
I crocheted this a few years ago for my mother-in-law. She used it with much appreciation and happiness whenever she was here with us, but refused to bring it back with her to India since she thought it would be spoiled in no time because of the dirt and dust on Indian roads where she traveled often.
Last month I uploaded this picture and started to draft this post, thinking about all the interesting stories, especially the ones from her time spent here with us in Boston. But it seemed like everything came to a screeching halt and I needed time before I came back to a to a place where I could write again. On a Friday evening in Sept, after I went home from work, we got the call. Yes, that one, the one you never want to hear but that which is about a moment that is as guaranteed as the night that follows each day. A reminder that it is "when it happens", not "if it happens" that holds true for each and every one of us. My mother-in-law passed away due to cardiac arrest. We grieve and experience emotions that are indescribable in words, but learn again what it means when they say "time will heal". Time, the only thing that allows you to pass through moments and things that we took for granted which now make our hearts go heavy, like the time of the day when we used to call her, the speed dial on the phone that still says Parvati, my phone numbers list that says "Pune Amma", the sanDige dabbas whose bottoms peek at you when you open them now, the half filled masala powder container, the red sweater that she left here using the same reasoning as for leaving this shawl here, the rudrakshi japa mala that now lays inanimate, times that I shall make sabudana khichidi, gargi etc . . .
I got goosebumps when C pointed out the coincidence that it was the same day in Sept, the 29th, 39 years ago that my father in law had left them. I try to find comfort not only by thinking that she is in a happier place and at peace, but also in the good memories we have of her.
She was a woman of indomitable spirit who lived humbly and happily, loved fiercely, gave generously, expressed freely, cooked with reckless abandon and faced all her life's challenges courageously. She had a strong personality, the kind I have found typically in women who hail from north Karnataka. She made many friends where ever she was, and did have a few who disagreed with her as she lived life on her own terms, clutching faith till the end. She raised two fine sons. She was an extrovert who had the ability to carry on conversations with complete strangers, even if language stood like a huge brick wall in between.
Our daughters have many memories of grandma (Ajji). She was around for them during their childhood days. She even was the topic of M's "My Hero" essay in 7th grade. She never missed walking the long driveway to the bus-stop to see the girls off in the morning and receive them when they got home in the afternoon from school. She teamed up with the kids and picked crab-apples from the tree in our front yard which she made pickles out of, using authentic Indian ingredients (always innovative). Among other things, M and S remembered how she had once told them the story of Lord Ganesha. S said she felt guilty now because she got mad when Ajji would often ask to switch to Zee TV while S was watching her favorite TV show and Ajji would give in so easily and never complained. This would make for a very long read if I wrote about the million questions S asked me and the things that she shared that were going on in her head.
I loved it when my mother-in-law shared memories from her past. I feel that in this age of global living, she has had a remarkable journey. There are so many people who I have not met in person but have heard a great deal about from her. I was part of her life only in the last 18 years, but have had many opportunities to hear about the rest of the people who comprised her world. At social gatherings, she trusted only me to bring her plate with food, which I selfishly admit, made me feel very special. She had some self imposed dietary restrictions. She looked too cute when I or the girls would help her with socks and shoes and bundled her up with coat, scarf, gloves etc during the winters here in Boston. She held on tight to her way of living, but encouraged us to adopt new ways with changing times and places. I tried and was successful to a certain extent in getting her to crochet again. She remembered the basic stitches from when she had done it a very long time ago. She was too much of a free spirit to follow the pattern instructions and always did her own thing.
We have had a few profound conversations along with pregnant silences in our house in the past few weeks finding deep meaning in ordinary, everyday things. It has changed each of us in the family a little bit, in ways only death can. There are a few women who come to mind when I need an example of courage and "Pune-Amma" is definitely one of them.
No comments:
Post a Comment