Trupti opened the old Delhi steel trunk that also served as a window seat in her living room. Topped with a thin mattress and colourful cushions it gave an ethnic touch to the home decor. It was one of those rare Sundays when Trupti was at home free of hospital rounds.
As she lifted the lid it took her down memory lane.
There were crocheted coasters, embroidered tablecloths, hand-knit sweaters, woollen ponchos and macrame wall hangings. As she looked fondly at each one of them, they reminded her of the various stages when she had made them over the years.
The doorbell rang.
Sarla walked in holding a box of sweets as she had recently been blessed with a granddaughter.
“Even on a day off you keep yourself busy”, Sarla joked.
Trupti smiled. “I am not busy. I was just trying to declutter some stuff and in the process, I am just reliving some memories.”
Sarla picked up an embroidered tablecloth. “You made all of these?”
“Yes, over the years,” Trupti replied folding it. “I always loved handmade crafts. Amma was an expert as she crocheted, knitted, embroidered, tatted lace and stitched all sorts of things. I would sit beside her and watch her fingers as they worked deftly for hours.”
“She taught you?” Sarla asked.
Trupti shook her head. “No, I always thought I would learn from her but my twenties went past in pursuing MBBS, post-graduation, then as a RMO with endless hospital rounds. Somehow, I was always busy whenever Amma offered to teach me. I used to keep telling her that I would leisurely learn from her. And before I knew she was gone.”
Trupti smiled faintly. “I eventually learnt from books, magazines and You Tube videos.”
Sarla helped Trupti in sorting. They placed some items in a donation box and kept others aside for a charity sale. At the bottom of the trunk Trupti unfolded a faded cloth bag. Inside lay two tiny muslin bundles. One held a pink beanie with matching mittens. The other contained a pair of powder-blue crochet baby shoes.
Sarla smiled and said, “These are so soft and delicate.”
Trupti’s eyes softened. “Amma made them.”
Sarla looked up and asked, “for whom?”
Trupti said quietly, “Amma had three daughters. My two sisters married young and had children but I stayed in the world of studies for long.”
Trupti traced the tiny stitches. “When Amma fell seriously ill, she knew she did not have much time left. She quietly knitted these dreaming and hoping that someday they would be worn by my child.’’
Sarla nodded, “Hmmm, you kept them all these years?”
Trupti replied, “It felt like holding on to a dream that was not mine alone.”
After a pause, Sarla asked, “You are a gynaecologist. Did you ever think of freezing your eggs?”
Trupti smiled sadly. “Sarla, you asked such a complicated question so simply.”
Sarla said. “So, did you?”
Trupti paused and said softly, “I did think about it a couple of times but kept postponing it. I would think maybe after the fellowship, after the practice was more stable. There was always something bigger and somewhere along the way the years slipped by before I realised it.”
Trupti glanced around her cozy apartment that had books lined on one wall, framed photographs from her tours, artefacts that she picked from various parts of the world, a half-finished crochet shawl that lay across the chair and the indoor plants in her living room.
She smiled and said, “Maybe life did not turn out the way Amma wanted for me but I have nothing to complain. I love my freedom, space, my solitude and the opportunity to work that helps create life.
Sarla smiled squeezing her hand and said, “I have seen you working hard and building it.”
Trupti had spent years helping anxious couples struggling with infertility.
“Remember the movie ‘’Roja’’? Sarla grinned. ‘You had a big crush on Arvind Swamy. You used to say that you would marry a doctor with a moustache just like his!’’
‘’You also said that you would never marry anyone without a moustache.” They both burst into laughter.
After sorting the trunk was almost empty with only the two muslin bundles remaining.
“What will you do with these?” Sarla asked. Trupti folded them carefully and caressed them against her cheeks. “Amma had lovingly knitted them for a grandchild she never met. Maybe it is time someone wore them”
Trupti placed one of the bundles in Sarla’s hand. “These are for your granddaughter’’, she said softly. Amma would have loved it. Sarla’s eyes moistened and she thanked Trupti.
The next week they visited a children’s charity that supported families in need. Trupti handed over the muslin bundle with the powder-blue baby shoes with a small tag that read, “For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.’’
As they walked out Sarla asked softly, “are you okay?” Trupti nodded, smiling through misty eyes. “I am, Amma would be happy. If not her own grandchild, at least some little one will wear them.”
Trupti smiled and felt lighter. And as she picked up her crochet hook and worked on the half-finished shawl. She hoped her Amma too would be happy and smiling.
Glossary:
MBBS : Bachelor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery
RMO: Resident Medical Officer
