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Lt. Col. Ankita walks down memory lane into a sewing class, full of sparkling wit and humour. An exclusive for Different Truths.
So, it was during the summer vacation of my Allahabad University BSc third year days when my mom realised that her eldest daughter (me) is a possessed victim of extended tomboy hood. And because she could not see any signs of girlhood coming over me, she decided to put me in a sewing school that was run by a newly married aunty (from Lucknow) in my neighbouring mohalla (locality).
I joined as the most disgruntled student in a batch where there were nine over-enthusiastic girls who were sure to get a call straight from NASA… after they complete this one-month sewing course!
I joined as the most disgruntled student in a batch where there were nine over-enthusiastic girls who were sure to get a call straight from NASA (to sew their astronaut suits) after they complete this one-month sewing course!
The sewing instructor made ten of us sit in front of five sewing machines and would vanish to cook inside after giving instructions as to how to put that piece of newspaper/cloth cut-outs under the vertical needle …
My sewing buddy would apply all tactics to keep the sewing machine in front of her most of the time by giving some or the other excuse. I would continue sitting with the newspaper cutting till the end of the class timing.
My sewing buddy would apply all tactics to keep the sewing machine in front of her most of the time by giving some or the other excuse. I would continue sitting with the newspaper cutting till the end of the class timing. One day when the instructor got free of her newly wedded duties, she finally noticed that half a month later, while all girls had graduated from newspaper cuttings to cloth cutting and to stitching a shapeless/shapely garment, I was the only one still at the unstitched newspaper cutting stage. Before vanishing inside her house, she scolded my buddy for not sharing the sewing machine with me.
After returning with a satisfied look of a winning new daughter-in-law, her head rotated 180 degrees in self failure to see me again sitting crossed-legged on the floor. The unstitched newspaper garment was flying like a kite under the Allahabadi summer high-speed ceiling fan.
As I tried assimilating the flying leg piece of my newspaper garment with a blank look, I blurted out the silliest of excuse, “I am scared of that needle. It may prick my finger.”
“You are still sitting with that newspaper cut out. Why are you not sewing that?” She snapped at me. As I tried assimilating the flying leg piece of my newspaper garment with a blank look, I blurted out the silliest of excuse, “I am scared of that needle. It may prick my finger.” She guffawed wickedly and said, “Then you will sleep like a sleeping beauty. Don’t worry we will get a prince to kiss you and wake you up. Now stop being a typical darpok (frightened) Allahabadi girl and just use the sewing machine.” She almost looked to me like that evil witch Maleficent, in that Sleeping Beauty fairy tale.
“Do you know how important it is for all girls to know sewing?” She further shouted at me. I held my erupting tomboy hood. “I don’t know why it’s important only for girls and not for boys to know sewing”, I retorted. She laughed like a female version of a Ramleela Ravan and said, “You are a girl. Sewing is a girl’s job, so you better learn it now”. By now my newspaper garment had turned into a ball in my hands. I walked up to the door, turned back to look straight into her eyes, and said, “Auntyji, I will do what you think is a man’s job then”
PS: I donned my military uniform of Second Lieutenant soon after I graduated out of my third year from Allahabad University
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