A reverence for nature goes with the awareness that the shape of things is due to natural growth and that it was, therefore, desirable to retain the signs of an object’s making. The times in the pandemic have resulted in closed doors, the repartee is now muted, and life is now being shifted to even smaller bubbles.
Daily nonchalant conversations are lost amongst the grown distances and few physical interactions. One becomes more detached from surroundings, dwell in continuous introspection, the stories of being betwixt and between are now changing.
At home, the only thing that has given me solace is the rose - tinted sky I climb up the roof to see every evening or the early mornings in the garden. My entire summer making my backyard a place to host soirees for one. Roses, marigolds and mogra, a large mango tree accompanied by jamun trees, so many other fruits, and the tiniest of the flowers, after dadu, papa, and amma have maintained this little impeccable forest of ours.
A backyard full of green and an old rusty kitchen led to the experimentation of the peculiar mind. Dyes at home. To encourage the locally available material from the nearby kirana store I can walk to, or some added fabric from archival visits to craft clusters.
To build connect with local dyer bhaiya who would sometimes wave his hand and give me extra advice as I pass by his shop, or with the masterji in the next gali who’s charging a little less just get some work these days. Life feels more fragile, like the olden days.
