Threads from the Cardigan | RedPaper.in
By: Preeti Vyas | RedPaper.in
‘It has been years, when I saw her knitting in the rocking chair of balsam wood, the one she demanded from my grand-dad. Her dominance has never loosen its grasp even in that age. She was old enough to have those lining wrinkles on her face but she seemed young when she outlived her childhood memories while reciting the stories. She once called me, asking my preference over the woolen knitted robe she is working on. She took my size and predicted my reaction over the range of colored woolen balls lying around her. I chose the big one, which was blue. From childhood I have liked that color, its passion for me as a cricket lover. If not that expensive jersey that I asked my dad for, let it be this. I roamed in the streets wearing that blue cardigan when she gave it to me next winters. You know, when my dad took her to the hospital, it was the last time I saw glimpse of her. I poured tears while wearing the cardigan then, the memories of her and her stories which I now own as my prized possession. I wore it time and again till my body failed to fit in. But the cardigan, it has never lost its shimmer.’ Dressing up his daughter for a wintery eve, Shaheen said to his wife, ending up in tears. His daughter has his grandma’s eyes he said lifting up a smile, when she frolicked around the park in blue.