Day in and day out, the lovely rhythm of the motor - lulling us to sleep and giving us comfort. My lovely mother and her sewing machine: earned the clothes we wore; earned the food we ate; the source of protection over our head; earned us education that put us way ahead.
Day in and day out – she labored, stitching clothes for the entire neighborhood. Some days, it was agonizing to watch her ache yet smile - her dozing at the machine trying to meet deadline. Some days, it was simply joyful to watch - her creativity in the designs and the elegant lines.
Such creativity – yes! In her eyes I saw ambition. None came true! I saw it, despair and outrage! Chanelling that to educate her girls – her new ambition. Such fervor, such support she gave – I stop and inhale. No wonder I see pride in her eyes when ‘we’ stand with her tall.
Today, I am who I am thanks to the sewing machine and my adorable mother who loved her machine. Seven children she raised with love and care and hard work. The eldest daughter of the mother-machine hates that machine! Learned its tricks helping out – yet, hate it with such fervor …
It broke her backbone – hours and hours the mother sat over it. Some days it just stopped her from getting her pay; breaking itself – forcing hungry kids to pray. Clever mother does not let her machine sulk - With her screw drivers – she pecks at it until it yields. The despair in her kind eyes while she pecks - broke my then-teenage heart; made me work hard.
This love-hate relationship with the machine! - changed face only a few times through three decades. The machine sits proud in our home - i dread it all the same – yet idolize it to no end :)
My mother my strength! The machine her strength! She is one with her machine. Today in her late 50s - one hell of a creative designer she is – just like in the 80s. Pulling out cute little dresses from under the blade! Blade of her machine – for her darling daughters-grand! No more laboring over it for money – but only for the joy it gives.
=================== P.S. Image source: http://littlehouseinparadise.blogspot.com/2011/07/our-sewing-machines.html andhttp://anniebebop.blogspot.com
This is a poem I attempted some months ago after we have had a discussion about how our childhood memories were associated with the sound of sewing machines with loved ones laboring over it. And I wrote this one as a tribute to my lovely adorable mother. She is my strength. We don't say much in so many words. She has a gleam in her eyes, a pride in her voice, a smile on her lips when she talks to me. If I am strong, I am strong for her. I would never want her to know what I put up with.Girls Transform the World 2013