In her last years, Nani spent
All her time stitching Kaudi.
She did tens of them and gave
Them away to her loved ones.
She would gather all the
Old clothes, cut them up,
Stitch them in patches on
Stretch of old sarees.
These blankets she stitched
So meticulously, almost
Every hour of every day,
Looked like her biography.
All the childhood memories,
Scattered in the red patches.
Her teenage days in the
Checkered yellow ones..
In the glittery embroidery
On the borders.
Maybe about her first love
Or a crush if there was one.
I got the last one of
Her final work.
One of the nights,
The green patches in mine,
Told me all about the raw guavas
In her father's backyard.
Now that I keep thinking
About those violet, brown
And the pink patches that
Haven't yet talked..
Maybe that's where the rest
Of the world's libraries hide.
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