Sequined Dreams & the Art of Getting-by

When I was a (mere) girl of twelve or eleven, I learnt embroidery. I was always bustling in gusts to learn new things. An aunt of my father's taught me. I learnt the chain stitch and the rose stitch. The aunt died too soon, but I remember her house filled with embroidered frames with quotations on them. And tablecloths and covers on TV sets. I soon forgot embroidery. Didn't forget exactly, but stopped investing my time in it because it could hurt my eyes. I ruined a sari or two of my mother's and gave up on the (shallow) misadventure.

Then I turned eighteen or seventeen. Plump and lithe. I got stitched a nice top for me, unintentionally. But I wore it when I went out once. That top was mostly pink with purple and green printed flowers on it, it was a tiny top, I almost bulged out of it. The sleeves were short and had slits. Something must have been the matter with me. Because I chose to embroider it before I went out wearing it. No complicated stitches. I sat overnight and sequined its sleeves and neck. As any seventeen year old would, I had many desires from life and I stitched them all onto the top. It had a V neck with a slit in the middle, just like in the sleeves. I am obsessed with symmetry, must have drawn out the design to the tailor who stitched it out for me. I can still feel, that summer of so many years ago and my sequined top clinging to my sweaty body on my lunch date. It was a pointless date, but the top has stayed on. 

Haven't been able to throw it away. And oddly it fits if I wear it. Probably, it has expanded with me. It's still stacked with my home wear Ts in my wardrobe. Probably at the (rock) bottom, with a overwhelming whiff of nostalgia. But nevertheless.