The bells of my anklets chimed in rhythm as I walked; I brushed away the stray strands of hair that fell over my face. It had been a long day at work. The day went by as usual, sorting material, delegating, and weaving. There was something light in the air today, my mind often wandered to my childhood, my days as a young bride, my years as a new mother, my work…
I was young when I began weaving. It was the trade my father followed. My father, a strong man, worked in the fields. I joined him in the fields sometimes to lend a hand. I was a young girl then and work on the vast field was strenuous. It was then that I decided to take up weaving. It was a time when women did not weave. The men wove while women helped. At the time, a girl child did not go to school. I went till the second grade. I spent my days weaving until I was married off. I moved to Anjar. Housework and children took up my time. I had two sons and one daughter. As life picked up a wonderful routine, there was a heavy blow. My husband suddenly passed away. It was only months later that I could stand on my feet, I was shocked.
My children needed me; I had to take steps forward. I moved to Awadhnagar with my sister and began life anew. I began working with other women. My hands kept me busy, weaving scraps of plastic into products. I worked hard; my children needed food and an education. Work went well and I climbed the ladders. I now lead a group of plastic weavers. This year I plan on venturing out on my own as well. I have the support I need to start my own small business. As life brings the many highs and lows on its wake, I hope to see happy days. A smile fills my heart as I think of my children waiting for me at home. After all, this is for them.
