We had been married recently. It had been close to a month now. The day at the market had been hot and dismal.The drizzle now, had washed our morning sourness away. We were headed back to our home. Nirona was where I grew up, where I went to school, and took my first steps into the arena of our work. I took after my grandfather, father and brothers. We belonged to a family who worked with the craft of lacquered wood. I was young when I first began. We did not have much money and I too had get my hands working. While we men, worked with wood, going into the jungles to get wood to craft later, my mother and sisters worked through the day making silver jewelry. We all had to work; we did not want to stay hungry.
I like my work, but would like to do more. I know, even if there is nothing else I can do, my hands will always know this, the wood craft of my forefathers.We used to sell our wares in the village itself, sometimes even in exchange for food. Now, we travel to Delhi, Bombay and others cities for exhibitions. This too is hard. The money spent, transport and travel, makes it seem easier to sell here.
I dream. And often I want to see myself move to a bigger city. Work hard and grow, from poor to rich.
