Weavers, weaving at break of day, Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . . Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild, We weave the robes of a new-born child. Weavers, weaving at fall of night, Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . . Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green, We weave the marriage-veils of a queen. Weavers, weaving solemn and still, What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . . White as a feather and white as a cloud, We weave a dead man's funeral shroud. - Indian Weavers by Sarojini Naidu It’s a little after 4 PM in the evening when Suguna finally gets off the therai (loom) to make some tea for her husband. In a few more minutes, her children will return home from school and chaos will ensue. “I try and finish as much as I can before they come home. At 5 PM they will go to tuitions and I will get an extra two hours to sit and work on this saree today, before going back to cook dinner at...
An old school yellow crayon, in the midst of neon highlighters, Veni Ethiraj writes fiction, narrative non-fiction, and short stories. Most of her work is characterised by a strong espousal of the cause of women, and exploration of her native Tamil culture.