Sitting on a very early train out of Delhi, having deftly tucked my pack under the seat, before the deluge of over-sized Indian luggage ensues, I get ready to finish off hat three. As I pull the necessary gear out of its bag, the clicking, clucking, babbling and curiosity of the surrounding women, whom I share the bench with, noticeably increases. As do the stares, pointing, nudging and general furore of my fellow carriage inhabitants. Anyone who has spent time on a general class and busy train, in India, will know, all too well, its seething possibilities of intrigue.
After the inevitable expressions of surprise have dispersed, the afore mentioned ladies, begin to take a keener interest in this strange looking foreigner, crocheting a hat. In my limited Hindi I gather they are all 'tika' (fine) and off for the Indian equivalent of a girl’s spa weekend. This is more meditation, devotion and yoga; than mani-pedis and cocktails. I’m sure, east or west; they'll share the same tendencies to gossip! Now the tables are turned and it's my turn. The one with the best English fields the onslaught of questions. What am I doing? Why? Where did I learn? Am I married to her now?! Can they all have one as gifts!?! These are just a small sample of the heavy question bombing I was being annihilated with. I struggle to reply to them all but the ladies are just getting the niceties out of the way!
Then the real lesson starts: supposedly I crochet all wrong or un-Indian. My polite nods and smiles are not enough to hold back these ladies! Before I know it, my tools are whipped away and the practical demonstration begins. Having been taught different methods, by different people, their way of crocheting was as alien to me as mine was to them. I eventually manage to coax my hat back and resume to incorrectly continue!
Funnily enough they are not the only members of India's female crocheting fraternity to try and explain the follies of my workmanship. Whenever I pull out my hook someone will try and show me the errors of my way. 'They began long before I could crochet', is all I try and convey to them
So after giving up my seat, to the lady that boarded the train whilst still on the waiting list, I take up residency by the open carriage door. Hat three is completed as the scenery whizzes by, the smells intermittently interrupt my concentration and the sounds, thankfully, are the beats coming from my headphones. Not the excruciating tinny Hindi noise blaring from a mobile phone! Hat four began on the same train journey but while its beginnings are here, its completion lays in another tale: one that deserves its own story to be told.
Ramble on.....................
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