That's how I started knitting...

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has been more than three hundred and sixty-five days since I scripted a story here. It's not that I stopped writing; the universe should forbid such dark days for a person who's been journaling since their memory. It's not that someone is asking for my updates; I feel like I haven't been to this space of my life, and I want to explore why.

Oh no, it's not for you to read and know and gossip about. I have figured out the “why.” Let's get to the part that made me come back. Actually, it wasn't just the ‘why,’ but several things I realized in the last few months. To begin with, I'm now done with my college. Like done-done. Though I haven't received either my bachelor's or my master's degree, trust me, I passed with flying colors. Colors that ten-year-old Ashita can never even imagine. I mean, blooming out of a small place that's barely a town, who would've thought of translating Bhojpuri works into English, attending yoga fests, getting a compliment from the 'toughest' professors, speaking my mind in a viva full of departmental professors, attending a spectacular BGMI event, being able to open eyes underwater, and making peace with not fulfilling a long list of societal expectations? Your girl has come a long way. 

What ended my drought of writer’s block is so trivial, yet so significant, nostalgic, and close to my heart. I knitted myself a scarf, and I can't wait to carry it around ASAP! Yes, yes, a real woolen scarf that isn't bought from the market, the one that takes hours and days and months of effort. While trying to post about it on my page, I ended up with something a little more than just a caption. So here it is for you—to read and relate to, and let me know if you have a similar memory of your favorite people or activity or the new hobby you've developed lately.

I remember Granny knitting for long hours.
Now that I can knit, I know the love it takes.
For someone to dedicate these many hours
And giving it away, just like that.
My grandmother left a bed box—
Full of knitted items, 
Items that her granddaughters can use 
When they get married. 

While visiting another grandmother,
Who lived in the village, I shared stories.
Told her my Barbie could use a sweater. 
And the old lady took out some hours aside,
From churning milk and mowing grass.
That's how my Barbie had her first sweater.
Five colored yarns in total;
Only to look like a cool sweater 
That Gen Zs would call dope.
While teaching me how to knit,
At an age I can barely remember,
She definitely taught how—
“You're never too young or too old for anything.” 
I remember the cucumber creepers
Witnessing my knitting lessons.
God forbid a girl with so many memories 
Complementing lines of the poems
That she wished to read somewhere.

My scarf has two colors, not because I wanted it to be
But the shop ran out of colored yarns.
Just like life, you gotta knit different phases,
For the people you love
Or the person you admire the most.
So, I knitted a scarf for myself. 
I hope it keeps me warm 
On days I feel the chill of life.

So much fuss for just a two colored knitted scarf; guess I've actually mastered the literature of my life. Until I make a fuss of another trivial idea around me,

See you.

Ashita.

P.S., some of you poked me to write and noticed I wasn't here for a while. I'm glad for your existence.

A friend wrote the other day- generating the exact AI image you want is also a skill. I think I agree.