There are some types of laces, which have you stunned with their intricate design and workmanship, and should you aspire for it, you pay through your nose, and spend the rest of your life being very careful , while wearing and storing it.
And then there are some, which happen on a hot griddle, on a monsoon morning, a new design each time, and every single design is a dedication to family. Sometimes from a daughter to her parents (as in this case), sometimes from a mother/grandmother to her family , and sometimes, from someone for someone , who is considered a universal family. Full of taste, and an attitude that keeps you asking for more.
The lucky recipient of this second type of lace is my fiend Vidya Vartak Joshi, who posted this photo just before imbibing it all......
violent laces,
facing each other
at Flanders,
unable to feel
Belgian or French,
but nevertheless
suffering through
pulls of threads,
interfering needles,
and bobbins
crossing each other
in preplanned design,
and
then pretending,
usurping names like
Chantilly
Bruges,
Alencon,
Valenciennes,
Shetland,
Venice,
Milan
and the likes. .
Beautiful
but dead.
And Some
non violent Rice laces,
patient in fermentation,
strengthening their minds
with "Daal"ian friends,
from the nation's fields,
looking forward
to hot and exciting times,
as they
walk on to
a shining Tawa,
and twirl
creating
a gown of lace,
a new design every time,
additionally getting
studded with gold;
never forgetting ever,
their old chutney friends.
They don't
Usurp names of places.
They dedicate themselves
to hungry folks,
and call themselves
Amma Dosa Lace.
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