Pre-winter ritual
My mother waited for the thin snowline to appear on the mountains that surrounded our town and she would begin the elaborate pre-winter ceremony of unlocking steel trunks and retrieving our hand-knitted woollens.
Woolmark chequered blankets and white lihaaf-covered rajais (quilts) were taken out from a large wooden petti (storage box). We were kept at arm’s length as there was a very real danger of our tiny fingers getting crushed if the huge lid of the wooden petti fell on them.
As soon as the trunks were pulled out from the dark store room and opened, the smell of the naphthalene balls (mothballs) filled the room. We coughed and sneezed blissfully ignorant then of the toxicity of the fumes (I learnt of that much later when I started working as an environmental journalist).
While we were forbidden from touching the white naphthalene balls that were hidden inside the folds of woollens to keep them safe from moths and silverfish, we thought nothing of breaking the rules. We secretly played with them and wondered how and why the mothballs shrank in size, and sometimes completely disappeared (sublimation, we later learnt).
Decades later, even now, if I smell naphthalene anywhere — a saree shop, or a train toilet — I immediately connect it with the onset of winters in Jyotipuram.
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Hand-knit love
Closely associated with the mothballs were the woollens. Hand-knit sweaters, mufflers, caps, vests and socks made their appearance and were sunned on terraces, balconies, on every available chair and on the clotheslines. The sun banished the pungent smell of naphthalene and disinfected the woollens in the most eco-friendly and energy-saving manner.
Winter afternoons were spent playing cricket with friends while mothers in the colony sat on cane chairs, knitting and exchanging knitting designs.
Their knitting needles moved swiftly, the ladies rarely even looked at them as they chatted and discussed the latest episode of Ramayan on TV, or planned a ladies’ club event. That was multitasking at its best.
In the 1980s, there was only one brand of woollens — Mothers’ Knit — because all our woollens were knit by our mothers. There were no ready-made sweaters, not at least where I lived. Fluffy light-weight wool came from Jammu (100 kilometres away), which were then converted into tightly wrapped wool balls.
Empty plastic containers of Johnson’s Baby Powder were cut open from their neck and aluminium knitting needles were parked there in pairs based on their sizes. Knitting needles were often borrowed or shared.
A newborn baby was ALWAYS gifted a complete set of woollen wear including booties, mittens and a knitted cap with a pompom bobbing on its top.
The woollen socks, pullovers and high-necks that our mothers knitted for hours gave them shoulder and neck pain, but gave us extra warmth.
I remember when we moved to Delhi in the mid-1990s, I still wore hand-knit sweaters to my posh college in south Delhi. But hand-knit sweaters were looked down upon in big cities, as I learnt (‘Too poor to afford a readymade pullover’; ‘Mother doesn’t ‘work’ so has a lot of free time to knit’…).
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Therapeutic knitting
The world is now going backwards and knitting is being increasingly adopted in the Western world as a form of therapy! Research studies show the many health benefits of knitting.
A recent study from the University of Gothenburg, Sweden, published in the Journal of Occupational Science, shows that knitting is beneficial for people living with mental health issues. Knitting is said to bring a sense of calm and give life structure.
The New York Times quotes a 2009 University of British Columbia study of 38 women with the eating disorder anorexia nervosa who were taught to knit. Learning the craft led to significant improvements. Seventy-four percent of the women said the activity lessened their fears and kept them from worrying about their problems.
Another 2011 study found that those who engaged in crafts like knitting and crocheting had a diminished chance of developing mild cognitive impairment and memory loss. There are others, who compare the repeated movements of knitting with breathing exercises and mindful meditation.
I learnt to knit as a child and along with my siblings, we regularly knitted woollen wear for our dolls. My younger brother created the best designs. We also knitted mufflers and scarves. I haven’t picked up the knitting needles for decades now. Life in a big city like Mumbai is full of stress. Maybe I should go back to knitting.
Jamwal is a Mumbai-based journalist who reports on environment, climate, and rural issues. Follow her on X @JamwalNidhi
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