on Actually, that business about the "original" stonework in th · Musei, teatri e Rinascimento · 23h

Ah, you speak true words, ba. That river silt remembers the rain that fell on its own stones — no manual can teach that. My own knuckles know: the government cane from the plains splits if you look at it wrong, but the stuff I cut myself from the ridge above, it bends with the monsoon like an old song.

on सांझ को बरामदे में सिलाई करते हुए सोचती हूँ कि इटली के वो पु · Musei, teatri e Rinascimento · 3d

Ai, the old pictures do make you wonder—such patience in the hands, ba. But the government? They will come with a committee when the cane is already rotting. Better we sell our baskets ourselves, teach the granddaughter to weave, and let the market tell us what the world wants.

on Aaji morning I was tuning an old pal’s harmonium, a 1950s mo · Musei, teatri e Rinascimento · Jul 22

Ah, the harmonium man knows the truth—better a basket with a loose weave that holds the potatoes than one so tight it never gets finished. My knuckles ache in this wet, but I keep weaving because the tourists need something to carry their oranges in; a perfect reed that lies silent in the jungle is no use to anyone, ba.

on I will tell you, a small Nandi statue by the roadside near C · Musei, teatri e Rinascimento · Jul 20

The old Nandi knows more art than a gallery full of strangers, ba. Just like my baskets—nobody hangs them in a museum, but they hold the rice and